Flak Magazine: Review of Open Range, 08-20-03

After Reconstruction, the western novel cultivated Manifest Destiny into a biblical narrative of good and evil: law and order versus corruption and exploitation. The myth contemplates the moral complexity of the cowboy's faith that the selfless aspect of his killing will ultimately redeem his sinful ways. The so-called Greatest Generation glorified the western, which justified killing not as mere righteous retaliation, but as a divine duty to protect the world from evil — and so it's no surprise Hays Code Hollywood performed the western more than any other genre. But after Hays, in the moral murkiness of Vietnam, filmmaking responded to public consciousness by becoming less didactic, and the western fell out of vogue.

The Manichean rhetoric of the war on terror should bring the western back into the public consciousness. What other form of American art more directly addresses the politics of the response to terrorism, especially as the president himself employs the rhetoric of the Wild West lawman ("Smoke 'em out" … "Round 'em up" … "Bring 'em on")? Has George W. Bush abused our national myth, as some suggest, behaving like the generic Corrupt Lawman whose violence is anything but reluctant, or is he, as others argue, Sheriff Will Kane in High Noon, acting with courage while the world cowers? It may not be readily apparent that the new Kevin Costner-directed Western Open Range would accommodate such inquiries, but consider the scene where Boss (Robert Duvall) tells Charley (Costner), whose gun in pointed at a helpless deputy, "We came for justice, not for vengeance. They're two different things, Charley!" Charley answers: "Splitting hairs now, aren't we, Boss?" Yes, we are — which is precisely why the morality play of the western needs a revival.

Though Costner barely dusts off this and other tough western themes, Open Range is a good start for getting the genre's values back into the collective consciousness. Open Range is the story of free-grazing cattleman Boss Spearman and his satellite Charley Waite, whose Civil War past is swallowed and barely held down, like a shot of cheap whiskey. They and their posse run afoul of Marshall Baxter (Michael Gambon), who dislikes free-grazers enough to have a posse of thugs on call to dispose of them. Boss is by nature a peaceful man, living the sort of gritty romance eulogized in cowboy poetry — we sense that Charley sees him as a guru to cleanse his soul of the war — but he's not a completely benign spirit: "Cattle's one thing, but one man telling another man where he can go in this country's something else."

So the two venture to town, knowing that if they run, they'll just be chased down later for a fight. The Corrupt Lawmen wear tarnished badges; martial law is antithetical to the spirit of the land, so Boss and Charley have a moral duty to unshackle the town. This, of course, leads to the gunfight, and it's a great surprise that Open Range features one of the most memorable of its kind. Rather than partake of voyeurism, the townspeople are entirely rational: They head for the hills. The unscored action and penetrating flintlock explosions frighten rather than titillate, and Costner takes a page from the Ron Shelton playbook: The two actually scout the opposing team. Clint Eastwood explained gunslinging as a killer's cool under fire, but Costner treats it more as high stakes poker. They discuss who will fire, who will fold, who will raise the pot when called; the divine chance that usually saves the cowboy hero becomes psychology and gamesmanship. It's a remarkable sequence that sets up the usual conflicts of vengeance and mercy, but because Costner invests so much sports-like psychology into the fight, these decisions seem much less contrived because the men show control over the situation.

Costner understands the Eden imagery inherent in the American myth, inspiring John Ford-quality portraits of rolling green hills and the like. As in Dances With Wolves, he underscores the narrative with the American landscape (even though Open Range was shot in Alberta): mountain-range backdrops in moments of resolve; thunderstorm floods that erode both the soil and the will; and the obligatory galloping horses carrying the spirit of the land. He also understands that the battle between good and evil is not fought between men, but within the hero himself — Charley might almost drown himself to save a man's dog, but he "Ain't got a problem with killin'. Never have." Costner's camera even develops his themes in the heat of battle: When good and evil run together during the gunfight, we witness the spectacle through opaque glass. Or when, out of view of the townspeople, Boss holds a gun to the head of his mortal enemy — whether he pulls the trigger is a measure of his character, and we witness the scene through iron bars and broken windows.

Costner's film is buoyed by Duvall's rough, playful performance. Boss can't be too gruff, else we can't believe that his men would follow him, so Duvall softens his rough edges with humor — but only on his terms: After a war of words with the sheriff, Duvall asks Costner, "What'd you think of my speech? Maybe I oughta run for mayor!" Duvall's charisma comes from his ability to remain a sage amongst savagery, which drove The Apostle and shaped his interpretation of Robert E. Lee in Gods and Generals. In Open Range, Duvall's mythic, quasi-religious sensibilities capture the secular-yet-biblical weight of the western — Duvall asks Costner to pray to God because "I ain't talking to that Son-of-a-Bitch. I ain't forgiven Him yet!"

As effectively as Costner deals with the mythology, Craig Storper's screenplay lacks the character and thematic detail that could have elevated Open Range above the archetype. The film's major weakness involves the romantic subplot between Charley and Sue (Annette Bening) the cookie-cutter independent woman who nurses the men back to health. To his credit, Costner represses the attraction between them. His best characters harbor an unspoken hurt that breeds romance, but his power is proportional to the development of the female character. There's a decline from Susan Sarandon in Bull Durham to Rene Russo in Tin Cup to Bening in Open Range. It's not that the actress isn't up to the task — Costner and Bening's tentative approach is admirable — but the characters aren't given enough scenes to earn the sentimental ending. Their attraction stems from an intuitive connection between wounded souls, but the resolution is disproportionate to their development.

Also disappointing is that the screenplay employs mustache-twirling Corrupt Lawmen, rather than flawed characters. (Sue screams "You're a disgrace!" at the marshall, to which he replies, "I know, and that's just the way it is.") In High Noon, we take for granted that Frank Miller deserves killing, as we do the Clanton boys at the O.K. Corral — but the new western must develop an idea of evil deeper than Snidely Whiplash, and one that turns it gaze inward. Gene Hackman's Sheriff Little Bill in Unforgiven elevates that film because he genuinely believes in hard-line justice. But where is the line between firm justice and corruption of power? When does retaliation become vengeance? Is there a difference between the pre-emptive tactics of Little Bill and the dark justice of William Munny? Eastwood addressed these essential questions and made an Oscar winner; Costner doesn't, leaving Open Range as an unrealized epic badly in need of more literate Wyatt Earp figure.

It will be interesting if Open Range becomes a surprise hit — and, indeed, its box office has so far exceeded expectations. Though imperfect, Costner's movie may touch a nerve with the moviegoing public and bring the western back to life. Under the right hands, the western can be patriotic art that, better than any other, affirms the complex values that define us as a people. It's our myth, and we should neither let it die nor be abused by those who would steal its language and imagery, but not its moral inquiry. Costner understands the archetype, but it will take our best artists to re-elevate the western to culturally defining status.

— Stephen Himes (stephenhimes@hotmail.com)