Fame—I’m Gonna Live Forever (“The Assassination of Jesse James . . . “)

The Western has never been my favorite film genre. Personally speaking, I‘m not much enthralled by horses and guns. But when one of my screenwriting students (someone whose tastes run from science-fiction to Pixar) called The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford his number-one film of all time, my curiosity was roused.

 What I discovered is that this 2007 film, written and directed by an Aussie named Andrew Dominik, has not had an easy history. After first, things seemed to be going well.  Based on a 1973 novel,  the project attracted the attention of Brad Pitt, who served as a producer along with Ridley Scott and others, while also taking on the Jesse James part.. Casey Affleck was cast in the essential role of Robert Ford, known to history as James’ killer. Others in the cast included the noted character actors Sam Rockwell, Sam Shepard, and Jeremy Renner, along with Mary-Louise Parker and Zooey Deschanel.  (Fun fact: political maven James Carville is briefly visible as the Governor of Missouri.)  The great Roger Deakins worked his magic as the film’s cinematographer, making the wintery Old West (played in the movie by the Canadian outback) look gorgeous indeed, while evoking a grim sense of foreboding. 

 But the money men in Hollywood wanted a film with less brooding and more action; they were not about to accept a director’s cut that lasted more than three hours. When the film finally surfaced, critics were impressed, but audiences were largely not. Though there were Oscar nominations for Affleck’s performance and Deakins’ camera work, the movie was a bomb at the box office.

 I’m not sure how the DVD I watched compares to the theatrical version. Yes, the film is long (160 minutes) and it’s sometimes hard to keep track of all the complex relationships within Jesse James’ criminal band, but I was never in the least bored. One of the film’s glories is its complex characterizations, exploring men who are both violent and gentle, cocky and self-loathing, greedy and generous. The focus is on the period in which James is a national figure known for daring exploits that include train robbery and lots of killings. At times he seems a happy man, enjoying a loving family and the adulation of young admirers. Elsewhere, he appears to be restless and almost suicidal. As for the nineteen-year-old Robert (“Bob”) Ford, he is awed by James’ exploits and thrilled by the opportunity to be part of the gang surrounding his hero. That is, until he decides, for several complex reasons, to kill the great man. (Ford’s emotional state can’t help reminding me of Mark David Chapman, whose hero-worship of John Lennon led to Lennon’s shocking 1980 murder.) 

 In the film, the killing of Jesse James itself sparked all sort of questions in me. Ford’s actions are ambiguous enough that it’s not even entirely clear that he’s the successful shooter. (I watched that scene twice, and I’m still not sure exactly what happened.)  What is definitely clear is that even in death Jesse James had far more power than Robert Ford. His dead body was photographed, and copies sold to eager purchasers all over the country. After which, on a bed of ice, his corpse was shipped out for public display to a fascinated (and ticket-buying) public. Meanwhile, looking for their own slice of the pie, Bob Ford and older brother Charles (Rockwell) booked themselves into theatres where they clumsily re-enacted the shooting, in front of audiences that refused to be impressed. Both brothers ultimately reached bad ends, drawing no attention whatever from the fickle public.  

 

Chilling Out with “Wind River”

When SoCal was sweltering in the grip of the summer’s third heatwave, I decided to take myself to the movies. A perfect choice was a film set in early spring in the frozen wilds of Wyoming. True, Wind River was filmed mostly in Utah. But its sense of place is so powerful that for the length of the movie I felt a genuine chill. 

“Wind River”  refers to an Indian reservation, one that’s about as desolate as can be imagined. In the film’s early going, a character who makes his home near the rez  explains the implications of this lonely place: “My family’s  people were forced here, stuck here for a century. That snow and silence—it’s the only thing that hasn’t been taken from them.”

It’s an apt quote, because this is a film about loss. Which means it’s tremendously sad, but also exhilarating, because the characters who people Wind River are so human: angry, funny, stoic, despairing, and determined to live out their lives on the best terms they can get. They include Jeremy Renner in another of his masterful from-the-gut performances as a hunter with the Fish and Wildlife Service, Elizabeth Olsen as an unlikely FBI agent, and a clutch of remarkable Native American actors, including Graham Greene, once nominated for an Oscar for his supporting role in Dances with Wolves. 

Dances with Wolves, which nabbed seven Oscars (out of 12 nominations) back in 1991, makes an interesting contrast to Wind River. When the Kevin Costner vehicle made its debut, it was hailed for its picturesque and highly sympathetic portrayal of Native American life. Unlike classic westerns in the John Wayne mold (see Stagecoach or The Searchers), it did not show Indians as heartless marauders, but rather as a sophisticated culture with a rich heritage. Of course, that was a period piece, as well as something of a romance, with the Indian characters coming off as noble savages. The Native Americans in Wind River have ordinary American names (Ben, Natalie, Martin) and wear ordinary American clothes. Old tribal rituals seem to have little appeal for them.  Some of these characters have aspirations to do more with their lives than just hang on. But most seem stuck in a place that discourages dreams. There’s hopelessness and drug abuse. And young Native American women blessed with beauty and spirit are all too vulnerable to threats from both within and without. The film ends with a shocking revelation: the FBI keeps no statistics on missing Indian women, whose numbers remain unknown.  

Taylor Sheridan, a native Texan, is best known as an actor for his role in TV’s Sons of Anarchy,. Recently he has written three important westerns: Sicario, Hell or High Water (Oscar-nominated for its screenplay), and Wind River. The latter, only his second film as a director, takes him far from his roots in the American Southwest, but allows him to air his strong concerns about Native American life in today’s United States. Wind River also shows us what’s best about an actor’s approach to screenwriting and directing: the characters are complex, and the script avoids on-the-nose dialogue at all cost.  At this year’s Cannes Film Festival, Wind River won plaudits and a Best Director award in the Un Certain Regard competition. Here’s part of Sheridan’s Cannes speech: “There is nothing I can do to change the issues afflicting Indian country, but what we can do as artists -- and must do -- is scream about them with fists clenched. What we can do  is make sure these issues aren't ignored.”