DVD Spotlight

Howard Hawks. John Ford. John Wayne. Three giant names in American cinema whose collective bodies of work paint a sweeping portrait of our country’s most distinct filmic pleasures. In this, it’s little surprise that Paramount chose these two films—El Dorado and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence—to induct into their ever-growing Centennial Collection. These two releases again support the hypothesis that CC films are largely concerned with the idea of iconography in movies, whether their interests lay in common character practices or definitive genre concerns.

In many ways these two films are similar, but these similarities are mostly superficially grounded; the actual meat of each film comes from two different animals or, rather, schools of thought.

John Wayne is a mythical figure in cinema, often representing the pre-war American hero—the epitome of what a man should be. Tall, broad shouldered and markedly powerful, Wayne also had a knack for demonstrating grace in his movement and certain poeticism in his words. He’s the type of man who gets shot and demands whiskey to ease, what seems to be, a mere annoyance to him. Of course, this is a bit different than the role of Clint Eastwood in the western genre, who is labeled as too pretty and too calculating by Wayne advocates. When Eastwood drew a gun you fell down, usually without getting a shot off. Conversely, Wayne is the type of guy who, though also being quick to the draw, is willing to take a bullet before wrestling your gun from your hands and beating you. In this, he’s almost more barbaric and grizzly, as are the western landscapes his characters generally inhabit. Nonetheless, he’s portrayed in these two films as decidedly “good”.

The worlds of our two films are alike in their rather grizzly nature and, although El Dorado focuses much of its attention outside its titular town (Liberty Valence tends to stay put), both develop ideas of western mythology within the confines of a common locale. Inside these archaic cities chaos reigns and the law is all but powerless. Powerless, that is, without the catalyst that is John Wayne. In these worlds, the gun is the grand equalizer—those who can’t fire one need not apply. Both Wayne personas (Cole Thorton in El Dorado, Tom Doniphon in Liberty Valence) not only are good with a gun, but famously so. His imposing stature and quick hands gave him widespread acclaim, at least as widespread as the technology of the times (I.E. word of mouth) would allow. Similarly, villains and their circles are of equal acclaim, though their names are obviously synonymous with infamy and dread.

Each film also features a character who’s a bit of a newcomer, a stranger to the way of life Wayne’s character lives or, at least, the milieu of the area (the men are played by two Jameses: Caan and Stewart). “Wayne” takes these two men under his belt and, naturally, they come to reflect the sensibilities of his west. Both Thorton and Doniphon represent a fairy godmother of sorts to their inexperienced counterparts -- they look after these young men and are always there to save their skin. Attributes such as this allow Wayne's personas to become as legendary to the movies’ other characters as they are to the viewer. “Meta-lore” seems to be an appropriate label.

Despite how closely the two pictures parallel each other (down to featuring an oddly transplanted Swedish character), I can’t help but reiterate how different they are beneath the surface. For starters, Liberty Valence is the better film and I’d attribute this to Ford being a better director of westerns than Hawks. Having done plenty of work in the genre, his aim seems to be to subvert convention rather than embrace it. Hawks, not known for his westerns, does the opposite and creates a fairly hollow tribute to the genre. Make no mistake, Hawks is a talented filmmaker and El Dorado isn’t without a sprinkle of wit and a handful of prudent aestheticism, but it’s dead wood thematically. It’s a story about stories, but without the narrative practicality needed to make such homage effective.

Meanwhile, Liberty Valence is laced with ideas that distort the realities of its characters. Though perhaps a bit obvious at times, notions of the eastern v. western Americas exist, made possible by Stewart’s character Ransom Stoddard. Stoddard, an east coast attorney, finds the western experience a bit disorienting. He cares little for guns and instead tries to educate, or, domesticate the west to meet the “progressive” society he comes from. There’s a problem with this though. As one character puts it. “You can’t shoot back with a law book.”

As expected, lessons are learned from both sides and a ton of other themes are present aside from the commentary on the straddling of societies. The local newspaperman proves to be a key figure in demonstrating how societal cornerstones like the first amendment are mere ideas if not protected. The film also puts a much greater emphasis on the place of women in society and the role of the hero than El Dorado.

As for the releases themselves, they mark a noticeable improvement from other Centennial Collection outputs, despite the cover art coming off as generic instead of classy. The extras, however, are finally done right. Instead of the piecemeal, mutually exclusive featurettes I’ve grown accustom to seeing from them, Paramount has put together longer, cohesive extras that actually delve into the ideologies the film represents; conveniently navigated by way of chapter stops. Token trailer galleries and the like still exist, but some of the more space-wasting, irrelevant features (such as the “Inside the gate” series) are now gone. In their place: better, more thoughtful commentary. If this is any indication of what’s to come from Paramount and the Centennial Collection, I earnestly look forward to their coming releases.