About the only reason to catch this dinosaur is to scope out that staple of the neighborhood theater – the cheap second-feature, then on the edge of extinction. Its like would soon migrate to those little screens spreading across living rooms everywhere. Similarly, director Landers would move over to TV, along with the 50-year old Foster, while the 40-year old Morris would soldier on in matinée Westerns for several more years. Then too, the plot has to be one of the hoariest in an industry that thrives on retreads, as two roughneck pals fight over the same girl. You know, the sort of thing Warner Bros. did ad-infinitum in the 1930's.
Despite these obvious drawbacks, the movie stands as an example of Hollywood professionalism, even at this, the sparest of levels. Take the oil well special effects. Try as I did, I couldn't spot the seams between the real stock footage and the studio effects. It's a first-rate blend, at least in my little book. Or take the two male leads. For a couple of aging, second-tier stars going nowhere in their careers, Morris and Preston could have walked through their roles. But they don't. Instead, each gives a lively effort as though this were a big-budget Boom Town (1940). Or take director Landers. No one would confuse him with a Welles or a Ford, or even a Walsh or a Hathaway. But this is a very smooth, well-paced effort, bespeaking a high degree of craftsmanship even at this, the most obscure of Hollywood levels. Sure, you've seen it all before, no surprises. Yet, the professionalism remains, a fitting tribute to a vanishing breed.
Despite these obvious drawbacks, the movie stands as an example of Hollywood professionalism, even at this, the sparest of levels. Take the oil well special effects. Try as I did, I couldn't spot the seams between the real stock footage and the studio effects. It's a first-rate blend, at least in my little book. Or take the two male leads. For a couple of aging, second-tier stars going nowhere in their careers, Morris and Preston could have walked through their roles. But they don't. Instead, each gives a lively effort as though this were a big-budget Boom Town (1940). Or take director Landers. No one would confuse him with a Welles or a Ford, or even a Walsh or a Hathaway. But this is a very smooth, well-paced effort, bespeaking a high degree of craftsmanship even at this, the most obscure of Hollywood levels. Sure, you've seen it all before, no surprises. Yet, the professionalism remains, a fitting tribute to a vanishing breed.