“There’s no more time for praying”
Once upon a time, as white settlers in North America ethnically cleanse the land they stole from its indigenous population, a tribe of natives liberate two girls, destined for a miserable life of domestic servitude, from their religious zealot family, only to be pursued by the girls’ psychopathic uncle.
Okay, that’s enough of my revisionist meta-synopsis.
I’ve been meaning to rewatch this film since I first noticed it on BFI’s top ten list. I had watched it once before, but, even while knowing it to be a well-respected cinematic milestone by critics, I didn’t think much of it. Well, I sat down this afternoon to try and see what all the fuss was about and where the art was hanging.
Along with prison dramas and gangster sagas, the western isn’t one of my favourite genres. Why on Earth am I rhyming?! Anyway, I’m not really able to figure out why I’m not into westerns for sure, so I’ll just put it down to an irrational aversion to the time and place. I guess the barren landscapes, swaggering men, and endless clip-clop of horses can take its toll on my patience. Saying that, Sergio Lone’s Dollars Trilogy and Once Upon a Time in the West will forever hold special places in my heart. Those films were made by a foreigner looking at that world from the outside though, which is probably why they’re more interesting. You’ll be hard-pressed not to find me crying when Clint Eastwood gives a dying young soldier one final drag of tobacco before the boy succumbs to his battle wounds.
So, how did I get on with my second viewing of The Searchers? Well, I’d now genuinely like to hear an informative commentary track by a film scholar, as my tiny mind clearly isn’t fit to appreciate this film fully. The Blu-ray I have includes one by Peter Bogdanovich, so that might be enlightening. But, prior to further education, I merely found The Searchers mildly diverting, with some great exterior photography and awkward soundstage recreations. John Wayne surprisingly stands-out as naturalistic amongst a stable of grating character actors, with the chilling moment Wayne decides he’ll probably murder Debbie a particular standout.
Oh yeah, this film seems to believe Native Americans have the desire and ability to brainwash sentient human beings into feral creatures, which I do not believe to be true.
It’s sad when the “broken” Debbie is finally snatched back, by Wayne, from her peaceful new life of freedom amongst nature, but what can you do. The image of her cowering form being carried into the dark of the settlers’ homestead, surely to be psychologically tortured for the next month by a priest performing an exorcism, reminded me somewhat of those haunting covert bucket photographs taken by victims at Auschwitz. I wonder which abusive village idiot Debbie ends up being married off to, since women in the 1800s were considered a burden on their families. Maybe if they were allowed to work and own property, they wouldn’t be such a nascence to you.
Just an idea.
Well, that’s enough of my embarrassingly naive political ramblings. I really didn’t want this review to go down that path, but I have so very little else to say about the film.
I guess my well-deserved “white guilt” be overflowing. What awful things Europe has done to the rest of the world. May we never be free of the agony that is responsibility.
Oh dear, I'm rhyming again.
Do stay in touch, darlings.
Toodles!
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