La légion des damnés

I'm sure in casting The Texas Rangers Paramount had it in mind to broaden Fred MacMurray's appeal by putting him in a western. MacMurray had been a star at Paramount for two years and had appeared in mostly light comic parts as he did throughout his career. I mean Paramount could have cast Gary Cooper or Joel McCrea, both of whom were available at the studio. MacMurray did the film and gave a creditable performance, but as he remarked, "the horse and I were never as one." He never really did feel comfortable in westerns and ones he later appeared in were long after his Paramount studio days were over.

The Texas Rangers film is based on stories derived from Walter Presscott Webb's authoritative history of the legendary law enforcement outfit which was only published a few years back. Fred MacMurray, Jack Oakie and Lloyd Nolan play three outlaws who drift into Texas and become separated. MacMurray and Oakie join the Texas Rangers and Nolan continues his outlaw ways.

Lots of good action here folks. A really great Comanche Indian attack sequence is well staged by Director King Vidor. Lots of familiar western faces support the leads like Fred Kohler and Gabby Hayes. Edward Ellis as the commandant of the Texas Rangers comes off a lot like Lewis Stone and had MGM instead of Paramount had made this film, Lewis Stone definitely would have been cast in Ellis's role.

Despite MacMurray's misgivings about westerns, The Texas Rangers is a pretty good action western with great character development for the three leads.

This Paramount studio effort stars Fred MacMurray, who many folks today only remember as the Dad in My Three Songs or the Flubber films. But MacMurry could do almost anything and do it well, from his cunning performance as the weak insurance foil in the classic noir Double Indemnity to his brilliant turn as the amoral business executive in The Apartment.

Here early MacMurray is pared with Jack Oakie, the latter an endearing studio performer who brings some genuine warmth and humor to what in many ways is a typical studio Western, but much richer than the usual B oaters churned out by Republic or Monogram; this is essentially a tale of cowboy reformation, as three thieving get separated by circumstance and two of them choose community and goodness, while one--the notorious polka dot bandit (!), played by Lloyd Nolan, stays outside the law. Nolan, who usually played good second leads or endearing detectives, effortlessly engages in a wee bit of method acting, convincing in his greasy charm, oozing villainy and malice.

While not a landmark film in any way, this is a casual, amiable entertainment, good for a lazy afternoon (coupled with a bowl of popcorn and perhaps a Charlie Chan mystery).

The Western genre was at a low ebb in the 1930s. It did not die out completely as has sometimes been claimed, but for the most part it was relegated to B-movie status (in fact B-Westerns were what John Wayne spent most of the 30s doing). It's also untrue that the genre was suddenly revived in 1939 by the arrival of Stagecoach. A-budget Westerns had been appearing for a few years before then, but they were odd affairs for the most part, born of a generation who had lost touch with the Old West.

The Texas Rangers was perhaps the first of these bigger Westerns, and in many ways it plays like a recap of genre conventions, particularly the more farcical aspects. We have bandits who are good guys deep down, and Indians who might as well be hordes of zombies. Some of the more fun clichés, like an alcoholic judge, are briefly touched upon, but only briefly. The screenplay is on the whole a rather amateurish effort, riding roughshod over logic whenever a gap in the plot needs sewing up. I mean, are we really supposed to believe Jack Oakie is off in the hills counting out his loot by night, and yet is still consistently able to get his job as Stagecoach driver back each morning? Silly, even by the standards of the genre.

And yet producer-director King Vidor was the kind of man to take such projects seriously. And he at least has a feel for the form. Too many of these 30s Westerns fail to make proper use of the open plains, which after all is what it's all supposed to be about. Not Vidor though – for him the seemingly endless vistas are an almost continual backdrop. Vidor's outdoor shots give you a real feeling of the emptiness, which is essential. You can't have a character singing "Bury Me Not on the Lone Prairie" unless the prairie looks appropriately lonesome. Vidor's direction of dialogue scenes is immaculate as always, generally holding the actors in long takes with occasional barely-perceptible camera shift, giving a real feeling of smoothness. His handling of action is the opposite, full of wild cuts and crazed angles to give a real feeling of frenzy. One of the most effective manoeuvres he pulls in The Texas Rangers is just before the heroes come face-to-face with the massive band of Indians. We begin with a tracking shot of them riding alongside a rock face, then the camera gradually turns, opening out the space, and eerily revealing the army of natives.

Unfortunately not everyone is so suited to the genre. I don't buy MacFred as a Westerner, let alone a bandit. He just doesn't have the demeanour of a two-baths-a-year man. Leading lady Jean Parker is simply bland here, as is her character. Fortunately we do get to see a lot of Jack Oakie, who still doesn't quite look the part but is entertaining nevertheless. Oakie may be a comic but he can really act, as you will see in the one or two scenes where he has to play it straight. Lloyd Nolan is great too – his face says things that aren't in the script. And any picture that has Edward Ellis in is bound to be a treat. He is also the only player with a real bit of Western grit about him.

The Texas Rangers may be the Western genre's reunion with big budgets and big stars, but it is really little more than a souped-up B-Western. It is directed with class, but the overall feel is one of shoddiness, mainly because the studios at the time weren't used to the form. They didn't have the stockpile of authentic performers or the ready-made frontier-towns at their disposal. We get the wide-open plains alright, but it takes more than chaps and Stetsons to conjure up the spirit of the Old West.

On a whim, bandits Fred MacMurray and Jack Oakie enlist in the Texas Rangers. The two partner up with old pal Lloyd Nolan for some crooked schemes, but soon hear the call of duty, putting them at odds with their criminal lifestyle.

Like his most famous film, The Champ, director King Vidor imbues this with depression-era sensibilities and sentimentality, having lovable bums MacMurray and Oakie find self-respect, romance, and a sense of selflessness, all with a young orphan in tow.

Photography, direction, and action sequences are all first rate. The performances were a little dated, but adequate. Unlike others, I didn't find Oakie's good-old-boy character annoying or unrealistic.

Cameo appearances by George "Gabby" Hayes and Charles Middleton (Ming the Merciless) were a lot of fun too.

This to me is a magical western of the straightforward "goodies in white hats, baddies in black" genre. It has style, humour and excitement and should be compulsory viewing for every 12 year old and above.