I'm an admirer of John Ford. Let's face it, he probably has more unforgettable moments in more unforgettable films than any other American-born director. And despite his public obtuseness -- "Just a job of work!" -- many of those moments are subtle, both the humorous and the dramatic, aside from the blather and slapstick.
Beneath the bluster and the props, the proud eye patch and funny hats, there was the sensibility of a true poet. Rio Grande has some of those moments too. Troopers riding across the river to meet their Mexican counterparts; MacLaughlin weeping with booze while staring at his hand and saying, "That's the hand that did the dirty deed. I wish you'd take that stick and knock it off," just before Chill Wills raises this virtual baseball bat he's been carving and smacks it down full force into MacLaughlin's palm. Wayne talking to his son in the tent as his son asks, "Permission to speak frankly, sir?" And Wayne saying -- not "Sure, go ahead," but, "Within reason, yes." A bone-bred military response. (James Warner Bellah's dialog always sounds unusually good when pilfered openly for the screen, although the writer himself was a first-class imperialist.) O'Hara accusing MacLaughlin of being "an arsonist" as his face wrinkles with shame. (How did that get past the censors?) This is Wayne's first pairing with O'Hara and it works very well.
Yet, of Ford's so-called cavalry trilogy, this is the least impressive. It seems ill thought-out and not well executed. Ben Johnson, always a likable actor, is given lines like, "'Scuse me, Injun," as he knocks an Indian from a horse and takes over the seat. The Sons of the Pioneers have a dated sound now, too professional, as if they'd made records, as compared to, say, the improvised impression of Dick Foran singing "Genevieve" to the accompaniment of an accordion and mandolin in "Fort Apache."
During the climactic fight, Wayne and his men ride back and forth while Indians shoot at them, as if they were targets in a gallery, and one thinks there must have been a better way of getting the job done. The Indians here are brutal, treacherous, and impersonal, not up to the standards of the other two films. We need Pony That Walks here somewhere. It's not a bad film. Adults will enjoy much of it. I'd guess that the central issue -- should the military cross an international border to wipe out an enemy in a weaker nation -- resonated with audiences in 1950, who had just seen the Soviet Union and the Chinese Communists gobble up vast territories. The problem is that kids will get even more out of it. It must have gone over well in Saturday matinées.
Beneath the bluster and the props, the proud eye patch and funny hats, there was the sensibility of a true poet. Rio Grande has some of those moments too. Troopers riding across the river to meet their Mexican counterparts; MacLaughlin weeping with booze while staring at his hand and saying, "That's the hand that did the dirty deed. I wish you'd take that stick and knock it off," just before Chill Wills raises this virtual baseball bat he's been carving and smacks it down full force into MacLaughlin's palm. Wayne talking to his son in the tent as his son asks, "Permission to speak frankly, sir?" And Wayne saying -- not "Sure, go ahead," but, "Within reason, yes." A bone-bred military response. (James Warner Bellah's dialog always sounds unusually good when pilfered openly for the screen, although the writer himself was a first-class imperialist.) O'Hara accusing MacLaughlin of being "an arsonist" as his face wrinkles with shame. (How did that get past the censors?) This is Wayne's first pairing with O'Hara and it works very well.
Yet, of Ford's so-called cavalry trilogy, this is the least impressive. It seems ill thought-out and not well executed. Ben Johnson, always a likable actor, is given lines like, "'Scuse me, Injun," as he knocks an Indian from a horse and takes over the seat. The Sons of the Pioneers have a dated sound now, too professional, as if they'd made records, as compared to, say, the improvised impression of Dick Foran singing "Genevieve" to the accompaniment of an accordion and mandolin in "Fort Apache."
During the climactic fight, Wayne and his men ride back and forth while Indians shoot at them, as if they were targets in a gallery, and one thinks there must have been a better way of getting the job done. The Indians here are brutal, treacherous, and impersonal, not up to the standards of the other two films. We need Pony That Walks here somewhere. It's not a bad film. Adults will enjoy much of it. I'd guess that the central issue -- should the military cross an international border to wipe out an enemy in a weaker nation -- resonated with audiences in 1950, who had just seen the Soviet Union and the Chinese Communists gobble up vast territories. The problem is that kids will get even more out of it. It must have gone over well in Saturday matinées.