Hollywood Cow-Boy

What a likable farm galoot Jeff Bridges makes. His Lewis Tater wants to be a Western writer and by golly neither pursuing crooks, nor double-crossing buddies, nor phony correspondence schools are going to stop him. Like his literary alter-ego The Kid, he's just too eager to get discouraged. Across burning deserts and thundering hoofs, he soldiers on toward fame and fortune and Hollywood and Vine.

And what a hoot his purple prose is. Like an amiable Walter Mitty, minor events get spun into major events for "The Kid" in such deathless passages as, "Twirling, The Kid fired with all he had into the phantom riders", or " A Colt in either hand, he scattered lead at the retreating dust."

What a great sleeper movie this is, thanks to the comical Bridges and some unerring light touches. Take for example the cheap Western they're filming. Catch how a groaning Lewis steps on the big romantic clinch, or how his curtain-chewing death throes put the director (Arkin) into a murderous tizzy. But I especially like that awkward little turn on the sidewalk where he brushes against the potted palm and wins the affection of Miss Trout (Danner).

The movie's also a telling look at the making of matinée Westerns, a staple of kids' viewing in the 1930's and 40's. As a former Front Row kid, I viewed those parts with mixed emotions. I guess I still want those guys to be real cowboys and not the shrewd businessmen-actors they likely were.

Anyhow, in my little book, this is a little gem from beginning to end, with scarcely a misstep along the way. It never ceases to amaze me that the Hollywood-bred Bridges (his dad was veteran actor Lloyd Bridges) can play such a convincing hayseed, but he can. Speaking of hayseeds, watch for a very unMayberry Andy Griffith, again showing what a fine, versatile actor he is. I'm just sorry this style of clever low-key comedy has given way to today's frantic bathroom kind. Maybe Hollywood needs to hire more Lewis Tater's, after all.

The plot is a little loose-limbed and meandering but it's an affectionate and amusing look at Povery Row studios, also known as Gower Gulch, that ground out cheap Western movies to be shown as second features. If you've seen a John Wayne Western from the 1930s you'll know what they look like. Wayne, on a white horse, racing after a pick up truck, dashing past the telephone poles, in the Old West.

Jeff Bridges is Lewis Tater, an aspiring writer of Western stories who comes to Hollywood from Iowa armed with a diploma from a phony writing correspondence school. Throughout the movie he is pursued by two villains connected with the scam who want money from him.

Meanwhile, nearly broke, he manages to stumble into a role as an extra in these cheap Westerns made by a studio -- Shoot 'Em Up Productions, or something -- that is run by the penny-pinching Alan Arkin, who gives a splendid performance. Bridges is adequate as the kid consumed by his fantasies. Blythe Danner, with her hoarse voice sometimes ending in a squeak, is skinny, sexy, and grounded. Andy Griffith is fine as the extra who acts as Bridges' mentor and who is later revealed as a fraud who tries to steal the manuscript of Bridges' Western novel.

Except for the two stereotypical villains -- Richard Schull and Anthony James -- who are mostly comic figures, it's hard to dislike any character in this fey atmosphere. It's 1933 and the location shooting and set dressing make Los Angeles far more attractive than it is today, now that it is a tangled snare of freeways with colorless settlements in between them. The musical score uses a lot of source music -- cheerfully and not in-your-face obvious. The sun seems to be shining all the way through, even when it's raining. It's charming when the disingenuous Bridges stands on the beach of a rich producer's house, gazes Westward, and remarks in awe to himself -- "The vast Pacific."

I really love this movie. I saw it in the theaters when it first came out and recommended it to everybody I knew. Somewhere in my house is a bad VHS copy of it but I haven't seen it in a million years and it's not available on Netflix. If it gets released again on DVD I would recommend it - I'll bet it hasn't dated or aged one bit. Wonderful wonderful movie.

How do you campaign to get a movie re-released on DVD? This film has everything, a beautiful young Jeff Bridges, a typical excellent Alan Arkin performance, Blythe Danner! who should have been a much bigger movie star, hilarious script.

Jeff Bridges portrayal of the innocent Lewis Tater combined with the slick performances of Alan Arkin and Andy Griffith make Hearts of the West a true Homage to the Republic pictures style of westerns Also keep an eye out for the sultry performance of Blythe Danner as Tater's love interest.

The mid-70's saw a misguided false nostalgia for early Hollywood. I'd like to think it was on account of the last few octogenarian (and up) moguls dying off (Samuel Goldwyn died at 94 in '74, Jack L. Warner passed in the fall of '78 at 86, Darryl F. Zanuck, ill with Alzheimer's, dying in '79) and that the younger turks sensed something. Unfortunately what spewed forth was mostly crap: Gable and Lombard, W.C. Fields and Me, the dull interpretations of The Great Gatsby, The Last Tycoon, and the cinematic nadir: Won Ton Ton the Dog that Saved Hollywood... a film so utterly awful that they must've thought Rin Tin Tin would sue. Nickelodeon belongs in there somewhere too. But along the way there were a few minor gems, namely, underrated The Day of the Locust (particularly for Burgess Meredith's performance) and Hearts of the West, which I saw in a theater in Portland it's brief release. I don't think it rated a week's screen time. Inarguably, the plot's thin stuff, but Jeff Bridges' Lewis Tater ranks as his best pre-Starman turn as an actor. He took naiveté to an entirely new plateau. Andy Griffith delivers a nice performance as an amiable, if duplicitous character actor who's descended into a life in poverty row oaters. The then-50-year old Griffith had just recovered from a serious medical condition and hadn't been seen in a feature film since a 1969 flop, Angel in My Pocket. Griffith here is far, far removed from anyone's image of Sheriff Andy Taylor. The supporting cast is superb, especially Alan Arkin who captures the essential cheapness of a Gower Gulch producer/director... he seems to be based on Mascot's Nat Levine. Don't look for the picture to go much of anywhere, just enjoy the ride. I liken the experience very similar to 1982's Cannery Row; you know you've seen better pictures, but you never somehow enjoyed one more and you don't exactly know why.