Billy the Kid

By the time King Vidor directed this "Billy the Kid," he already had 36 movies under his belt (most of them silent), so it's weird that the movie seems so arbitrarily thrown together. Brutality and tenderness each try to crowd the other out. Somebody dies, and minutes later everyone's smiling again. I think the Western/Cowboy genre was still developing in Hollywood at the time (even after all those silent Westerns), and the addition of sound just threw another monkey wrench into the works. Nevertheless, you can tick off all the Western conventions and clichés as the film unfolds; they're all there. But it's like they're on steroids or something -- you never know when they're going to take on a life of their own. They just don't add up. I'm tempted to give this movie an "8" rating just for its consummate strangeness, but I think a "6" is probably a fairer assessment.

Another very early talkie western, King Vidor's version of the story of Billy the Kid.

It was a big production, filmed on location. The landscapes look great. Apparently, it was also filmed in widescreen version, but that has unfortunately been lost.

The storytelling is mostly gritty, although interspaced with comic relief scenes with the supporting cast and some singing. I found the combination strange, but it did not prevent me from enjoying the movie.

The two male leads do a good job, although Johnny Mack Brown, who plays Billy the Kid, is not really a kid here, but a grown man. I particularly enjoyed Wallace Beery's performance as an understated, surprisingly good-natured Pat Garrett. Kay Johnson is not given much to do, since the romance is rather routinary

The Kid had a nice badass moment when he lights a cigarette from the collapsed burning rafters of the roof.

Quite entertaining, and without the stilted interpretations that some of the early talkies have.

King Vidor's 1930 adaptation of Walter Noble Burns' SAGA OF BILLY THE KID plays fairly fast and loose with the facts. Johnny Mack Brown, even in 1930, was a bit old for the lead, and Wallace Beery considerably too old for Pat Garrett. The romance between Kay Johnson's character and Billy is unknown to history, and the ending is a jaw-dropper as well.

Against this, though, the film looks *terrific*, almost as if previously unknown contemporary documentary footage of the Lincoln County War had suddenly been found in some New Mexican attic. The sets are realistic, and realistically grubby, and the supporting cast are absolutely the scruffiest, most realistic-looking set of pre-Peckinpah westerners you'll ever see anywhere. (I think there may be more bald heads than average for the old west, but who knows? Those guys always kept their hats on.)

Turner Classic Movies dusts this one off every few years (it's scheduled for 6/15/2000), and despite every justified quibble about the casting and the script, it is worth watching just to correct the visual impression you may have received from all the slicker and glossier versions of this story made since 1930.

Although generally forgotten, this version of "Billy the Kid" (1930) has held up remarkably well and should surprise contemporary viewers who think of the early talkies as something out of the Dark Ages.

I'm normally disgusted when these so-called historical epics take great liberties with the truth (particularly when the true story is more interesting that the embellished version) but almost 80 years since its release I doubt if the film will be taken as serious history by any new viewers. They probably should have changed the names along with the facts but there was marketing potential in promoting it as the story of William Bonny.

The title character is played by a young Johnny Mack Brown, just a couple years after his 1926 MVP performance for the victorious University of Alabama in the Rose Bowl. Mack was called "The Dothan Antelope" from his high school football days in Dothan Alabama. Watch for signs of his athletic prowess throughout the film, especially at the end where he mounts a horse and rides sidesaddle into the sunset while wearing handcuffs and leg irons.

King Vidor's "Billy the Kid" was quite a production for its day, probably the first major production filmed in a widescreen format. Although most likely you will have to view it in the 4 x 3 Hollywood format in which it was simultaneously filmed.

Brown's co-star was Wallace Beery (playing Pat Garrett) and their scenes together are excellent, the two manage a nice chemistry with different yet very complementary acting styles. The role made Beery a major star in "talking" pictures and Brown soon became a Top 10 movie cowboy.

Then again, what do I know? I'm only a child.

So OK this film has little to do with the real story of Billy the Kid, but director King Vidor gets the Lincoln County war (over land and cattle) pretty right. The location shooting for this talkie looks like New Mexico but not like the town of Lincoln. But Vidor captures the lawlessness and viciousness that drove the real-life events.

Johnny Mack Brown (a big star at MGM) was still finding his way in talkies when he was cast here (against Vidor's wishes) as Billy. Brown was 26 years old, the veteran and more than a dozen silent films (working with MGM's top stars like Greta Garbo, Marion Davies, and Joan Crawford), and coming off one big hit talkie (COQUETTE with Mary Picford) and one flop (MONTANA MOON with Crawford). His Alabama accent would soon consign him pretty much to hundreds of westerns in film and on TV til the mid-60s.

But here, Brown is a lanky, friendly, and brutally honest Billy who only kills when it's the right thing to do. His horror at the brutal murders of the unarmed McSween and Tunston drives his sense of right and honor. He's also sorta sweet on the would-be bride of Tunston (Kay Johnson).

Pat Garrett (Wallace Beery) likes Billy but becomes sheriff. He knows his duty but he also knows the Billy the Kid legend is baloney. There's a terrific, long sequence when Garrett and his bunch burn out Billy and his men and pick them off one by one as they run from the burning house. It's a chilling scene but one can't doubt the honesty of it.

Supporting players are an interesting mix here with Karl Dane as a cowboy who grunts a few unintelligible words, Roscoe Ates without his stutter, Russell Simpson, Frank Reicher, Chris-Pin Martin, and Blanche Frederici as the Widow McSween.

But Brown and Beery take center stage and they are a terrific team. Beery is more subdued here than in many of his later talkies, and his rapport with Brown seems real. Brown is so likable as Billy it almost doesn't matter that as biography this is the bunk. Brown's dancing sequence is a highlight.