HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER – A BluRay Movie Review
Billy Curtis gives the Stranger a bath
Clint Eastwood is the sort of person who gives
everyone who feels they’re getting too old to achieve their heart’s desire an
encouraging kick in the pants. He was
already a tremendously successful leading man before he started directing. He won Best Picture and Best Director Oscars first
for UNFORGIVEN, then for MILLION DOLLAR BABY, and he even received the Irving
Thalberg Memorial Award. And at 83 he’s
directing his first musical, JERSEY BOYS.
It’s hard to put your finger on what he does as a
director that makes you care about his characters, but he’s done it since the
beginning. I well remember seeing his
directorial debut, PLAY MISTY FOR ME (1971) when I was in high school. Days later, I’d find myself daydreaming about
the characters in the movie, hoping they were alright. That had never happened to me before, and has
rarely happened since.
Clint directed his second feature in 1973, and it
was his first time helming a Western: HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER. So far he’s directed four or six Westerns,
depending on whether you count BRONCO BILLY (1980) and SPACE COWBOYS (2006), and
because of the tremendous popularity of his trilogy with Sergio Leone – FISTFUL
OF DOLLARS, FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE, THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE UGLY, and the
iconic status of OUTLAW JOSIE WALES (the most slavishly imitated of his films)
and UNFORGIVEN, his other fine work sometimes is overlooked.
Happily, HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER, so ripe for
re-evaluation, is back, from Universal,
in a breathtakingly beautiful BluRay 40th Anniversary edition,
digitally remastered and restored from the original 35MM film elements. So to start, let me say that the clarity of
the image is breathtaking. So often
today, digitizing of movies does them far more harm than good. The ability to make everything in vision be
in sharp focus robs the director and cinematographer of the ability to point
you in a specific direction – the viewer’s
eye roams the frame aimlessly. At worst,
digitizing of THE WIZARD OF OZ has shown us where the seemingly real open
spaces end and the painted walls begin.
In PSYCHO, it has returned three large zits to the face of Janet Leigh,
which make-up artists had successfully hidden.
In HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER, the image is immaculately
clean, without losing the ‘film’ look.
The grain is not obvious, but it is there. Shot by the great Bruce Surtees, who had previously
shot Clint in several Don Siegal films, the actor/writer and cinematographer
would eventually collaborate on fifteen movies together. Eastwood famously works with the same crew
whenever he can, and reuses actors he likes.
The story takes place in the town of Lago, shot at
the edge of Mono Lake, and after so many dry and dusty western towns, seeing
all of that blue water just beyond the town is startlingly lovely. But the people of the town are not nearly that
appealing. Clint simply moseys into town
for a drink, and is quickly set upon by a trio of thugs that at length get spectacularly
dispatched by ‘The Stranger’ – again, Clint is a man with no name.
It’s a town with secrets; a town without a man possessing,
“…a complete set of balls,” as one character puts it, and since he’s eliminated
the men they’d hired to protect them, they’re now eager to hire Clint to defend
them against a pack of enemies about to be let out of jail. When he finally agrees, the town learns they’re
not getting what they bargained for.
The script by Ernest Tidyman, who created SHAFT, and
whose adapted screenplay for THE FRENCH CONNECTION won him an Oscar, has
crafted the sort of plot that, while containing familiar western elements, goes
to wholly unfamiliar territory. The town
has a past they’d like to keep buried; the stranger has flashes of dreams or
memories; a man being beaten with bullwhips. While the story follows logically along, you’re
not always sure if what you’re seeing is a shaggy dog story or a supernatural
tale.
Eastwood with Verna Bloom
Another Eastwood trademark was just beginning to
emerge, the casting of actresses that usually didn’t do his kind of film, a
pattern that may have started with the almost all female cast in Don Siegal’s
THE BEGUILED. While Marianna Hill plays
just the sort of tart you’d expect in this sort of story, Verna Bloom, as the
only townsperson with a conscience, couldn’t be more unexpected.
Also notable in the cast are Walter Barnes if the
exceedingly likeable if gutless sheriff; Geoffrey Lewis as a creepy villain, in
the first of seven films with Eastwood; Billy Curtis, a Munchkin from THE
WIZARD OF OZ, who becomes the Stranger’s right hand; and most delightful of all
Paul Brinegar, RAWHIDE’s Wishbone, and Clint’s co-star for years, as the town
bartender.
The Stranger gets the town a makeover
Clint Eastwood has always credited Don Siegal and
Sergio Leone for teaching him about directing, and the Leone influence can
clearly be seen in the opening sequence, when The Stranger comes to town. There
is no dialog for seven and a half minutes, but there’s audio aplenty as the
hoofsteps and wheezing of Clint’s horse becomes music, in the same way that
squeaking windmills and dripping water and buzzing flies were music for the
opening of ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST.
This new BluRay edition of HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER comes
with a digital copy and an ultraviolet copy, but surprisingly, the only special
feature is the theatrical trailer.
Personally, I would prefer something different rather than the same
movie in three different formats. But
after all, you buy a movie for the movie, not for the extras, and this
beautiful edition of DRIFTER is a worthy addition to your cinema library.
MY DAY AS A WESTERN ‘EXTRA’
Yesterday, Saturday, October 26th, 2013,
I had my first experience as an ‘extra’ on the set of a Western. The film is entitled WESTERN RELIGION (#WesternReligion) , and it
was day six of a nineteen day shoot.
For the uninitiated, an ‘extra’, a.k.a. a spear
carrier; atmosphere; or among the self-aggrandizing, a supernumerary, is
defined as “…a minor actor in a crowd scene.”
They are the people who, without drawing attention to themselves, make a
scene look normal, making a street, or restaurant, or theatre not seem deserted
aside from the lead actors. They are the
human visual equivalent of elevator music.
I’ve been on sets with costumer Nikki Pelley any
number of times, and the last couple of occasions she’d been daring me to be
dressed and put on-camera. I would have
visited the set, to report on the shoot, anyway – and will cover the film and
the filmmakers extensively next week. But
the offer to appear in costume, made it irresistible.
The tent city.
The film, set in 1879, concerns the town of
Religion, Arizona, whose town fathers want to draw attention to, and investment
in their community by promoting a high stakes poker tournament. The shoot was at Peter Sherayko’s Caravan West Ranch in Agua Dulce, a
huge, wild and mountainous place, frequently seen in movies, dramatic TV shows
and reality shows, that I’d previously visited for the filming of WYATT EARP’S
REVENGE, among other projects. WESTERN
RELIGION had originally been scheduled to shoot on the Western street at the Paramount Ranch in Agoura. But the recent federal government shutdown
closed National Parks, including the Ranch, and the filmmakers needed to find
another location, and fast.
A tent city has been erected at Caravan West Ranch which, considering the premise, is actually more
logical and historically accurate for the setting than a well-established Western
town would be. I saw the tent city when
I arrived at 8:30 a.m., and I thought it looked wonderfully unfinished, in
transition.
Nikki Pelley
I’d supplied my hat, shirt and pant sizes ahead of
time, so clothes could be pulled with me in mind. I was told to bring my own boots if I had a
good pair, and I did. I brought a hat as
well, a black ‘Stallion’ by Stetson, much like James Garner’s MAVERICK
hat. It would have been fine for a 1960s
TV Western, but it wasn’t historically authentic, and Peter Sherayko, who
helped revolutionize the demand for historical accuracy with TOMBSTONE (read my
reviews of his books HERE ), was in charge of props and costumes.
Likewise, my trousers would have been acceptable if they didn’t have
cuffs. I was fitted in period pants,
shirt, vest, and hat – with a much smaller brim than we think of for
Westerners, but historical photos show that it’s correct.
Me, in costume.
There is a wonderful story in Bob Thomas’s excellent
biography, THALBERG: LIFE AND LEGEND, about the first movie the Barrymores made
together, RASPUTIN AND THE EMPRESS (MGM 1932).
John and Lionel had both been active on film since the silent days, but
it was sister Ethel’s first film, and she took much persuading. The brothers flanked her at the premiere, and
when they lights came up, they were eager to get her reaction. She was stunned: “When did we do all that
acting? All I remember was waiting
between takes.” And for actors,
especially extras, waiting is what you mostly do on a set.
Director O'Brien, center, setting the scene.
I was fortunate that, being there in the capacity of
journalist as well as extra, I had pictures to take and people to interview,
because it was twelve full hours before they started to shoot my scene. Inside one of the larger tent buildings was a
saloon set – actually two saloon sets
divided down the middle of the room, representing watering holes in two different
towns. On the right as you enter, as a pianist
plays, and a comely saloon-girl looks on, a pair of tough drunks bully the
bartender, until a stranger comes in for a drink. The two make the mistake of picking on
him. He quickly shoots them both, as
well as two lawmen at another table, when they try to interfere.
Peter Sherayko (r) hands gun to Claude Duhamel, while
DP Morgan Schmidt frames shot.
Ass't Cameraman, having done slate, and knowing
what's coming, braces for Duhamel's gunfire.
Writer/director James O’Brien directs sometimes from
the set, sometimes from outside, watching the video feed from the RED camera. Although the scene will be brief on-screen, it’s
very complex, involving a lot of cutting in the editing room, and a lot of gunfire
on the set. We all wear earplugs. Stuntman Frankie Ray, gun half-drawn, is shot
out of his chair, and crashes to the ground, at least nine times. One chair is destroyed and another is damaged
– I don’t know about Frankie’s back.
Every time Claude Duhamel as the stranger needs to fire his gun, it
needs to be loaded and unloaded by armorer Sherayko. This
is not my scene – I’ll be in the saloon at the other side of the set. But I watch for hours, and I never even see
the lawmen that Claude kills – their shots are done later, while I’m doing
interviews, all of it to be assembled like a jigsaw puzzle.
Outside the saloon, wrangler Kevin McNiven walks horse back
and forth in front of doorway, to give 'life' to street as seen from
inside. Dust seen in the air is being kicked up by a P.A. for
the same reason.
It’s sometime after 8 p.m. when those of us in the
next saloon scene are told we’ll soon be needed. I don’t the exact time because I don’t have
my watch – I took it off when I dressed, knowing what a faux pas it would be if that 20th century item slipped
from my sleeve and appeared on-camera (even though mine features Roy Rogers and
Trigger). I also had to remember to
remove my glasses before they started filming.
Most lenses today, mine included, are largely rectangular. Lenses of the period were circular. One of the other extras is Howard Coleman,
who will be armorer for several days on the film. He can wear his own glasses: they were 1952 Government
Issue when he was drafted for the Korean War.
They could easily have been issued for the Civil War.
Our scene, in another saloon, though shot in the
opposite end of the same room, involves a pair of card games. At the main table, four men play poker. One of them, Salt Peter, played by producer Louis
Sabatasso, bickers over a pot with a much bigger man, known as Goliath. Goliath pulls a gun, but Salt Peter stabs him
to death. As Salt Peter gathers his
winnings, the dealer, played by Jeffrey Hendrick, shows him a handbill about
the poker tournament in Religion, Arizona.
He decides to go.
There is a second poker game going on, and that’s
where I am, along with Howard, and a young man who has been building sets all
day; they were short one man for the scene, so his hammer and saw have been
taken away, and he’s been put in costume.
The camera is shooting through our game to the other game. The camera is low, DP Morgan Schmidt doing
his own camera operating, with Howard on the left of frame, me and the other
guy on the right. It should be an
interesting shot.
At the other table, they’re playing with authentic
period cards. At ours, the backs are
good, but the faces are modern. We have
to avoid showing the faces to camera. We
each have a shotglass of liquor on the table.
We have stacks of coins to play with.
Some are silver-dollar- sized Mexican pesos and smaller centavos. Others are carnival tokens, and gold-colored
Elvis Presley and presidential tokens.
They all look good if they’re not in close-up. As the rehearsals begin, we’re told to just
play poker naturally. We do, although we
all forget at the end of the hand, and put our cards down face up.
As they start doing takes, we are re-directed to not
actually talk, but mouthe how many cards we want. We decide how many on advance, regardless of
what we’re dealt – after all, the camera can’t see it. More takes.
They like our action, but not our noise.
Howard can’t very well riffle-shuffle the cards silently, so he switches
to an overhand shuffle, which is much quieter.
Unfortunately, to keep the card faces from being visible to camera, he
must shuffle from his left hand to his right – try this some time if you’re a
right hander; it ain’t easy. We can drop
our cards on the table, but we can’t toss coins into the pot as we bet, because
they ‘clink’ together. When you win a
hand of poker, try raking in your coins without them ‘clinking.’ It takes practice; but we got good at it as
the night progressed. I sipped my drink whenever
I thought of it – it was a quiet, but natural movement, and the sips of
watered-down Coke were surprisingly refreshing.
Depending on the angle, sometimes we had to lean
back unnaturally so we weren’t blocking the main action. The last couple of takes, closer (I think) on
the action, we couldn’t bet or put down cards, as our hands would have filled
the screen. So we held our cards,
shifting them, re-ordering them. I switched
them from one hand to another while I picked up my drink. Anything to make the card-hands not look
unnaturally motionless, but not moving them enough to distract.
When the camera moved in even closer on the main
table, we were done for the night, and outside of the saloon, In-And-Out burgers and fries were
waiting for us. It was a long, long day,
but a fun and interesting experience, and I’d do it again. Only now I’ll try and get a line of dialog! And next time ride a horse! And next time get shot!
Next week I’ll have full coverage on WESTERN
RELIGION, and the people who are making it, on both sides of the camera.
COSTUME DRAMA TRAUMA
By Henry C. Parke
(Note: This article was originally written for my
other blog, STALLING TACTICS, and I think it’s a natural follow-up to MY DAY AS
A WESTERN EXTRA. If you enjoy it, please
check out STALLING TACTICS HERE. )
September 3rd, 2013
I
love being on movie sets, especially Western movie sets, where the boardwalks
and wooden store-fronts, horses, costumed actors, and guns make you feel like
you’re time-traveling. The last time I
had the privilege, writing for the Round-up, the wardrobe mistress said, “Next
time, I’ll dress you, and you can be an extra.”
It sounded like fun. I’d been an
extra here and there in friends’ movies.
I was one, or actually did a small ‘bit’, in a picture I co-wrote the
original story for, SPEEDTRAP (1977). When
detective Joe Don Baker is dodging gangster Timothy Carey in the sleazy block
of Phoenix (which we had to manufacture), he zips by me and a hooker, and if
you strain your ears, you can hear me say, “Gee, a hundred dollars is a lot of
money,” and her responding, “Well I’m a lot of woman.”
I
got a call from my wardrobe lady friend that she was dressing a Western at
Paramount Ranch, and I was invited! I
was all psyched at my return to the screen, so you can imagine my
disappointment when I got a call back that they couldn’t use me: only S.A.G.
extras. Oh, well.
Then
I recalled that I actually had played
a small, costumed role in a period picture.
It was back when I attended NYU Film School in the 1970s, and in addition
to making your own films, you were crew, and sometimes cast, in other people’s
films. A friend was directing a comedy,
a faux documentary about a fake
poverty row movie studio of Hollywood’s golden age. He needed clips from nonexistent films, and I
acted in a few. One was a World War II ‘Battle
of the Bulge’ epic. The gag was that,
being a poverty row studio making a war movie during the war, all the big
studios had rented the proper uniforms for their
war movies. So we had to make do: the
Nazis dressed in Confederate uniforms, and the U.S. Army in Salvation Army
uniforms.
I
was delighted to find myself, at dawn, in Morningside Park, dressed in a
well-tailored Confederate Captain’s uniform, complete with hat and sword. We were going to start with a big battle
scene, involving both armies. But just
as the camera was about to roll, it couldn’t.
The director of photography had forgotten to charge the power-pack that
ran the camera. He hurried off to plug
it in. We would have at least a two-hour
delay before we could begin. As this
shoot was destined to run late, and I had made plans for the afternoon, I
needed to find a payphone. It was
awfully early, but if I didn’t call then, I might not have a chance for hours.
There
were no payphones in the park, so I walked out of the park, onto the
streets. Did I mention that Morningside
Park is in the middle of Harlem? Harlem,
the home of the Apollo Theatre, the Black Panthers, and in those days, zero
white people? So I started walking along
the streets of Harlem, at dawn, wearing a Confederate Captain’s uniform, complete
with hat and sword.
There
was not a soul on the street. The first
phone booth I came to had a phone, but no receiver. The second had no phone at all, and the booth
had been converted into a make-shift urinal.
The third one had a complete phone, and I made my call. As I talked, I noticed an older sedan parked
across the street from me. There were about a dozen Miller High Life bottles
lined up on the sidewalk beside it. The engine
was off, but the headlights were on, dim, like they’d been on all night. A few figures lounged around inside.
I
finished my call, and left the booth, starting my long walk back to the
park. The sword slapped against my left
leg with each step.
From
behind me, from the direction of the lone car, I heard a voice. “Hey!”
I kept walking. “Hey you!” I kept walking. “Hey you!
Soldier boy! Come ‘ere!” The voice was accompanied by laughter.
“Yeah!”
another voice joined in. “Johnny
Reb! We want to talk to you!”
I
heard the engine cough. I thought maybe the
headlights had drained the battery. I
hoped so. Then I heard the engine start
up strong. I reached a corner. A right turn would bring me closer to the
park, but a left would be the wrong way on a one-way street for the car I could
hear gaining on me. I turned left.
They
turned left anyway. I thought it was
time to start running. Try running while
wearing a sword – no wonder the officers rode horses.
I
heard a shattering smash as a Miller
bottle hit the sidewalk a distance behind me.
The next one was closer. I
changed direction at every corner, but of course I didn’t lose them, not in
their car. I heard a lot of laughter and
hooting and hostile comments. Even as I
was ducking bottles, I couldn’t help admiring the ‘Johnny Reb’ reference – I
don’t think I could have come up with anything that good that quickly. The next catcall truly amazed me – someone in
the sedan was calling him and his friends Buffalo Soldiers!
Finally
I reached the street with the entrance to Morningside Park. As I bolted for the winding downward path, I
saw three iron posts jutting up from the ground, across the entrance, perhaps
to prevent carloads of Buffalo Soldiers from driving down.
As
the car screeched to a halt across the street, and young men began to pile out,
I faced them, drew my sword, and shouted, “F#ck you and Abe Lincoln!” Then I
turned and ran like Hell down into the park.
I
ran into camp, screaming for help, and as the Buffalo Soldiers appeared at the
bottom of the path, they faced twenty armed, uniformed Confederate soldiers,
and a cannon was being swung into position.
I don’t know what they thought, but was grateful that they ran back up
and drove away, perhaps never to drink Miller
High Life again.
THAT'S A WRAP!
That's all for tonight. Next week I'll have, among other things, news about a renewed western series, and a new western feature or two in the planning stages.
Happy Trails,
Henry
All Original Contents Copyright October 2013 by Henry C. Parke -- All Rights Reserved