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How The West Was Won
One of the last of the classic Hollywood Westerns, the last
Cinerama story and one of the last hurrahs of the pre-television,
pre-film-school generation of old-guard professionals | Read more at in70mm.com The 70mm Newsletter
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Written by: Sir Christopher Frayling. Originally written as an
introduction for the film in Bradford. Later published and re-edited
especially for Cinema Retro
magazine. All images by Thomas Hauerslev | Date:
14.03.2014 |
How
The West Was Won began life not with a
script commission from the executives at Cinerama Inc or with an original
treatment sent in from an agent, but with a series of seven historical
articles in Life magazine—running from April 6th to May 18th 1959. These
were mainly written by staff writers from Life and were profusely
illustrated with paintings, photographs, period newspaper cuttings, maps,
diaries and documents; in some ways resembling the Time-Life books on the
Wild West, in their faux-leather covers, which were issued as a series later
in the 1960s.
After a prologue which proclaimed that the ‘winning of the West was justly
celebrated in song and story as THE American adventure’, the Life articles
began with the first exploration of the West by Lewis and Clark and the
mountain men. Then came an essay by celebrated author A.B. Guthrie Jr. (of
'The Big Sky', 'The Way West' and 'These Thousand Hills' fame) about how
these days most people tend to ‘travel [to the West] by way of illusion, on
page or screen’ rather than by making ‘the actual journey’ themselves. It
had recently been estimated that 25% of Americans’ television time was
devoted to watching Western series of one sort or another, from the 31 on
offer. What made the Western continue to live, Guthrie concluded, was that
‘it freed and frees us—it emphasised and emphasises us as individuals’,
rugged individuals who don’t like political dogmas or too much interference
in our lives. Guthrie’s article provided the intellectual and emotional
focus for the entire series—an updated mix of Theodore Roosevelt’s gung-ho
'The Winning of the West' (1889-96), where the series title presumably came
from, and Frederick Jackson Turner’s celebrated 1893 lecture 'The
Significance of the Frontier in American History', which famously argued
that the frontier experience, the great migrations of settlers westward,
shaped the distinctive American character ‘that comes with freedom’. As for
the idea of ‘winning’—well, Guthrie was at his most robust about what this
meant: ‘…the hell with Indians, Mexicans, British, the hell with weather and
windfall and river and range… wheels roll on, hoofs plod.’ Articles 3 and 4
exemplified this by describing the pioneers in their wagon trains on the
Santa Fé and Oregon trails (with a detour to look at ‘the colonizing of
Texas’ and the Alamo); the Mormons and their discovery of the promised land
in Salt Lake Valley; the Gold Rush and the rise of the city of San Francisco
with its ‘mixture of races prominent in gold rush days’. The fifth article
opened with the Indian Wars, which started—it said—because various tribes,
especially the Sioux, thought ‘not illogically, that the land was theirs’:
Now the Indians watched the white man slaughter the buffalo, drank the white
man’s whisky and blamed him for its wild consequences, died by the thousands
of smallpox and others of his diseases. Confined, many of them, to
mementoes, the Indians watched the whites push ahead with saw and plow…cheated,
confined, hungry, they struck back.
| More in 70mm reading:
How The West Was Won - In Cinerama
in70mm.com's Cinerama page
“How the West Was Won” The Original
Cinerama Presentations
WSW 2011 Film
Introductions
Widescreen Weekend 2011
Internet link:
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Then came the dramatic entrance onto the landscape of ‘the most romantic
figure the nation ever produced’, the cowboy, and ‘the lawless men of a wild
land’, the outlaws—illustrated with paintings by Frederic Remington and
Charles ‘Kid’ Russell. The sixth article centred on ‘the Frontier’s Fabulous
Women’, the brave and strong emigrants, mail-order brides, long-suffering
wives, dance-hall girls, entrepreneurs, missionaries and actresses—all of
whom, it was claimed, ‘helped to tame the pioneers’ and domesticate them.
Finally, the series concluded with ‘fulfillment for a promised land’, a
survey of transportation in the West—barges, wagons, steamboats,
stagecoaches, the pony express and the transcontinental railroads always on
the move: ‘the West was alive with people in action’. These innovations were
followed by the ‘modern wonders’ of the wireless telegraph, the telephone,
the automobile, the freeways, the factories. An epilogue featured seven
stills from the film The Great Train Robbery, made in New Jersey in 1903,
and said to be: ‘…the first American movie with a true plot and, even more,
the first of the Westerns, a uniquely American art form which more than half
a century later is nowhere near the end of the trail’.
So the Life series began with the first explorers and ended with the closing
of the frontier and the rise of the Western movie. The next stage in the
story of the genesis of How The West Was Won was when Bing Crosby bought the
rights to the Life series of articles, and its title, because he saw
potential in an album of period songs and musical arrangements on the theme,
with a variety of performers. This was recorded in July 1959, just two
months after the Life series ended, for a 2-LP set in Living Stereo,
‘suggested by the series in Life’—with Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, various
orchestras and, for the final section, The Deseret Mormon Choir and The Salt
Lake Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Inserted in the gatefold record sleeve, with
the Life logo much in evidence, was a 24-page condensed version of the
magazine’s series, rearranged to match the order of the songs on the
records.
This double album was well received, and led to the idea that Bing Crosby
present and croon a television special of How The West Was Won on actual
locations in the West, but this proved too expensive and logistically
complicated so the package—articles and songs—was offered to the people at
Cinerama Inc/MGM, who were actively looking for a story with dramatic and
spectacular possibilities which could show off their very wide screen
process. Cinerama Inc and MGM had recently joined forces for this very
purpose, and Cinerama had moved its headquarters from
Oyster Bay, New York,
to the MGM Studios in Hollywood to help make it happen, and to help wean
audiences off those 31 Western series on television. Up to then, Cinerama
had only been used for travelogues and documentaries, such as This is
Cinerama, Cinerama Holiday and The Seven Wonders of the World. One of the
distinctive features of these films had been the celebration of America, of
American technical know-how and of fast-moving vehicles of various
descriptions—kinetic energy across the wide panoramic screen. This is
Cinerama, for example, had opened with a fairground rollercoaster and ended
with a patriotic montage called ‘America the Beautiful’ that apparently
reduced President Eisenhower to tears of delight. The Life series, and the
recordings, must have seemed a perfect fit. As has often been pointed out,
the very word ‘Cinerama’ is an anagram of ‘American’. So Bing Crosby sold on
his rights to the series—and thanks to Irene Dunne donated the resulting
profits to a hospital in Santa Monica.
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The earliest concept for the film (which was announced to the press at the
end of June 1960 as ‘the Great Western story’) had been for it to consist of
five episodes, each centred on a song, and each sung and narrated by Bing
Crosby and each based on one of the articles in Life—a semi-documentary
idea. It wouldn’t be a sort of Road to California, though, or even Grandson
of Paleface, but something much more epic in scale and ambition.
This legacy of the television special soon made way for a fully-fledged
narrative saga—still to be narrated by Crosby—which would begin in 1839,
take in the Gold Rush of 1849 and the Civil War of 1861-5, continue with the
post-war railroad boom and conclude in Arizona in 1889—a sixty-year,
four-generation span in all. The script was entrusted to James R. Webb—who
had written, among other films, The Charge at Feather River, Apache and Vera
Cruz—and his first full draft was dated 22 July 1960. It opened with a
pageant-style prologue, complete with rhetorical voice-over, showing in
tableau form (a): the Pilgrim Fathers arriving at Plymouth Rock (b): the
early settlers, the virgin soil and the Indians (c): Daniel Boone leading
emigrants through the Cumberland Gap (d): Lewis and Clark mapping the West
(e): the Mountain Men who followed them and (f): The building of the Erie
Canal. The story proper began with Lilith—one of the two female leads—on a
keelboat called The Flying Arrow, playing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ on an
accordion. The passengers all stand up, in reverence for the nation—although
the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ hadn’t in fact, in 1839, become the national
anthem. Already, the first half of the saga would be seen from the points of
view of two female characters—one a pioneer, one a dance-hall girl, both
with the suitably biblical names of Eve and Lilith. This would neatly
reference the sixth article in the Life series, about the women who were to
become the matriarchs of the nation. Halfway through Webb’s first draft,
there was to be a montage of all the major battles of the American Civil
War. In structure, it reads as if it is midway between the Life articles/the
double album and a narrative saga; a series of historical tableaux. By the
time of the next major draft, dated January 1961, much of the prologue had
been cut—as had ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’—and the story now began with the
Mountain Men and in particular Linus Rawlings, the character who was to be
played by James Stewart. The rhetoric of A.B. Guthrie’s essay for Life was
now reflected in a voice-over about how the West was ‘won from nature and
primitive man’, and how ‘Americans have a way of acting out their dreams’.
Gradually, and after many drafts, the screenplay was moulded into its final
shape, ‘loaded with enough plot twists to fill a dozen pictures’, with help
from veteran director Henry Hathaway (born 1898), the man who was credited
with having made the first outdoor film ever in Technicolor (The Trail of
the Lonesome Pine).
How The West Was Won would become the saga of the Prescott family,
originally from New England, and would include along their exodus to the
promised land a series of set-piece action sequences—on location and with a
lot of stunts—to show off the Cinerama process to its full advantage,
‘taking you right into the action’; the equivalent of the rollercoaster ride
in This is Cinerama: shooting the rapids in a wooden raft; a Cheyenne attack
on a wagon train; the bloody battle of Shiloh; a cattle drive; a buffalo
stampede; desperadoes shooting up a train; a runaway locomotive. There would
also be an emphasis on transportation to keep the story on the move, another
characteristic of Cinerama, as we’ve seen: keelboat, raft, wagon, pony
express, steamboat, stagecoach, railroad and buggy.
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The original idea was for there to be a separate director for each
episode—five in all—but in the end Henry Hathaway directed the most ('The
Rivers', 'The Plains', 'The Outlaws') and also supervised 'The Railroad',
directed by George Marshall (born 1891), which apparently needed quite a lot
of remedial post-production surgery: John Ford (born 1895) directed 'The
Civil War' sequences—from Linus and Eve’s log-cabin, through Shiloh and
aftermath, and back to the log-cabin after the death of Linus and Eve—and,
as many critics pointed out at the time, these were made in a distinctive
style, more emotional, low-key and intimate and less crisp, frenetic and
fast-paced than the rest of the film. The centrepiece had the audience
eavesdropping on a quiet moment in history. All of this led to the classic
credit at the beginning: ‘The Civil War Directed by John Ford’. I guess many
people think he really did direct the Civil War, by himself. Ford had very
recently directed John Wayne as General Sherman (the same character he
played in West) as his contribution to television’s 'Wagon Train' aired in
November 1960, 'The Colter Craven Story'. All three directors were veterans
whose résumés went back deep into the silent era: they had 150 years of
directing experience between them, as the publicists were later to point
out, and they were well-known for their work with Westerns. The four main
directors of photography were all born before 1905—one in 1895—they had all
lensed many Westerns before, and they had all won Academy Awards. Clearly,
these were gilt-edged Hollywood professionals, safe pairs of hands, who
could be trusted with this very expensive and cumbersome technology. The
cast of stars, too, was unusually mature for an action film—few of them
under 45—and they were mostly well-known for their work in Westerns, a
tight-knit, seasoned repertory company of actors: Spencer Tracy as narrator;
James Stewart as the mountain man; Walter Brennan as the river pirate;
Robert Preston as the wagon master; Gregory Peck as the tinhorn gambler;
John Wayne as General Sherman; Richard Widmark as the railroad construction
boss; and Eli Wallach as the last of the train robbers. Critic Pauline Kael
was to write soon after the release of How The West Was Won, in her review
of Kurosawa’s Yojimbo, that continuing interest in the Western was less
about the stories than about whether the ageing actors could still manage to
get on a horse. It was, she said, dying on its feet. The youthful lessons of
The Magnificent Seven had yet to be absorbed. Wallach—the bad guy in
The
Magnificent Seven—was in fact from the Actors’ Studio generation, a rather
different approach to acting—as was Karl Malden (the pioneer father), Lee J.
Cobb (the frontier marshal) and George Peppard (son of Eve Prescott,
soldier-turned-lawman). The two female leads were Carroll Baker (also
Actors’ Studio), who had made her name with Elia Kazan’s steamy Baby Doll,
and Debbie Reynolds, who usually specialised in musicals and light comedies
rather than dramatic roles of the range required here. Both were surprise
pieces of casting. Carroll Baker as the pure, virginal Eve? When she was the
same age as George Peppard, who was to play her son? Debbie Reynolds as the
teenage Lilith, who lives long enough to become a grey-haired grandmother,
with much tragedy in her life?
When How The West Was Won was released, some critics asked: ‘Where – for
example – are Gary Cooper, Burt Lancaster and Glenn Ford?’, to complete the
cast of Westerners. Well, according to the LA Times, all three were in fact
approached, but Ford and Lancaster were not available and Gary Cooper died
in May 1961 before he could appear. Spencer Tracy was originally cast as
General Grant, but over-runs on a previous film meant that he became the
narrator instead and Henry (Harry) Morgan took over his part. So Bing Crosby
withdrew from the project altogether.
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Pictureville
audience. Spot your self. Click the image to see a CINERAMA version.
SMILEBOX version thanks to Dave Strohmaier.
Carolyn Jones was signed very late in the day, to play Peppard’s middle-aged
wife Julie in the final section. This was because an entire subplot in which
a younger Julie—the daughter of buffalo hunter Jethro Stuart (Henry Fonda)
in 'The Railroad' section—and her relationships with Richard Widmark and
George Peppard—was cut in post-production. Julie was played by Hope Lange,
who was signed early in the casting, and stills of this subplot not only
survive, they were issued in error as part of the publicity campaign! Jethro
Stuart hopes that his daughter Julie will settle on Lieutenant Zeb Rawlings
rather than on Mike King—because he much admired Linus, Zeb’s father ("If
you’re anything like Linus, I’m glad you’re seeing her")—but Mike King of
the Union Pacific railroad can at least offer security and a wealthy future
("whatever else could be said about him, King had a future"). Eventually,
Julie declares her preference for Zeb, and they later get married
(off-screen) in time for 'The Outlaws' section and the conclusion. The
subplot still featured in the novelisation of the film by Louis L’Amour. Why
the subplot was cut, after it had been shot, remains a mystery. As does the
casting of Jones rather than Lange. Whatever the reason, Carolyn Jones
(playing older than her age) makes a sudden—and unexplained—appearance in
the final segment as the mature Julie.
The other sequence of significance which is known to have been cut happens
just before the train robbery, when Zeb clubs Marshal Lou Ramsey (Lee J.
Cobb) on the skull with a rifle, in a livery barn—because Ramsey is still
trying to prevent him from confronting outlaw Charlie Gant. In the film as
released, Lee J. Cobb still has the mystery wound on his forehead during the
actual robbery…
Scenic wonders, another Cinerama speciality, ranged from the High Sierras to
the Ohio River Valley, including Battery Rock and Cave-in-Rock State Park,
the Uncompahgre National Forest high in the Colorado Rockies, to the
Mackenzie River in Oregon to the Black Hills of South Dakota—the buffalo
stampede was filmed in Custer State Park, where 1,600 of them roamed—to Lone
Pine and Pinnacles National Monument in California, to several remote or
ghost towns in Arizona and finally to Monument Valley on the Arizona-Utah
border—John Ford’s favourite location, from Stagecoach onwards. Not quite
finally, because in the original Cinerama print there was an epilogue
showing aerial shots of the Hoover Dam on the Colorado River, the Golden
Gate Bridge, open-cast mining, vast wheatfields being harvested, a logging
camp and a spaghetti junction on the Los Angeles freeway, choked with
traffic. Some of these shots were recycled from the first two Cinerama
travelogues (the Golden Gate Bridge; the wheatfields—only with the shot
reversed). From wagons to railroads to other technical marvels to
automobiles was the general idea, a visualisation of the ‘modern wonders’
essay in the concluding Life magazine article. Some critics of the film,
though, thought this had to be a joke, cutting from a buggy in the wide open
spaces of Monument Valley to a traffic jam, with a voice-over about progress
and the legacy of the West today. How were the mighty fallen! But it wasn’t
a joke.
Over 75% of the film was shot on location. The credits were designed to
resemble the paintings of Remington and Russell, another nod in the
direction of the Life series.
The three-camera set-up—three interlocked 35 mm cameras in one, each set at
a 48o angle to the next, with the centre camera filming straight ahead, the
right-hand one filming the left-hand portion and the left-hand one filming
the right-hand portion—this set-up, when projected onto an enormous louvred
screen, amounted to a horizontal 146o angle of view, six times the size of
the usual Academy ratio and twice the size of 65 mm. An aspect ratio of
2.76:1, ‘approximately comparable to the eye’s full field of vision’. But
the equipment involved—seven three-camera cameras, 21 lenses in all—did
present huge challenges to the directors. Henry Hathaway and the surviving
directors of photography subsequently listed some of them for an article in
1983. You had to get 18 inches from an actor just to get a shot from the
waist up. For close-ups, in order to see what exactly you were doing, you
had to lie on top of the camera and look down on the person being filmed.
The actors had to hit their marks with absolute precision: if they moved
only slightly, they seemed to be moving abruptly. If you had one actor in
one panel talking to another in the centre panel—in a two-shot—the first
actor had to stand way back behind the actor in the centre or the eyeline
would look fake. Each panel created its own vanishing point—and in each you
could look down both sides of a building at the same time, so the sets had
to be built taller and smaller, at an angle, and with an exaggerated sense
of depth. And you couldn’t move the camera much or the picture would
distort—hence the static ‘tableau’ quality to many of the dialogue set-ups.
The opening dolly-shot (after the prologue) from the street to the wharf
where the Prescott family is waiting to embark was the first such shot ever
attempted with Cinerama. And you had to hide the sunlight with tree branches
and foliage or flowers, otherwise you’d have seen the sunlight three times.
And then there were the telltale joins between the panels, which had to be
hidden where possible with trees and lamps and corners of buildings,
anything that was vertical. Even so, you always had slightly overlapping
images. Because the single-panel prints which went on general release, after
the road-show presentation, were taken from the three-panel prints, the
seams between the panels remained. MGM Cinerama claimed that ‘former
Cinerama techniques [had been] improved’, but the join still irritated some
of the critics.
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John Ford for one never did get used to this heavy-duty equipment. When he
was asked to take on 'The Civil War section', he summoned photographer
Joseph La Shelle to his office at MGM—the man who shot Laura and most of
Otto Preminger’s best known films—and said to him: "Tell me—do you know
anything about this Cinerama crap?" He was an Academy-ratio man. But he
needn’t have worried, as it turned out. The 'Battle of Shiloh'
set-ups—crossing the river with field guns, the advance across a field, the
battlefield with the Union flag in the background—were all recycled from the
'Battle of Chickamauga' sequences of MGM’s Raintree County, of four years
before, where they represented Montgomery Clift’s baptism of fire. Raintree
County was the first film to be shot with Camera 65, a new 70 mm system
later to be re-branded Ultra Panavision, created for MGM by the Panavision
Corporation (the second film was Ben-Hur). The system was also used for
second unit and back projection work on How The West Was Won. In addition,
Raintree County was raided for a shot of a sternwheel riverboat at dusk
(from Montgomery Clift and Elizabeth Taylor’s honeymoon) and another,
briefer and more close up, which appears just before the intermission of How
The West Was Won. John Ford’s contribution to the combat footage was a
matching pair of shots of field plus firing, lined up in a row as if in a
salute—to no apparent purpose. The film did, however, include a shot of
Santa Ana’s massed army advancing on the Alamo, taken from The Alamo, which
may well have involved one of Ford’s contributions to the second unit on
that film. So there was something to console him, if consolation were
needed.
The musical score—and there was a lot of it—was by Alfred Newman, assisted
by arranger and choirmaster Ken Darby. The score had originally been planned
for Dimitri Tiomkin, of Red River,
High Noon, Rio Bravo and The Alamo fame,
but he had to withdraw from the project while recovering from eye surgery.
Newman wasn’t quite so well known as a composer, even though as head of 20th
Century Fox’s music department from 1939 to 1960, he had composed the
studio’s celebrated fanfare, had helped to launch the film careers of
Bernard Herrmann, John Williams and Jerry Goldsmith among others, and had
composed literally hundreds of film scores including, for John Ford, The
Grapes of Wrath and How Green Was My Valley. Ken Darby had been choirmaster
and arranger at Fox from 1948-1960: these two had worked together in close
association on the musicals Carousel, The King & I and South Pacific. So
although they weren’t exactly Western specialists (unlike Tiomkin), they
were very well placed to transform Bing Crosby’s double album into a big
score for an augmented 75-piece orchestra. Several of the album’s songs were
used in the film: ‘Shenandoah’, ‘Bound for the Promised Land’, ‘Ox Driving
Song’, ‘What Was Your Name in the States?’, ‘A Railroader’s Bride I’ll Be’,
‘Nine Hundred Miles’, ‘Careless Love’, to which were added other traditional
tunes including ‘Erie Canal’, ‘Rock of the Ages’, ‘Poor Wayfarin’ Stranger’,
‘Raise a Ruckus Tonight’, ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home’ and ‘The Battle
Hymn of the Republic’, all giving the film a folksy feel, albeit on a lush
scale. Some of the male solos were by Dave Guard, ex-Kingston Trio, backed
by his Whiskeyhill Singers: the original idea had been to use the Trio, at
that time a very successful folk band (‘Tom Dooley’ had been a hit record).
Alfred Newman added a big, muscular, orchestral main theme—school of Aaron
Copeland—performed by the MGM Studio Orchestra, as well as over thirty major
orchestral links. A theme tune, 'A Home in the Meadow' sung by Debbie
Reynolds, added Sammy Cahn lyrics to the traditional tune of 'Greensleeves'—according
to legend, composed by King Henry VIII for his future queen Anne Boleyn,
making this the only Western ever to have its theme tune written by a King
of England!
Filming began on May 26 1961, in the Ohio River Valley, and the final
voice-over narration was completed on June 7 1962. Originally, it had been
announced that How The West Was Won would be ready for a 4th of July 1962
premiere, but that proved far too ambitious a target. Unusually, How The
West Was Won opened first in
London in November 1962 (which is where I first
saw the film, at the three-strip Cinerama-equipped
London Casino), then in
Tokyo a month later and in Los Angeles three months after that, on February
20 1963. In all three territories, it was a smash hit. Variety—reviewing the
film in London—said: ‘There can be no element of doubt about how this, the
first story-line film in Cinerama to reach Europe, is the blockbuster
supreme, a magnificent and exciting spectacle which must, inevitably, dwarf
the earnings of the travelogues in the three-screen process. It will
undoubtedly run for several years…’ Others weren’t quite so sure. Bosley
Crowther in the New York Times described it, after the Los Angeles opening,
as a contrived patchwork of Western fiction clichés. The review finished on
the thought: ‘It should be called “How the West Was Done – to Death”.’
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Variety had been wrong about one thing, though:
The Wonderful World of the Brothers
Grimm was the second Cinerama story-film to be shot (in Europe),
but actually the first to be released. It had cost 6 million dollars, and
the feeling at MGM/Cinerama was that it was best to release the lower-budget
film first, building up to the 14.5 million dollar How The West Was Won. But
Variety was right about everything else. The film may have cost about six
times the budget of the average Hollywood feature at the time, but it earned
more than 50 million dollars in worldwide rentals on its first release, the
third most successful film MGM had ever produced, after Gone with the Wind
and Ben-Hur. Much of this revenue came from non-Cinerama cinemas, showing
prints made for single projectors—complete, still, with seams showing. How
The West Was Won was nominated for seven Oscars (with an emphasis on the
technical categories) and won three—for the screenplay, editing and sound.
Tom Jones swept the board that year. Traditionally, Westerns did not do well
at the Academy Awards. But it did win—significantly—a Thomas Edison Award
for being a ‘film that most serves the national interest’.
How The West Was Won, as it transpired, was the first and the last of the
three-panel Cinerama story-films. The first to be shot and the last to be
released. The moment had passed. Like the monorail in cities of tomorrow, it
was an idea of the future that soon became history. It was one of the last
hurrahs of old Hollywood, which opened eight months before the assassination
of President Kennedy. It has been called one of the last of the great
classic Hollywood Westerns, the end of an era before revisionism, irony and
self-consciousness set in, so mainstream and consensual in its attitudes
that its title and main theme were even used for the opening ceremony of the
1984 Los Angeles Olympic Games.
And yet, How The West Was Won had a deep influence on the future of the
Western as well. There was the increasing use of national parks as
spectacular settings—in the John Wayne film True Grit, for example, the most
prominent end credit went to the list of national parks where it was filmed:
audiences would no longer be satisfied with television-style studio backlots
and California ranches for their movie Westerns. There was the more liberal
attitude in big-budget Westerns to the Indians—or native Americans as they
came to be called—especially in the wake of the Vietnam War. How The West
Was Won opens with Linus Rawlings peacefully trading with friendly Indians
at their camp in the high country. 'The Railroad' section—with nasty
construction boss Mike King (Richard Widmark) clashing with more
accommodating and understanding Zeb Prescott (George Peppard), who wants to
liaise with the Arapahoe to stick to treaty obligations and conserve the
environment at the expense of ‘buffalo slaughterers’ —is unusually advanced
for a big-budget blockbuster. Okay, the film never really questions
‘progress’ as represented by the railroads, but as one critic has written:
‘[the film] had a surprisingly sympathetic treatment of the Indian question
and ecological issues’. And, come to that, a surprisingly cynical view of
the bloody battle of Shiloh: "It ain’t what I expected. Not much glory in
seeing a man with his guts hanging out." One problem—looking back—is that
the film makes no mention at all of slavery as the big issue, in 'The Civil
War' section. It excises slavery, perhaps as part of its overall spirit of
reconciliation and search through consensus for the widest possible
audience. There are no black characters at all, and ethnic minorities
throughout are just glimpsed at the edges of the screen. This has been
blamed on James R. Webb’s screenplay—a ‘whites only’ WASP version of the
West—but in fact his draft of January 1961 contains an explicit voice-over
reference to slavery as one of the primary causes of the Civil War. This was
subsequently cut, to make way for: ‘The South saw its power and influence
wane…and slowly the bitter seeds of Civil War take root’, which makes it
look as though the conflict was really about states’ rights instead. The
Life series, with its multicultural treatment of the Gold Rush and the
Indian wars, did better on this score.
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Another influence of
How The West Was Won was on the whole spate of ‘end of
an era’ outlaw films—bad guys who have outlived their times—especially in
the work of Sam Peckinpah. Many of these were based on/inspired by the final
section of the Cinerama film, and involved speeding locomotives.
Surprisingly, there was an influence on the Italian Westerns as well. First
of all, in the casting of Eli Wallach as Tuco in The Good, The Bad and The
Ugly. Sergio Leone told me that he didn’t cast Wallach because of his
performance as Calvera in The Magnificent Seven (the obvious connection),
but because of the moment in West when Wallach as Charlie Gant turns and
points his finger to mime the shooting of Zeb’s children at the Gold City
mine: "I adored his humour in this short scene…which showed me that Wallach
was a great comic actor. They said to me, 'Beware of him! He comes from the
Actors’ Studio,' but I wouldn’t listen. I knew from that scene that he was a
great clown." Leone’s later Once Upon a Time in the West was in many ways a
reply to How The West Was Won—questioning its view of ‘progress’, its
history of the transcontinental railroads and its overall celebration of
America; even directly quoting the auction scene in San Francisco, when
Lilith’s possessions go under the hammer. And then there was Lee Van Cleef,
who doesn’t even feature on the credits of West, although he plays one of
the river pirates (the lookout who shouts, ‘Customer!’) and who was about to
consider retiring from the movie business because his parts seemed to be
getting smaller and smaller. Leone remembered Van Cleef from High Noon,
The
Bravados, Gunfight at the OK Corral—and West—and a couple of years later
would cast him as Colonel Mortimer in for a Few Dollars More.
So, yes, one of the last of the classic Hollywood Westerns, the last
Cinerama story and one of the last hurrahs of the pre-television,
pre-film-school generation of old-guard professionals. It was also one of
the last times that actual Westerners appeared as themselves (well, almost)
in a film: the cast of native Americans in the wagon train sequences
included real-life survivors from Little Big Horn and Wounded Knee. But How
The West Was Won also contained the seeds of the 1960s Western, and beyond.
And it all began—strangely enough—with a series of historical articles and a
double album of songs sung by Bing Crosby and George Clooney’s aunt.
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Note
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The following proved especially useful in the writing of this article:
Sheldon Hall: How the West was Won (in The Movie Book of the Western, 1996); Greg Kimble:
How The West Was Won - In Cinerama (in American
Cinematographer, October 1983); James R. Webb’s draft scripts and related
materials (in the University of Southern California Doheny research
library); files of the L.A. Times; Louis L’Amour’s novelisation (1963); the
double-disc CD of Alfred Newman’s music (TCM Music) and the Gold Key comic
of the film.
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