In 1864, due to frequent Apache raids from Mexico into the U.S., a Union officer decides to illegally cross the border and destroy the Apache, using a mixed army of Union troops, Confederate POWs, civilian mercenaries, and scouts.
A renowned former army scout is hired by ranchers to hunt down rustlers but finds himself on trial for the murder of a boy when he carries out his job too well. Tom Horn finds that the ... See full summary »
A week with Junior Bonner, a rodeo pro on the wrong side of 40, broke, bruised, and headed into Prescott, his home town, for the annual 4th of July Frontier Days. His dad, Ace, is a dissolute dreamer fixed on finding gold in Australia; his mom is resigned to Ace's roving; his brother Curly is tearing up the countryside to make a million in real estate. Junior just wants to stay on a bucking Brahma for eight seconds, hang out with Ace, find a way to spend time with a beautiful woman whose eyes catch his, and earn enough to get to next week's rodeo. As the old West and its code give way to progress, Junior is lonesome, laconic, and on the road - just where he wants to be. Written by
Preston and Lupino play the parents of Junior Bonner, but both were born in 1918, making them just twelve years older than McQueen. See more »
During Junior's last bull ride, one of the shots shows him riding a different (smaller) bull. See more »
Junior, you're my brother, and I guess I love you. Well, we're family. I don't care what you do. You can sell one lot or a hundred lots. I'm just tryin' to keep us together.
Junior 'JR' Bonner:
I gotta go down my own road.
What road? I mean, I'm workin' on my first million, and you're still workin' on eight seconds.
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I first heard of this film on a trip to Prescott for the 1973 rodeo. Three days of hard liquor, sex and wild livestock (I had sat out Woodstock in an NYC jail and had to make do) Of course the film was all the buzz but the highlight of '73 was an ill-advised visit by a chapter of Hell's Angels who didn't know the locals carried side arms. They had a most humiliating exit. The former territorial capitol, a moribund Prescott sat between the exhausted gold fields in the mountains and the ranches suffering from poor beef prices out on the high prairie. The Palace Bar was the queen of a raucous grouping of saloons on Whiskey Row. A place to rub elbows with crazed prospectors and working cowboys. The town's only nod to modernity was a Western Auto Parts store and Sears Catalog outlet...I don't think they had a McDonalds.
Today the faceless crowd savors its victory. The ranchers cried "uncle" and gave in to the developers or joined them. Whiskey Row in name only the bars have become boutiques and the Palace is a salad bar. The city groans in gridlock under the traffic of her sprawling suburbs. Street widening has obliterated the familiar or bypassed now inaccessable charms. Strip malls and the usual fast food joints line the approaches for miles and miles. A flood of California retirees have raised the costs and codes to push Jo Don Baker's trailers to rural ghettos ranging thirty and forty miles out. Phoenicians have taken the old gold camps for summer homes and condos. The once unbroken mountain views and sweep of prairie are dappled blurs of asphalt shingle, stucco and neon. A straggling herd of antelope (a protected species) are under edict of removal in one housing developement and if Junior Bonner comes back to town he better be driving an Escalade.
The film is a poignant story proven true. I haven't the heart to revisit the rodeo.
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