THE FAR COUNTRY: Blu-ray (Universal-International, 1954) Arrow Academy

In 1950, director, Anthony Mann effectively turned a corner in his career with Winchester ’73, his first collaborative western with star, James Stewart. In many ways, this picture caught both Mann and Stewart at a creative crossroads; Mann, the purveyor of highly successful noir/thrillers up till then, and Stewart, eager to rewrite the rules of his pre-war star-making status in Hollywood. While many of Hollywood’s A-list actors did ‘their part’ for the war effort, making patriotic flag-wavers at home to boost morale and the sale of war bonds, Stewart was the real – rather than ‘reel’ – deal: a veteran of 20 combat missions for the USAF Reserve and promoted to the rank of brigadier general by war’s end. Prior to his enlistment, Stewart’s movie career was studio-cultivated around the public persona of the congenial ‘good guy’ who, quite often lost the girl to hunkier he-men like Clark Gable or Cary Grant. But by 1950, Stewart was eager to reveal another side to audiences, that under the glossy patina of America’s ‘every man’ he possessed a depth of character to set him apart from these male ingenue parts. Indeed, the war had changed Stewart’s outlook on life. And, as he was slightly older now, he quickly discovered studios were reluctant to slot him into meatier roles.  He fought like hell to get the lead in Harvey (1950) – a picture, illustrating for many his superb versatility and actor’s acumen. Its success paved the way for Stewart to be cast in Winchester ’73 – ironically, even ahead of Tony Mann.

Mann had not been the first choice to helm this celebrated western classic. But in hindsight, he proved the absolute right man for the job, the first of 5 sprawling sagas to star Stewart. This alliance would see the pair through another 3 movies outside the western milieu. Yet, the working relationship between Mann and Stewart is difficult to summarize in only a few sentences. Clearly, a mutual admiration persisted. Thus, even when Mann felt less than enthusiastic about the material, as he did with Stewart’s decisions to take him along on Thunder Bay (1953), The Glenn Miller Story (1954) and Strategic Command (1955), Mann obliged his star, becoming invested in making a great picture besides. The Far Country (1954) – the fourth of the pair’s peerless western sagas was not altogether to Mann’s liking either; Mann, instructing screenwriter, Borden Chase to spruce up the picture’s dialogue.  But if anything, the darkness that only tinged the soul of the other characters Stewart had already portrayed for Mann, was herein brought to full fruition. The Far Country’s cattle rustler, Jeff Webster is an insular and solitary figure; Stewart, playing him with a steely edge of combative contempt for humanity at large. To hear Webster tell it he needs no one and nothing except to be left alone, despite having a ragtag sidekick in the ever-devoted Ben Tatem (the marvelous Walter Brennan).

The Lynn, Massachusetts-born, 3-time Oscar-winner; Brennan herein evolves the stock rummy he so often played into an empathetic if loose-tongued subordinate. Part, if not all of the charm to be derived from Brennan’s performance hails from the actor’s quavering intonations; a sort of chronic befuddlement and sheepish reluctance, wed to blind hero worship for the star, who will eventually need reminding he is worthy of such adoration. Brennan could, and often did stand shoulder to shoulder with the star of the picture, but could as easily go toe to toe when a little homespun clairvoyance was required to realign the heroes’ moral compasses. And Jeff is a guy who could certainly use just such a social conscience.  For here is a man unaccustomed – even adverse – to helping others. Even when he suspects peril at hand, as in the moment when Jeff willingly allows his own stubborn certitude to stand down to corrupt saloon hostess, Ronda Castle’s (Ruth Roman) decision to cross a snowy pass with her men, even though Jeff knows an avalanche is imminent. When, in fact, the snow comes tumbling down from the craggy cliffs, killing some and burying many others alive, Jeff callously reasons he was right, but absolutely refuses to help in the excavation of survivors; a choice – one of many – to incense the picture’s female ingenue, Corrine Calvet’s Renee Vallon, who desperately loves Jeff, in spite of himself.

And herein, we pause a moment to sing our praises for Corinne Calvet, a fiery-eyed French starlet who famously summarized her 3 failed marriages, laying blame squarely at the doorstep of ‘American men’ in totem, whom she acknowledged ‘made wonderful husbands’ but only if one was apt never to fall in love with them. “I don't mean they are lousy lovers. I just think they are little boys who don't know what they want. In America, you don't have romances, you have affairs. And these affairs really lack class.” Born in Paris, to a scientist mother who helped develop Pyrex glass, Calvet (whose real last name was Dibos) was no dummy, though she often played doe-eyed and uncomplicated women in the movies. In fact, she studied criminal law at the Sorbonne before being bitten by the acting bug. Upon graduation from the L'Ecole du Cinema, Calvet appeared on French radio and was, in fact, the dubbed voice of Rita Hayworth whenever Hayworth’s films were shown in France. To cloak her father’s shame at having ‘an actress’ in the family, Corinne adopted the name Calvet from a bottle of wine, believing its alliteration would help promote her stature in pictures. At war’s end, Hollywood was eager to import the next Garbo, Dietrich and Bergman. Calvet landed a contract with Paramount. But her movie debut was delayed by nearly a year.

Suspected by HUAC of harboring communist sympathies, Calvet was dropped by Paramount, but quickly signed to a 6-month contract at MGM; almost immediately, involved in an auto accident that set back her movie debut yet again. It was at this juncture Hal. B. Wallis appeared, hiring her for Paramount’s Rope of Sand (1949), then again, giving her costar-billing for the first time, in When Willie Comes Marching Home (1950), made at Fox. The studio then bought half of Calvet’s contract with the rights to use her in 5 movies.  It ought to have been smooth sailing, except that Calvet made rather a bad enemy of gossip columnist, Hedda Hopper, who criticized Calvet in print as in possession of an ego as at least twice as large as her talents – an unfair, and untrue assessment to say the least. In The Far Country, Calvet is refreshingly engaged – giving a far more invested performance than Ruth Roman’s stock - if sultry and enterprising - Ronda. True enough, Calvet plays Renee as the proverbial ‘good girl’ who pines for acceptance from a man seemingly unworthy of her affections until almost the final fade to black. And yet, there is something genuine, tender and uniquely attractive about the tomboyish and pragmatic Renee. Except for Walter Brennan’s congenial appendage, Calvet’s perpetually pig-tailed young lass is by far, the most affecting and relatable of the far-away folks we meet; the rest, a pack of hard-bitten and thoroughly unscrupulous adventurers, against whose collective moral bankruptcy, Calvet’s fresh-faced wholesomeness, quite simply, outshines.

On the flip side, we find John McIntyre’s supreme wickedness as the ever-slightly unshaven and perpetually scowling, Judge Gannon. Even his grin seems to imply something lethal is afoot. McIntyre, whose distinct voice as the dutiful and forthright Sheriff in Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960) will forever be remembered, herein delivers a deliciously evil performance as Jeff’s arch nemesis. The ‘law in these parts’ in name only, Gannon’s real modus operandi is to steal honest folk blind of their gold-mining claims and, in exchange for Jeff’s freedom from a charge of murder, to abscond with his herd of prime beef cattle. McIntyre began his professional life on the radio, before embarking on a prolific career as a character actor in the movies and on TV. In The Far Country, McIntyre is positively ruthless – a formidable villain to challenge, muddy, and finally dishevel Jeff’s own moral ambiguity. And Mann affords McIntyre almost as much of the screen’s run time as he does his star, affectingly to create a parallel between their personalities, later to diverge after Jeff – having suffered a near fatal ambush – reconciles his own aversion to helping people, and realizes, he must take a stand against the evil personified by Gannon’s ghoulish claim on the fledgling town of Dawson.

The Far Country is also noteworthy for its exceptional ensemble of, by now, familiar faces in supporting roles: Jay C. Flippen, superb as the perpetually inebriated Rube Morris, elected Marshal of Dawson, though toothless and ineffectual against Gannon’s iron-fisted rule; Harry Morgan as Ketchum, one of the embittered stooges riding shotgun; the exquisite, Connie Gilchrist as no-nonsense, Hominy – proprietress of a modest hash house in Dawson, Robert J. Wilke (as Gannon’s ruthless gunslinger, Madden, who enjoys killing), Chubby Johnson (as one of his victims, the beady-eyed prospector, Dusty), Royal Dano (Luke), and Jack Elam (as Newberry). Elam’s star would continue its ascendance in the western genre hereafter. Cumulatively, these gifted performers represent the finest stock company ever assembled for the Hollywood western. There is, after all, something to be said for the great era of the ‘character actor’ – those oft unsung second and third-string thespians who could be counted upon to hold their end of the show without upstaging the principle cast. Occasionally, these background players would be given more plum parts to play. But mostly, they endeared us to them through their sheer professionalism and ability to outline an entire spate of character traits at a glance, simply by appearing before the camera.

The Far Country is set in 1896. Having heard of the rumored potential in the Klondike gold rush, cattle rustler, Jeff Webster has decided to move his herd, along with his best friend, Ben Tatem to Dawson City, Yukon. The pair are briefly detained after one of the other rustlers who has accompanied them suddenly accuses Jeff of murdering another man during their travels. Despite the fact none of this can be proven (there is no body), the authorities immediately attempt to arrest Jeff who, having already boarded his cattle in the cargo hold, now takes refuge in Ronda Castle’s stateroom. She conceals him for the duration of their passage to Skagway. However, upon their arrival in town, Jeff makes a rather bad enemy of Judge Gannon, after his cattle disrupt a public hanging in the town square. Erroneously arresting Jeff on the same charge of murder, the Judge tries Jeff at the saloon, holding him up in the court of popular opinion, but declaring all his woes at an end, if he surrenders the cattle to him. Unable to argue with the circumstances of his case, Jeff walks away penniless, and shortly thereafter is befriended by Renee Vallon, who is trying to raise enough money with her gold claim to send her father (Eugene Borden) to Europe to study medicine. Mildly sympathetic to Jeff’s plight, Ronda hires him to guide her caravan of horses through a perilous pass on route to Canada. Accepting the offer, but only if he can do things his way, Jeff sets up base camp for the night not far from Skagway; then, under the cover of night, returns to Skagway to steal back his cattle.

Gannon and his band of villainous cohorts, including the ruthless gunslinger, Madden, make chase. But Jeff outfoxes them in the dark and manages to push his herd through and beyond the borders of Gannon’s jurisdiction. Amused by Jeff’s gall, Gannon vows to hang him when he endeavors to return through Skagway. On their trek across the mountainous terrain, Ronda demands they cut through a snow-covered pass. Jeff wisely reasons the snow is not secure and orders everyone to follow a different, more difficult and lengthier trail through the valley instead. Defiantly refusing to take his sound advice, Ronda orders her men to continue as instructed. An avalanche occurs and some of the party is killed. Ronda survives, and begrudgingly agrees to follow Jeff’s advice from now on. Eventually, the caravan arrives in the ramshackle town of Dawson. Hominy, the proprietress of a small hash house, offers to buy Jeff’s beef for a dollar a pound. Instead, she is outbid by Ronda, who has reopened the saloon across the street. Hominy makes no bones about her contempt for Ronda. A queer jealousy brews between Ronda and Renee. Jeff clearly prefers Ronda, much to Renee’s chagrin. Meanwhile, Jeff elects to trade most of his newly acquired wealth for supplies to launch his own gold-mining claim in Dawson. Despite Ben’s misgivings, very soon Jeff doubles the outlay of cash invested in their newest enterprise.

Meanwhile, Ronda sets up a saloon in partnership with Gannon, who systematically cheats the miners in Dawson out of their claims, imposing his ‘rule of law’ at the point of Madden’s gun. Disgusted by this encroachment on their livelihood, the townsfolk gather at Hominy’s to discuss their prospects. They beg Jeff to help them take a stand. But Jeff refuses. In fact, not only will he not accept their nomination as Dawson’s newly elected Marshal, he will not even lift a finger as a private citizen to defy Gannon. Instead, Jeff plans to quietly sneak out of Dawson by way of the river, along with Ben and their gold. Alas, Ben’s innocent loose tongue alerts Gannon of their plans. An ambush occurs at the river’s edge. Ben is shot to death by Madden and his men, leaving Jeff, sincerely wounded and clinging to the raft he had planned to use for their getaway. Mustering up enough energy to ride back into town, bloodied but unbowed and toting Ben’s body to be given a proper burial, Jeff is nursed to health by Renee, whom he again spurns, favoring Ronda’s company instead. Determined to avenge Ben’s murder, Jeff recovers from his wounds and returns to Ronda’s saloon, calling Gannon out to settle their score mano a mano, once and for all. Instead, Gannon orders Madden and his boys to dispatch with Jeff immediately. But Jeff has come prepared for this second ambuscade.  Deflecting focus from his actual hiding spot, Jeff easily shoots Madden and two of his deadliest shots on the stoop of the saloon; again, calling for Gannon to come out and face him directly. Desperate to prevent his murder, Ronda rushes from the saloon to forewarn Jeff that Gannon is coming around from behind. To silence her efforts, Gannon shoots Ronda dead. But Jeff, ducking under the saloon’s veranda, manages to fire the fatal round that puts Gannon out of his misery. The newly amassed town, under Rube’s command, call out the rest of Gannon’s posse from the saloon at gunpoint, ordering them to leave at once and never return. Outnumbered by the townsfolk, what is left of Gannon’s entourage elect to retreat from Dawson, leaving Renee to pursue Jeff on her own terms.

In many ways, The Far Country marks an end to that era of ‘glamorous’ western sagas a la John Ford and, in hindsight, also foreshadows what the western would become under the auspices of directors like Sergio Leone and Sam Peckinpah in the 1960’s.  Alexander Golitzen and Bernard Herzbrun’s production design is about as far removed from the stylish settings of yore, with David O. Selznick’s Duel in the Sun (1946) or even Jack Otterson’s plush and sanitized renderings in Destry Rides Again (1939) marking the epitome of that ancient flower in picture-making.  Even more revealing, The Far Country is populated by mostly unscrupulous characters – the quality of mercy and virtue, numbed – even obliterated – as Mann settles on an outpost of outcasts where no one is entirely pure of heart. Even Stewart’s Jeff Webster is not without his human foibles, further muddying those clearly delineated traits to part the hero from the villain. This makes virtually every member of the ensemble morally complex; especially McIntyre’s Gannon – a formidable baddie, who nevertheless imbues his character with a streak of ‘something’ that is perversely slick, yet diabolically delicious.  I suspect it is the twinkle in McIntyre’s eye or sinister amusement he seems to derive from toying with Jeff’s basically honorable intentions, pushing our hero’s ambivalence towards his fellow man over the edge, to unleash the hell-storm of revenge brewing from within. If anything, The Far Country dispatches with Gannon far too easily in the last reel.

Ruth Roman’s saloon hostess is too conflicted too emerge as the virtuous martyr in the last act. Up till then, she was ostensibly working for Gannon, if mostly for herself, and without any blind-sided sense of altruism. That she makes the attempt to be noble, stirred by love, as opposed to virtue – is a rather clumsy inveigling of the tired ‘heart of gold’ stock emotional response. We’ve seen it before and we’ll see it again. This predictably leads all reformed ‘bad girls’ prematurely to their burial plots.  Corrine Calvet’s tomboy is hardly ‘the love interest’, despite the final moments, hinting she and Jeff will go off together to begin their lives anew. But Calvet’s winning turn convinces us, at least, that Renee and Jeff might have a chance at something close to ‘happiness’ as they carry forth a promise made by Ben’s bequest of a tiny bell fastened to Jeff’s saddle. This ought to have adorned the front door of the ranch he and Jeff were going to buy – a symbol to welcome old friends and new acquaintances. Now, it serves as a reminder to Jeff that no man – however solitary – is an island unto himself. The Far Country is a sobering and superior-made western drama.  Stewart’s unsociable creature is a revelation. While I adore the lanky young ‘Jimmy’ Stewart, who usually debuted as the third wheel never to end up with the girl, in pictures like Rose-Marie, and, Wife Vs. Secretary (both in 1936), The Philadelphia Story (1940) and Ziegfeld Girl (1941), for me, James Stewart always came into his own in the pictures he made for Hitchcock, and, these magnificent sagas, built like tanks for Anthony Mann. The raw depth of Stewart’s performances here has never been equaled by any star of his – or any other – generation. The natural aging process likely helped Stewart plum these parts with a greater sense of introspection. But in the end, and despite his verve to rewrite the rules of his public persona, James Stewart’s reputation emerged from these darkly purposed opuses with his initial iconography still intact. Truly, he created a uniquely American template for the ‘every man’ – an enduring legacy, never to be outclassed or outdone in the annals of film.

The Far Country arrives on Blu-ray via a new 4K remaster, exclusively performed for this Arrow Academy release. The results, while a vast improvement over anything this movie has looked like on home video, are nevertheless far from perfect – owing to ill-archived original elements that have not weathered the testament of time.  Shot in mono-pack Technicolor, The Far Country’s image toggles between relatively crisp visuals we expect to see from the Technicolor process, and an unusual softness – often, slightly out of focus – without revealing signs of mis-aligned color negatives. There are no distracting halos in this 1080p transfer. But the image is soft, with a decided loss of fine details throughout – except, in the occasional close-up. Color reproduction is, at times, very anemic, with muddy hues and flesh tones that lean to the orange end of the spectrum. Film grain is oddly amplified – I say, ‘oddly’ because Technicolor was a grain-concealing process. So, to discover grain so utterly thick to – in some scenes – distracting from the image itself, is a curiosity. Contrast wavers from ‘spot on’ to ‘less than’. The PCM mono audio reproduces vintage Westrex sound adequately.

We get 2 presentations of The Far Country in its original 1.85:1 aspect ratio and slightly masked 2.00:1. Each has been given the same consideration, scan-wise. In addition to the collectible booklet, featuring an essay by Philip Kemp and newly commissioned artwork by Graham Humphreys (that makes Ruth Roman’s sketched likeness look like Mercedes McCambridge from 1954’s Johnny Guitar – not flattering at all), on the 1.85:1 version, we also get a fairly comprehensive audio commentary by Adrian Martin. Two featurettes are also included on Disc One - American Frontiers: Anthony Mann at Universal, running a little over 30 min. with Mann biographer, Alan K. Rode, western authority, C. Courtney Joyner, script supervisor, Michael Preece, and critics, Michael Schlesinger and Rob Word weighing in on an anthologized overview of the great man’s work – and - Mann of the West, an appraisal of Tony Mann in general, and, The Far Country in particular, by critic, Kim Newman. There is also an image gallery and original trailer. Disc 2 contains ONLY the movie, reformatted in 2.00:1.  Bottom line: The Far Country is an intriguing western with powerful performances and a riveting story to tell. The Blu-ray, while an improvement, never attains a level of perfection one would sincerely hope to see. Judge and buy accordingly.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3

EXTRAS

3