O Vingador

There are over fifty movies and television shows on the notorious Old West cattle-rustler and killer Billy The Kid. Two minor silent films were produced before director King Vidor tackled the subject of this young outlaw in cinema's first talking picture of William, released on October 1930, aptly called "Billy The Kid."

Based on the 1925 book by Walter Noble Burns, 'The Saga of Billy the Kid,' Vidor's plot loosely follows his involvement in the New Mexico Territory's 1880's Lincoln County War, pitting two rich ranchers feuding over land and cattle. MGM was pushing former college football star-turned-actor Johnny Mack Brown for major roles in an effort to make him one of Hollywood's top tier movie stars. Signing a five-year contract with the studio, Brown appeared as Mary Pickford's love interest in her first talkie, 1929's "Coquette." When producer Irving Thalberg assigned the actor as the lead in "Billy The Kid," Vidor was less than enthusiastic on the studio's choice. Within a year, with the ascendency of newcomer Clark Gable at MGM, Brown's career dropped as quickly as a plunging fiery zeppelin. "Billy the Kid" proved to be the peak of Brown's popularity. The actor turned to playing parts in Grade B westerns from the mid-1930s.

To make up for Vidor's disappointment, MGM slotted its rising star Wallace Beery as Pat Garrett. This was Beery's next movie after his Academy Award nominated Best Actor performance in 1930's "The Big House." The movie's plot pits Billy the Kid, an employee for English rancher Jack Tunston (Wyndham Standing), against Garret, the Deputy Sheriff who sided with town enforcer Colonel William Donovan (James Marcus).

MGM intended to make "Billy the Kid" into a major epic, rolling out its widescreen 70 mm format the studio labeled 'Realife.' The large screen was a variation of Fox Film's 'Grandeur' projection system. Vidor's film crew shot in the 70mm format and coverted most of the movie's prints into the 35mm standard image so the vast majority of theaters could show the motion picture. Those whom had the fortune to view the movie on the widescreen praised the film. The New York Times was bowled over by the large image, saying "The picture is chiefly noteworthy for this enlarged screen idea, for the story is merely a moderately entertaining." Besides some raised eyebrows on Brown's performance, the actor's laconic lasting words on the movie was the film was "a fine motion picture." MGM used the same identical plot in a 1941 color version with Robert Taylor as Billy The Kid.

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.

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.

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.

This film was full of surprises for me, given its less-than-stellar reputation. One has to view it in terms of Hollywood myth-making and not as if it's an episode of `Biography.' King Vidor's camerawork is startlingly fluid - he uses camera movement and cutting very effectively. One of the biggest surprises was the brutality (not to be confused with gore) of certain scenes. The film also does an excellent job of creating a mood of futility. As for Johnny Mack Brown, at first I thought he was inappropriately cast. But as the movie continued, his characterization seemed more valid. And of course, the location shots are stunning. This film is underrated and overdue for critical re-evaluation. Perhaps that will happen if an archivist finds a widescreen print!