Jubal: Shakespeare and Male Bonding in the Old West

This post is part of the Build-Your-Own Blogathon, hosted by the Classic Film & TV Cafe. To view the full blogathon schedule, click here.

Rod Steiger and Glenn Ford in Jubal.

Glenn Ford and director Delmer Daves collaborated on three Westerns made between 1956 and 1958. A common theme connecting this unofficial trilogy is the formation of mutual respect and trust among men. In 3:10 to Yuma (1957), an outlaw (Ford) grows to respect the rancher (Van Heflin) guarding him as they await a train and a likely deadly shoot-out. In Cowboy (1958), a veteran trail boss (Ford) begrudgingly takes on a tenderfoot (Jack Lemmon) during a hard cattle drive. During the arduous trek, the two men grow to admire each other and an unlikely friendship forms. That brings us to the first Ford-Daves Western Jubal (1956), which may be the most complex of their collaborations.

I love how director Daves visually conveys
 the divide between Pinky and Jubal.

Ford plays Jubal Troop, a drifter rescued on a mountain road by kind-hearted rancher Shep Horgan (Ernest Borgnine). Shep offers Jubal a job as one of his ranch hands. That doesn’t sit well with disgruntled employee "Pinky" Pinkum (Rod Steiger), who tells Jubal: “Let’s get this straight, mister. As far as I’m concerned, you still stink.”

Pinky isn’t Jubal’s only problem. Shep’s beautiful wife Mae (Valerie French) takes an immediate interest in the drifter. When she confronts him during a moment alone, Jubal informs her that “we’re ending this before it begins.” She replies provocatively: “Are we?”

Pinky's dislike of Jubal turns into hatred when Shep selects the newcomer to be his new foreman. Rejected by Shep and Mae--who both prefer Jubal--Pinky seeks revenge by suggesting to Shep that Jubal and Mae are sleeping together. That lie festers into an ugly situation that eventually results in three deaths.

Jubal is loosely based on Paul I. Wellman's 1939 novel Jubal Troop. Described in The Saturday Review as "Anthony Adverse all over again," Wellman's sprawling tale traces the exploits of a man who killed his mistress' husband at age 18, romanced many women, sold stolen cattle, and made and lost a fortune in Oklahoma oil. 

Borgnine as Othello...I mean, Shep.

Drawing on a plot thread involving Shep and Mae, Daves and co-screenwriter Russell S. Hughes transform the film version into a Western variation of Othello. Shep represents the Moor general Othello, who promotes Cassio (Jubal) over Iago (Pinky). The angry Iago retaliates by suggesting to Othello that Cassio slept with Othello's new bride Desdemona (Mae). This lie leads to tragedy, just as it does in Jubal. There are significant differences, of course. Mae wants to be unfaithful with Jubal, Pinky has previously slept with Mae, and Shep doesn't kill Mae. Still, the basic elements of Othello are clearly present in Jubal--a fact which has contributed to the film's cult status among the adult Westerns of the 1950s.

Although Jubal falls in love with Naomi (Felicia Farr), a young pioneer woman, the key relationship in the film is between Jubal and Shep. As Jubal confides to Naomi, Shep is the first person since his father to show him any kindness. Shep, for his part, admires Jubal for his intelligence, but values most his trustworthiness. Indeed, when explaining why he chose Jubal over the more experienced Pinky, Shep states flatly it was because he could trust Jubal. The extent of Shep's trust becomes evident when he reveals to Jubal that he senses Mae has become distant. This is a topic the rancher would never broach with any of his other employees (least of all Pinky). So, it's no wonder that Shep goes into a blind rage when he believes that Jubal--the one person he trusted--betrayed him. 

Valerie French looking seductive as Mae.

Of course, when given the opportunity, Mae chooses not to contradict Pinky's lie. Early in the film, she confesses to Jubal that she married Shep only because she thought he was rich and lived in a "castle." In reality, the "castle" is an impressive ranch and her husband spares no extravagance on his wife. However, Mae's ambivalence toward Shep has grown into disgust fueled by self-pity. She complains to Jubal that the ranch is "ten thousand acres of nothing, ten thousand acres of loneliness." Shep doesn't help matters either. When Mae complains that her husband treats her like property, it's hard to disagree. He playfully calls her his "Canadian heifer" and clearly likes showing her off.

Charles Bronson as Reb.

The standout in the fine cast is Ernest Borgnine, who earned a Best Actor Oscar for the previous year's Marty. His multi-layered portrait of Shep shows all sides of the character: Shep's generosity, his sexist attitude toward women, his insight into the men that work for him, and his rage when he believes he has been betrayed. Glenn Ford is fine as the conflicted hero and Valerie French sizzles as Mae. Charles Bronson lends solid support in one his first major roles as another drifter that befriends Jubal.

Surprisingly, Rod Steiger seems content to repeat his performance as Jud from Oklahoma! (1955). In the biography Glenn Ford: A Life, written by the actor's son, Ford downplays the "method school of acting" made famous by Steiger, Marlon Brando, James Dean, and others. Ford said: "'Doing nothing well' is my definition of a good actor. One of the great misconceptions about this business is that you get in front of a camera and 'act.' That's the very thing you should not do. Be yourself--people need to identify with you. If they're not able to, you're in trouble."

Jubal is not the best of the Glenn Ford-Delmer Daves Westerns. That distinction belongs to the thoughtful, tense 3:10 to Yuma, which is universally recognized as one of the best Westerns of the 1950s. However, with its Shakespearean slant and its focus on the frailty of human relationships, Jubal justly deserves reevaluation and greater recognition.


The fine music score in Jubal was composed by David Raksin, who is best known for his theme from Laura. Mr. Raksin is the connection to the next film in this blogathon: The Bad and the Beautiful, which is reviewed by one of our favorite classic movie bloggers at The Lady Eve's Reel Life.

Black History Month Classic Movie Blogathon: In the Heat of the Night

This racially-charged mystery, 1968’s Oscar winner for Best Picture, has aged gracefully over the years. The secret to its success can be attributed to its many layers. Peel back the mystery plot and you have a potent examination of racial tension in the South in the 1960s. Peel that back and you have a rich character study of two lonely police detectives, from completely different backgrounds, who gradually earn each other’s respect.

The film opens with a nighttime “tour” of Sparta, Mississippi, as police officer Sam Woods (Warren Oates) makes his rounds in his patrol car. He stops at a diner for a cold Coca Cola, then drives past closed shops with their bright neon signs. He pauses at a house where a young exhibitionist walks around in the nude. It’s a typical night in the sleepy little town…until Sam finds a dead body in an alley way.

The murder victim turns out to be an industrialist who planned to build a big factory in Sparta. The local police chief, Bill Gillespie (Rod Steiger), quickly launches an investigation that results in the arrest of a well-dressed black man at the train station. Much to Gillespie’s dismay, he learns his prime suspect is actually a police detective from Philadelphia named Virgil Tibbs (Sidney Poitier), who was awaiting a connecting train to Memphis. Tibb’s Philly superior tells Gillespie that Virgil is his “number one homicide expert.”

Though Gillespie doesn’t like Tibbs, he realizes that he needs help. Gillespie knows his subordinates are ineffective (they can’t even remember to oil the air conditioner) and the mayor won’t support him if he fails to find the killer quickly. Most importantly, Gillespie realizes that he’s out of his element; he just wants to run a “nice clean town” and lacks the expertise to handle a homicide investigation. For his part, Tibbs is torn—he’s eager to leave, but wouldn’t mind showing up these prejudiced, ignorant white men.

The film’s most famous scene is the confrontation between Tibbs and Endicott (Larry Gates), a wealthy cotton farmer and a principal murder suspect. Their conversation begins as a calm discussion on orchids, but Endicott quickly shows his racist side when he notes his flowers are “like the Negro…they need care and feeding and cultivating.” Tibbs coolly ignores the insult and persists with probing questions. When Endicott realizes he’s under investigation for murder, he slaps Tibbs across the face. Without hesitation, Tibbs strikes him back. When an enraged Endicott asks Gillespie what he’s going to do about Tibbs’ actions, the police chief replies simply: “I don’t know.”

Seen today, the scene still works as powerful drama. It no doubt had a greater and more significant impact when In the Heat of the Night was originally released. Ironically, Tibbs’ slap wasn’t in the novel nor the original screenplay (in both, Tibbs just walks away). In a February 2009 interview with the American Academy of Achievement, Poitier said he read the script and then told producer Walter Mirisch: “I will insist that I respond to this man (Endicott) precisely as a human being would ordinarily respond to this man. And he pops me, and I'll pop him right back. And I said, if you want me to play it, you will put that in writing. And in writing you will also say that if this picture plays the South, that that scene is never, ever removed.” Mirisch agreed and a classic, landmark scene made its way into a mainstream Hollywood film.

Historical significance aside, the film’s best-played scene has Tibbs and Gillespie relaxing in the latter’s drabby home as a train whistle echoes in the distance. Drinking warm bourbon, Gillespie confesses to Tibbs that the Philly detective is the first person to see the inside of his home. Then, in an unguarded moment, Gillespie opens up about his mundane existence and isolation.

Gillespie: Don’t you get just a little lonely?

Tibbs: No lonelier than you, man.

Gillespie: Oh now, don’t get smart, Black boy. I don’t need it. No pity, thank you. No thank you.

The scene perfectly illustrates the performers’ contrasting acting styles (which is one reason why they work so well together). Steiger dramatically transforms from a sad sack looking off into a corner of room into a proud man who is offended that Tibbs would empathize with him. Poitier, meanwhile, says very little, slumping in his chair to convey exhaustion and leaning forward attentively to show interest in Gillespie.

Thanks in part to Stirling Silliphant’s excellent dialogue, In the Heat of the Night provides an ideal showcase for its two leads. Steiger, who had a tendency to overact in later movies, remains in total control here. Gillespie’s sloppy appearance, yellow-tinted sunglasses, and constant gum-chewing makes him look like a typical redneck Southern sheriff—but Steiger skillfully avoids playing the stereotype. Gillespie comes across as wily, independent, proud, prejudiced, and lonely. The performance earned Steiger a well-deserved Best Actor Oscar.

Poitier matches him scene for scene as the intelligent, proud, equally prejudiced Tibbs. He skillfully underplays the Philadelphia detective, so that when Tibbs strikes Endicott or flashes his anger toward Gillespie, those scenes catch fire. Amazingly, Poitier was not Oscar nominated, perhaps because his votes were split among three memorable 1967 performances: In the Heat of the Night, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, and To Sir, With Love.

Strip away its atmospheric setting and riveting characters and In the Heat of the Night is just an average mystery. But, in this case, the plot is just a means to the ends. The film is foremost a character study of two strong-willed men (played by two actors at the peak of their careers). Secondly, it’s a portrait of Southern life in the late 1960s. Some of it may be exaggerated, but overall, screenwriter Silliphant and director Norman Jewison skillfully capture a time and a place—making the viewer feel like they’ve just experienced a visit to Sparta in the 1960s. That’s what makes the confrontation between Tibbs and Endicott so powerful.

In the Heat of the Night also spawned one of the most famous lines of dialogue in movie history (the American Film Institute ranked it #16…it should have been higher). When Tibbs’ investigative skills expose a flaw in Gillespie’s initial theory about the crime, the following exchange take place:

Gillespie: Well, you're pretty sure of yourself, ain't you, Virgil? Virgil, that's a funny name for a nigger boy to come from Philadelphia. What do they call you up there?

Tibbs: They call me Mister Tibbs!

And that’s exactly what they called Virgil in two sequels in which Poitier reprised the role: They Call Me MISTER Tibbs (1970) and The Organization (1971). Sadly, neither film is very good. They transform Tibbs into a family man working in a big city—making him just another detective working the streets in a 1970s urban crime film.

In 1988, In the Heat of the Night was adapted as a television series starring Carroll O’Connor as Gillespie and Howard Rollins as Tibbs. Set in Sparta again, the show lasted for eight seasons, although Rollins was dropped after 1993 due to legal problems.

The Black History Month Classic Movie Blogathon is presented by the Classic Movie Blog Association (CMBA). Click here to visit the CMBA web site, where you'll find links to other reviews in the blogathon.