Seen It (Again): The Hired Hand (1971)

Quite a bit of what little time I do spend "watching" television consists primarily of my flipping through service provider menus looking for something (anything!) to watch.  It's been a few years since I last came across it on Netflix, but was happy to see Peter Fonda's directorial debut (and follow-up to his iconic turn as "Captain America" in Dennis Hopper's Easy Rider (1969)), The Hired Hand (1917), turn up on STARZ this past week.

In many ways, this quiet, meandering movie is the perfect palette cleanser for today's loud and obvious cinema. Suggesting Fonda learned from Hopper and cinematographer Lazslo Kovacs while Easy Rider, The Hired Hand retains many of the stylistic flourishes and meditative imagistic qualities that were so uniquely presented in Easy Rider. Overlapping fade-in transitions, languid, poetic montages, and the camera's tendency to patiently follow character interactions--all which stand in sharp contrast to modern film making's sped up shaky cams and "tell me now" storytelling. The Hired Hand was also the first feature for future Academy Award winning cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond (1977s Close Encounters of the Third Kind), whose ability to capture the spirit of the American Southwest is suggested here.

From the opening scene, a somber, reflective tone is established. Our two protagonists, Harry Collings (Fonda) and Arch Harris (actor Warren Oates, probably best remembered by my generation as Sgt. Hulka in Stripes) are resting by a river as their younger traveling companion, Dan Griffen (Robert Pratt) is seen frolicking in the water. Much is made of Harry's displeasure with Dan's silliness, though he is reminded by Arch that this is likely as the younger man is very much as Harry was in his youth. Arch and Harry two have been traveling the American Southwest together for seven years, and despite making plans to head to California, it becomes clear that Harry is tired of life as a saddle tramp. After catching something on his fishing line (the significance of which is revealed shortly thereafter), Harry decides to change course and return "home" to the wife he left behind to travel with Arch.

Along the way, as often happens in Westerns, the three stop in a dying desert town for a drink and run into some tough locals. When Dan is framed for some unseemly behavior, he stumbles into the hole-in-the-wall bar and drops dead. After exacting some painful revenge on a group of locals for the role in the death of their friend, Arch and Harry skip town. Of course, their actions will come back to haunt them later. If there is an external conflict in the movie, and one complaint about The Hired Hand has been that it lacks a clear narrative, this is it, though it only returns for resolution in the final 15 minutes of the movie.

In The Hired Hand, however, it is the internal conflicts of the two leads, which come to the forefront once the two reach Harry's old homestead and his estranged wife, Hannah Collings (Verna Bloom), is introduced. Still angered and hurt by Harry's withdrawal from her (and their daughter's) life, he convinces Hannah to allow him to stay, not as her husband, but as the hired hand of the film's title. Arch, ever the loyal partner, stays with Harry in order to help his partner repair this damaged relationship. In the end, however, it becomes clear that Harry will need to end his seven-year  relationship with Arch if he is to embrace a new domestic life with Hannah.

Of the things that make The Hired Hand recommended viewing, it is Warren Oates performance as Arch that is foremost. As played by Oates, Arch is the only character that is provided with the opportunity, by virtue of his sincere and honest humor, to develop beyond the somber, sad realities depicted here. Arch has clear affection for those he chooses to include in his life, a quality clearly expressed in his easy going manner with Hannah's daughter, who has lived her life thus far with the understanding that her father is dead.

Aided immensely by Bruce Langhonre's haunting (and critically acclaimed) score and cinematographer Zsigmond's picturesque vistas, The Hired Hand (1971) works best as a character study, albeit one with with some good ol' fashioned gun play thrown in for good measure. An unusual Western that embraces (much like fellow neo-Western Easy Rider)  the platonic, romantic relationship between Arch and Harry, it subtly, and beautifully, depicts the strong hold friendship can have on those involved. 

The Hired Hand is an odd movie that rewards carefully viewing (and re-watching). It is also very likely not for everyone, but, if you dig 1970s movies and film-making, or neo-Westerns, I recommend you give it a try.  Once available on Netflix, and now on STARZ, many finer public libraries may also have an old copy waiting on it's shelves waiting to be rediscovered.

Summer Reading: Solaris

The cover from the 2002 edition attempts
 to capitalize on elements of romance further
developed in the film version.; the novel,
 however, is more concerned with the
relationship between the planet and it's
 protagonist, Kris Kelvin. 

Continuing my unplanned tour through the literary universe of science-fiction classics, I recently concluded a reading of Polish writer Stanislaw Lem's Solaris (1960), or, to be specific, the common translation of the French edition published in 1971 by Joanna Kilmartin and Steve Cox. If you are familiar with either the 1972 (directed by Andrei Tarkovsky) or 2002 (directed by Steven Soderbergh and starring George Clooney) film versions, the novel has a very different bent from both. Having recently re-watched (and enjoyed each for different reasons) both films, the novel is a much more satisfying traditional science-fiction experience. While both films focus primarily on the romantic relationship between primary characters, Lem's Solaris is much more a meditation on the relationship between man and the unknown.

At 19.00 hours, ship's time, I made my way to the launching 

bay. The men around the shaft stood aside to let me pass,

 and I climbed down into the capsule. (page 1)

Told from the first person perspective of the novel's protagonist, psychologist Kris Kelvin, Solaris details his experiences on a mission to the space station orbiting the planet. When his former instructor, Dr. Gibarian, and the crew of the space station begin experiencing some unusual anomalies, Kelvin is sent to determine what is amiss. When he arrives on the space station, Gibarian has recently committed suicide and much of who and what he encounters causes Kelvin to question both his own sanity as well as the intentions of the planet.

"Those are not facts, Kelvin. They are not even propositions. They are theories. 

You could say that it has taken account of our desires locked into secret recesses of 

our brains. Perhaps it was sending us... presents." Snow to Kelvin (192)

One of the themes explored by Lem is the implication of man's desire for contact with extraterrestrial life when no common ground exists on which the two species can connect. This issue stems from the assumption on the parts of most sci-fi (and UFO)  aficionados that should we encounter aliens they will in all likelihood physically resemble humans or at the very least communicate in a manner that is decipherable by humanity. In Solaris, the "alien" encountered (a planet-sized organism!) is so unique to humanity's experiences, that the shared efforts to  communicate or interact by both parties are seen as potentially aggressive in nature. When humanity seeks understanding of Solaris' perceived planetary surface via exposing it to an array of elements and radiation (a normal scientific response to an unknown would be assessing the discovery's response to certain stimuli), Solaris responds in kind by initiating interaction by creating physical manifestations drawn from the memories of loss each human visitor holds.

I closed my eyes. Her [Rheya's] heart was beating against mine. Her heart? 

A mere appendage, I told myself. But nothing surprised me any longer, 

not even my own indifference. ... (91)

It is the nature of the relationship between Kris and his "visitor", his late wife Rheya, that creates the opening for the romantic elements developed in both films. Here, though, Kris (and the reader) are much more aware of some of Solaris' physical properties which might account for the more analytical approach. The focus of the philosophical questions posed by the novel seem trained on the humanity-alien relationship rather than the human-human one.

Genius and mediocrity are dumbfounded by the teeming 

diversity of the oceanic formations of Solaris; no man has 

ever become genuinely conversant with them... (111)

Lem effectively conveys a scientific-sounding basis for the alien life form. The reader is given a significant amount of background on Solaris' composition and topography as Kelvin makes these discoveries for himself. Because he is led to review articles and documents cataloged on the space station while following clues left behind by the deceased Gibarian, Kelvin serves as Lem's vehicle for exposition. Kelvin's review of the research provides a detailed introduction to a somewhat sentient planet, though offers no resolution to some questions--how could it? Because the story is told from the protagonist's perspective the answers the reader craves cannot be answered as if the tale were being told my a third-person omniscient narrator.

Solaris by Stainslaw Lem is a classic in large part because of the deep philosophical questions it poses. This brief post does not even scratch the surface of all that Solaris touches upon (suicide, for example).  Despite potentially off-putting scientific language and an absence of traditional resolution, I found Solaris to be a very accessible and engaging (if nontraditional) summer read. The question I always find myself posing after reading good science-fiction, is "why aren't more ANY of these part of high school English curriculum?" Novels such as these (I would exclude the trendy and popular approved school reading list novels The Hunger Games or Twilight) strike me as a completely untapped reading resource for a variety of purposes...

From Barlowe's Guide to Extraterrestrials (1987)

Honoring the Spirit of Iron Eyes Cody

As is common practice, while awaiting the start of the Class A race this past weekend at the New York State Cross Country Championship in Elma, New York, myself and a few coaches walked parts of the course. While doing so, one coach , between talking points, finished drinking the remainder of a plastic bottle of water he had purchased. Upon drawing the final swig, he walked ahead of our small group of four, looked around and flipped his bottle into a small area of long grass just to the side of the path.

I happened to see this and quickly prompted the coach to "pick up your litter, there's cans and bins all over the place!" There were indeed trash and recyclable receptacles throughout the course and in the tent village where teams had set up shop for the day. This brief interaction prompted a short discussion during which one of my colleagues asked, "Do you remember that old commercial with the Indian who had the tear running down his cheek?" I did.

Despite a concerted effort on the part of communities, schools, and businesses to promote recycling, my friend still thought little of simply dropping his garbage on the ground. Of course, this doesn't make him "bad" or "evil," but it is indicative of a level of short-sightedness. Nationally, we may all be negligent in this regard.  I distinctly recall as a child in the Seventies, watching two television characters in particular do their darnedest to teach children (and adults) about the importance of recycling: Iron Eyes Cody and Woodsy Owl.

Star of the ad at the top of the post, Iron Eyes Cody was most famous for his "crying Indian" role in the "Keep America Beautiful" Public Service Announcement (PSA) in the early 1970s. It was an ecology commercial in which Cody, playing a Native American, sheds a tear after some trash is thrown from a speeding car and lands at his feet. The announcer, William Conrad, of Bullwinkle and Cannon fame, memorably declares: "People start pollution; people can stop it."


While Iron Eyes was a serious, powerful combination of image and message, I have always been  partial to United States Forest Service mascot, and spokes-bird, Woodsy Owl. Another environmental icon, he first came on the scene in 1970 for the first Earth Day in order to raise awareness in children and families for protecting the environment. Having been through a number of updates and hip redesigns, 40+ years later, Woodsy's messages of common sense conservation still lingers in my memory: "Give a hoot, don't pollute."

When my friend did pick up his bottle, and together we found an appropriate blue bin to drop it into, it was good to feel in some way the ghosts of those old PSAs past were pleased by the tiny difference this act (among many more) have made.

Seen It: Captain Apache (1971)

Five years after a young Burt Reynolds donned the red face makeup and fright wig to play the heroic Navajo Joe (1966), veteran Spaghetti Western icon, Lee Van Cleef of The Good, The Bad and the Ugly (1967) fame, also took to dressing as an Indian warrior in the "classic" Captain Apache (1971). Of course, Lee did Burt one better by also contributing "vocals" to a happenin' theme song--though the singing appeared to be little more than spoken word clips from the movie.

In the film, directed by Alexander Singer, Van Cleef stars as the "redskin in cavalry blue" who bungles upon a presidential assassination plot. Few movie summaries sell a film as well as this one from The Spaghetti Western database: "Captain Apache wears a funky coat, trips on psychedelics, beats up twin gay gunslingers and constantly gets called red ass, all while trying to find out what the words 'April morning' mean."

A fan of Van Cleef, I have actually watched this film a few times as it allows the actor the chance (of which there must have been very few for a character actor--a bad guy one at that) to showcase his considerable, and under-appreciated, chops. It was also the rare role for which Van Cleef did not wear his iconic mustache; a facial hair configuration that had done more than it's share of twirling above an evilly laughing smirk.

Traditionally against as the villain, Van Cleef played up his anti-hero role here with humor and gravitas, taking advantage of the chance to indignantly decry the treatment of Native Americans in the days following the Civil War. While that may be overstating the intentions of the film, much like Reynold's aforementioned turn in Navajo Joe many years earlier, there is a sense of dignity in Van Cleef's performance, but I cannot recall when, even in the most ridiculous of roles, Van Cleef was not able to draw on his inner spirit to find dignity in the characters he played.

If you can't find Captain Apache as one of the features on any number of Spaghetti Western DVD collections (it was on two that I purchased for $10 a piece), it is available for free viewing online at Bmovies.com.

Seen It: They Call Him Cemetery (1971)

Believe it or not, a Spaghetti Western trailer in... wait for it... Italian!
Gianni (Johnny) Garko and William Berger, two actors who previously squared off in If You Meet Sartana Pray For Your Death (among other films) are at it again in They Call Him Cemetery...

Spaghetti Western Database Synopsis: The two McIntre brothers return to their home in the west. They soon find that a band of mysterious masked men are controlling the county and extorting the ranchers. The brothers are helped by a gunman called Cemetery to combat the bandits, while the bandits hire Cemetery's old friend, Duke.

I'm beginning to understand why Gianni Garko is a Spaghetti Western icon. His calm, cool and collected attitude, combined with a squinty-eyed haggardness allow him to evoke a sympathy, and to quickly transition to projecting a dusty bad-a** quality. In this film (which in a tribute to high quality box-collections of old films, is oddly entitled They Call Him Graveyard on the disk from the same box set it was referred to as by the other title!), Garko is once again teamed up with his frequent opposite number, Berger.

Both Berger, as Duke, and Garko, as Cemetery, have surprisingly similar "looks" in this film (right down to their facial hair) and world weary approach to the jobs that they take on for both personal (Garko) and financial (Berger) reasons. Though not fully revealed, there is a definite shared back story to these two gun fighters and if not for Berger's death in nearly every film (he is generally cast as a villain after all) this film could easily be viewed as just another chapter in an ongoing series of adventures during which these two characters cross paths.

Despite the dramatic performances of Berger and Garko, They... Cemetery does include the overtly comedic elements (goofy sons raised in the East and ill-equipped to deal with the tough guys of the West, for example) indicative of later Spaghetti Westerns it does (mercifully) stop short of spiralling into lampoon. This is thanks in great part to the grounded performances of the two leads.