LONELY ARE THE BRAVE: Blu-ray (Universal-International, 1962) Kino Lorber
Was there ever a more solitary representative of the
self-made man than the American cowboy? In his various permutations, as
everything from John ‘Duke’ Wayne to the Marlboro man, the masculine figure in
dungarees and Stetson, back lit by the sun, face, weather-beaten to distinction
by the prairie winds, preparing to saddle a horse, has conjured to mind a way
of life that, tragically, no long exists, except in the annals – real and
imagined – of some forgotten epoch, immortalized on film. That the western star
of yesteryear ought to be considered a relic today is perhaps apropos. After
all, we live – mostly – in a graceless age, where the stoic morality of such
remote figures seems quaintly out of fashion at best. But that it should have
already afflicted the movies in 1962, the year director, David Miller and star,
Kirk Douglas aspired to bring Edward Abbey’s novel, The Brave Cowboy to
the screen, seems marginally unsettling in retrospect. For surely, something of
the legacy of the old west endured then – if only as a main staple in pop
culture. Lest we forget, this was still a decade steeped in the mythology of
the American west. Both at the movies and on television, western stories and
serials continued to proliferate ad nauseum. Rechristened as Lonely Are the
Brave, Miller’s somber excursion here, shot by Philip H. Lathrop in stark
B&W, addresses the cruel and disheartening disconnect between these fabled
men from the past and the space-age era in which they find themselves decidedly,
starkly contrasted, and, far removed from their relative comfort zone.
The opening shot in Lonely Are the Brave sets
up this dichotomy with exquisite poignancy; Kirk Douglas’ cowboy, John W. ‘Jack’
Burns, alone with his pony – the high-spirited ‘Whiskey’ – lazily starring into
the searing hot sky, his solitude and frame of reference suddenly intruded upon
by the sight of a commercial plane flying overhead. Douglas always considered
this his favorite film, and, his best work. He may have something there. And
indeed, the picture is very much his labor of love, fueled by a strong desire
to investigate the grave difficulties in truly retaining an air of individualism
in the modern age that seeks to streamline and homogenize humanity at large,
and, classify everyone as ‘types’. This,
perhaps, is Lonely Are the Brave’s most impressive achievement; Douglas’
performance, treading lightly across a characterization for which, arguably, no
template then existed. He is neither the traditionally heroic figure – though he
commits noble acts along the way – nor, does he ever regress into the rank
bitterness of the advancing strain of the anti-hero; a knight, slightly
tarnished, or to have completely fallen off his charger. Independently produced
by Douglas’ Joel Productions, Douglas also hand-picked his cast and crew,
including ex-blacklisted writer, Dalton Trumbo who, two years earlier, had been
liberated from the tyranny of McCarthyism when Douglas elected to include Trumbo’s
name in the writing credits on Spartacus (1960).
Most of Lonely Are the Brave was shot in Albuquerque,
New Mexico, near the Sandia and Manzano Mountains, the Tijeras Canyon and
Kirtland Air Force Base. Douglas had hoped to retain the original novel’s title
for the film, while Trumbo’s screenplay was written under the working title, ‘The
Last Hero’. The alliance Douglas secured with Universal-International to
distribute the movie proved a double-edged sword. The studio insisted, not only
to market the movie as a ‘western’ but also arbitrarily change its official
title to ‘Lonely Are the Brave’. Although Douglas did not particularly
approve, he went along with the suggestion; less impressed when Uni, compounding
their disinterest in his opus magnum by dumping the picture on the market with
a tepid premiere in Houston, and then, a wide release without any fanfare. Despite
these last-minute bungles, Uni was not involved in the creative decisions that
actually went into creating this movie. So, Douglas and Miller retained ‘final
cut’, the picture’s symbolism-rich social commentary, examining the purity of
unvarnished truth – typified in Douglas’ artless cowboy – vanquished by man-made
automation – decried the profligate maliciousness of the graceless age. As
such, Lonely Are the Brave established itself almost immediately as an observant,
heartfelt and invested story about the loss of rugged individualism in this
supped-up age of plastic consumerism. Jack Burns is very much a 19th
century renaissance man trapped, as if by some cruel time-machine’s trick, in
the 20th century. Douglas, frequently prone to making an audience
reconsider and take notice of his acting style, herein offers up a thoroughly
effective, understated and affable turn, brilliantly flanked by the underrated Gena
Rowlands as Jerry Bondi – the girl, his Jack Burns ought to have loved. Douglas’
close personal friend in real life, Walter Matthau was cast as empathetic
sheriff, Morey Johnson; George Kennedy, typecast as the sadist/deputy, Gutierrez, and,
Carroll O’Connor, still 9-years removed from his iconic turn as Archie Bunker
on TV’s All in the Family (1971-79) as the unnamed, overburdened truck driver.
Our story begins with John W. ‘Jack’ Burns (Kirk
Douglas), a roaming ranch hand who absolutely refuses to partake of modern
society, bucking the age of technology. On the books, he is a nobody, no personal
I.D., and not even a ‘home address’ as he usually just sleeps wherever he finds
a place. Like Burns, his horse Whiskey is unaccustomed to these surroundings,
struggling to cross a highway, and easily spooked by mechanized forms of transportation.
These solitary travelers eventually make it to a trailer park where Jerry (Gena
Rowlands) and Paul Bondi (Michael Kane) live. Alas, Paul has since been jailed
for offering aid to illegal immigrants. Jerry finds her husband’s behavior slightly
appalling. After all, he cannot afford the luxuries of a self-righteous
crusader – as a husband, and expectant father, Jerry expects more from her man.
And, with a baby on the way, Paul ought to be addressing their future as a
family. But Burns is the stubborn sort. Moreover, he harbors an instant disdain
for any society where men are not free to choose their own destiny. Reasoning a
jail break from the inside, Burns gets himself arrested after an unanticipated barroom
brawl with a one-armed man (Bill Raisch). Regrettably, the jail is full and the
police elect to let Burns off without a charge. This cannot be. So, Burns deliberately
assaults one of the officers – a charge to land him behind bars for at least a
year. Nevertheless, before long, Burns finds Paul in county lock-up.
Burns pitches his idea of a daring escape. After all,
in this border town the police are mostly bored and unaccustomed to dealing
with anything except minor offenses. Even forthright, Sheriff, Morey Johnson
(Walter Matthau) is disgusted by their overall lack of performance. But
Paul refuses to budge. He is near the end of his sentence. Why ruin a good
thing? While in jail, Burns defends Paul from unwarranted violence at the hands
of Deputy Sheriff Gutierrez (George Kennedy) – a real sadist. Deflecting
Gutierrez’ telescopically focused rage onto him, Burns does not mind being the
target as he still plans to make a break for freedom – with, or without Paul’s
complicity. After the inmates have retired in their cells, Burns reveals he has
managed to smuggle in a pair of hacksaw blades inside his boots. Eager to help his pal escape, Paul and Burns
cut into the bars until they are loose enough for Burns to free himself.
Shimmying down the side of the jailhouse, Burns finds his way back to Jerry,
informing her of Paul’s safety. Meanwhile, having discovered the daring escape,
Johnson’s admiration for Burns grows. After all, Burns is a very resourceful
fellow who served his country in the military with distinction during the
Korean War. But he also took 7-months’ disciplinary training for striking his
superior officer.
A man hunt is called out. Burns retreats to the nearby
mountains on horseback, hellbent on crossing the border into Mexico. Johnson
and his other Deputy, Harry (William Schaller) track Burns in their jeep. They
also employ a military helicopter to scour the hillside and report back.
Whiskey is repeatedly spooked by the sound of the propeller blades. So, Burns
takes dead aim at the copter, blowing out its tail rotor and forcing the pilot
to crash land. Now, Gutierrez deviously sets up a sneak attack on foot, hoping
to ambush and knock Burns unconscious with his rifle butt. Instead, Burns leads
Whiskey up a daring incline and comes around the seemingly impossible rocky
slopes to intercept Gutierrez, who turns yellow and begs for his life. Burns spares Gutierrez’s life, though hardly
his humiliation as he is forced by the advancing lawmen to the summit of the
Sandia Mountains. Acknowledging his superior stealth in evading capture,
Johnson nevertheless manages to wound Burns in the ankle with his shotgun. Desperate
to make his final stretch to freedom, Burns races Whiskey down the steep
embankment toward Highway 66 in Tijeras Canyon during a torrential downpour. Tragically,
the horse is startled by the blinding headlamps from oncoming traffic. A truck
driver, toting a stockpile of new latrines, loses control of his load, skidding
to the side of the road, striking Burns and Whiskey broadside. Burns is thrown
from his mount as drivers on both sides park their cars and rush to his aid. Johnson’s
arrival on the scene is met by the State Police who ask him pointedly if the
man lying on the pavement is Burns. While he listens intensely to their conversation,
Whiskey’s dying whinnies can be heard in the background, followed by a solitary
gunshot and then, silence. Harry informs Johnson there was nothing to be done
except euthanize the animal. Perhaps truly believing he has suffered enough
Johnson suggests he cannot identify Burns as the two have never met. Burns is
loaded onto a stretcher and carried away to a nearby ambulance, his future
uncertain as the crowd of onlookers disperse, leaving behind only Burns’ Stetson,
soaked through and still resting in the middle of the rain-soaked highway.
The penultimate moment in Lonely Are the Brave,
when Burns and Johnson meet each other eye-to-eye is a acting tour de force for
Kirk Douglas who, without a single word of dialogue, conveys all the anxious
fear, loathing, and sadness bottled up from within; breathing heavily, eyes
wildly darting until Whiskey is put out of misery, a distinct note of
assignation to follow, as Douglas’ Burns suddenly begins to believe, perhaps
for the first time in his life, he has reached the end of the line. Despite his
rather diminutive 5’9” frame, Kirk Douglas’ acting career had been built on
playing larger-than-life tough guys. And indeed, for most of Lonely Are the
Brave Douglas is presented to audiences as, if not hard-edged, then
decidedly a figure of inner fortitude and outward masculine strength – a thinking
man, carved of sinewy muscle. But in these final moments, devastated, dreams and
body both crushed, and, soaked through to the bone, Douglas plays it from a
very dark and internalized place as a very fragile and small, increasingly
lost, and thoroughly frightened little boy – the rank surrender caught in his
eyes, painful to observe, as it not only puts a period to Jack Burns’ bravura
from the shackles of humanity, but altogether rewrites our impressions of Kirk
Douglas – a thoroughly sober revelation.
Lonely Are the Brave arrives on Blu-ray via Kino Lorber’s
alliance with Universal Home Video, and, true to form, Uni has offered up
another half-hearted 1080p transfer, culled from the ‘bad ole DVD days’ and
well below par for Blu-ray. Honestly, would it kill Uni’s bottom line to invest
in some basic image stabilization and clean-up? If the Warner Archive can
achieve such miracles on home video, surely the business model exists to make
such proper asset management a reality elsewhere. Universal’s parceling off of vintage product
to Kino Lorber has yielded some good things. But on the whole, I suspect the
studio regards Kino as an invaluable dumping ground where pure profits can be
easily derived without any sort of concerted investment on their part to update
or upgrade their product. The B&W elements on Lonely Are the Brave are
grittier than anticipated, with artificial sharpening applied and some DNR too.
Film grain translates to digital grit. Age-related dirt and grime are present. Some
image destabilization, mild gate weave and edge effects conspire to deprive us
of a perfect image that could have been possible if just a tad more due diligence
had been applied on Uni’s behalf. The 1.0 DTS audio is adequate, if hardly
exceptional. We get a new and fairly informative audio commentary by historians,
Howard S. Berger and Steve Mitchell, a brief tribute to Kirk Douglas, with
sound bites from Douglas himself, Gena Rowlands, Steven Spielberg and Michael
Douglas, plus a featurette on Jerry Goldsmith’s score. Bottom line: a fine – underrated
– movie with Kirk Douglas easily delivering one of his top 3 finest hours on
the screen. The Blu-ray is a disappointment because it comes close to perfect,
yet somehow bungles the results at the 50-yard line. For shame, Universal. For
shame, indeed!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
3
EXTRAS
2
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