VERA CRUZ: Blu-ray re-issue (UA/Hecht-Lancaster, 1954) Kino Lorber
Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster mix it up, western-saga
style in director, Robert Aldrich’s Vera Cruz (1954) a gritty,
gargantuan and glorious Technicolor lay of the land. Begun under a contractual
agreement between the indie-Lancaster-Hecht production house and United
Artists, Vera Cruz is a lustily violent screen epic, based on a story by
Borden Chase. For Lancaster, it marked his second western in as many years,
coming off Apache, also directed by Aldrich. UA was so pleased with the box
office on Apache, it altered the terms of their 2-picture contract with
Hecht-Lancaster to mark a 2-year/7-film alliance. Lancaster had hoped to cast
Mari Blanchard, the luminous blonde bombshell who, by 1954 had established
herself as a successful print model and queen of the B’s in Hollywood. Alas,
Blanchard’s contract stipulated she not appear in television – a clause, neither
side could successfully come to terms. And thus, Denise Darcel stepped into the
rather disposable part of Countess Duvarre. Born Denise Billecard, and voted the
most beautiful girl in France, Darcel became a cabaret singer before getting
noticed in Hollywood. By 1950, she had appeared on the legitimate stage, paid
her dues in Vaudeville, and had broken through to popular – albeit, limited –
appeal in MGM’s Battleground (1949), and, Tarzan and the Slave Girl (1950)
– roles that did not stretch her range but also did much to conceal her fractured
English. Vera Cruz is by far
Darcel’s most memorable movie.
Vera Cruz began filming
on authentic locations in Mexico, but shifted production to Estudios Churubusco
for its interiors. Aldrich and Lancaster, who had established a fine working
rapport on Apache, discovered a less amicable alliance on Vera Cruz,
chiefly owed Lancaster’s burgeoning ego and desire to assuage into the director’s
chair – often clashing with Aldrich on matters of artistic integrity and the
staging of action sequences. Despite these
behind-the-scenes lamentations, Lancaster played well with Cooper, whom he
highly respected (and vice versa) and, as such, Vera Cruz emerged –
mostly – as one man’s vision; Aldrich, delivering a gaudy, buoyant, and absorbing
western to follow this pair of American fortune hunters - cynical Southern gent,
Ben Trane (Cooper) and the tremendous and deceitful, Joe Erin (Lancaster) –
each, to become involved with Maximilian’s imperial court and the Juarez
revolutionaries. Coop’ and Lancaster spar with a disquieting, yet strangely
affectionate mutual mistrust as they agree – superficially – to see the countess
and her crock of gold safely to Vera Cruz. Ernest Laszlo’s cinematography, in
the sprawling expanses of Superscope and Technicolor no less, teems with earthy
romance, intrigues and danger aplenty. In many ways, the picture helped to
pioneer the latter-day launch of the ‘spaghetti western’ with its rather
ruthless depiction of these mercenary men, under siege from rebel forces. Far
from appealing to the time-honored principals of good vs. evil, both Ben and
Joe can be had for the price of temptation, and each is faced with their moment’s
fall from grace.
Vera Cruz is set during
the Franco-Mexican War. We are introduced to ex-Confederate soldier, Ben Trane,
seeking a new career as a mercenary. To this end, Ben hooks up with Joe Erin, a
gunslinger, and leader of a brutal band of cutthroats: Donnegan (Ernest
Borgnine), Tex (Jack Elam), Pittsburgh (Charles Bronson), and, Ballard (Archie
Savage). This motley crew gets recruited by Marquis Henri de Labordere (Cesar
Romero) in service to Mexico’s Emperor Maximilian I (George Macready) who plies
their greed with a handsome offer of $25,000 to escort Countess Duvarre to Vera
Cruz. Ben negotiates a better deal for all. However, during a routine river
crossing, Ben also takes notice that the countess’ carriage appears to be
heavily weighted and listing to one side. Alerting Joe, the pair investigates,
discovering six cases of gold coins concealed inside, worth $3 million intended
to pay for Maximilian’s reinforcements from Europe. The countess forms an anxious
agreement with Joe and Ben to split the gold – none of them aware the Marquis
is observing them from the shadows.
Helmed by General RamÃrez (Morris Ankrum), the
Juaristas attack several times with loyalist and cutpurse, Nina (Sara Montiel) infiltrating
Ben and Joe’s caravan. Surrounded by the Juaristas, Ben persuades Ramirez to
join them, agreeing to pay a cool $100,000 for services rendered. The marquis
succeeds in getting the countess and her gold to Vera Cruz. Amidst the deluge, the
French are defeated, sacrificing most of Joe’s soldiers of fortune in the
process. Joe plots to abscond with the gold by placating the countess to reveal
the location of a ship hired to mark her escape. To prove his supposed fidelity
to her, Joe even murders one of his own men – presumably, as he is a spy. Alas,
Ben returns to confront his scheming ally. The men face off in a showdown,
ending with Joe’s assassination. As the local women begin to search the pyres
of the dead for loved ones, Ben and Nina skulk off into the night.
If Vera Cruz appears to be not quite the
trailblazer it first seemed in 1954, it is only because the Hollywood western
was to rapidly mature, advance and otherwise ape much of this movie’s popular
appeal moving forward – the simulacrum successful at eclipsing the memory of
the original. But Vera Cruz is a tautly scripted and fearlessly executed
western adventure yarn. Bob Aldrich, whose early career was marked by setbacks
and grunt work, emerged as a full-fledged force with whom to be reckoned in the
mid-1950’s. Deeply shaken by HUAC’s black-listing of his fellow associates in
the late 1940’s, Aldrich would address some of his personal angst in the
pictures immediately to follow it. But at age 34, in 1952, Aldrich seemingly had
quit the movies to work in TV – the red-headed stepchild of the entertainment
industry where he, nevertheless, honed his craft and developed an acumen for ‘commando-styled’
picture-making. After a series of unprepossessing false starts, Aldrich’s
efforts were noticed by Hecht/Lancaster, hired to helm their big Technicolor
effort, Apache. A smash hit, Aldrich
was hotter than ever after the runaway success of their second effort, Vera
Cruz. The crux of the picture’s success is undeniably the antagonistic
chemistry between its two male leads. And, in this, Aldrich is immensely
blessed to have Hollywood’s heaviest hitters at the helm – Gary Cooper, who,
alas, was rapidly advancing into the last act of his career and life (Coop’
died of cancer in 1961, barely age 60), and Burt Lancaster, whose advancing
zeitgeist of boundless energy and creativity had yet to crest. Lancaster would
outlive his costar by 34 years, dying from a third heart attack in 1994, age 80.
Personally, I miss ‘real/reel’ men at the cinema –
Cooper and Lancaster typifying the lost art of uber-masculinity we rarely, if ever,
experience from our male stars on the screen today. Apart from the butch-ness
in their manner – distinct, iconic, unique and yet, universal - each carries a
deep sense of personal integrity and appreciation for what it means to be a
man, unashamed of the foibles that go with it, as well as taking immense pride
in the virtues of that sex. Today’s movie culture distinctly undermines this
sort of quiet and dignified manliness as a sort of unavoidable hurdle that
needs to be overcome, or suppressed in a way that shames men for being precisely
what they are in their DNA. But men like Lancaster and Cooper are the rare
breed worth remembering. Consider, for a moment, Cooper’s final years, felled
with aggressive prostate cancer that swiftly metastasized to his colon. The
removal of a large intestinal tumor did little to slow the progression of his
illness, though he continued to work, with the devastating diagnosis his cancer
had since spread to his lungs and bones, kept from him at the outset. Later
informed he was dying, Coop’ faced the inevitable with grace and dignity,
acknowledging the best part of his career had been the friendships forged and
adding, “I know that what is happening is God's will. I am not afraid of the
future.” Now, that – at least for me, is a man’s man!
Vera Cruz gets a much-needed
Blu-ray reissue from Kino Lorber, in snazzier packaging than the old MGM/Fox
Blu-ray release, and, with a ‘new’ 2K transfer, greatly to advance in all
aspects of its image quality. Frankly, this wasn’t hard to do, as the MGM/Fox
effort was nothing less than a travesty, with wan colors and a smeared image looking
as though it had been carried over from a bad VHS analog source. Where MGM/Fox’s
transfer was once faded and leaning toward a green bias, even slightly cropped
on the left and bottom, the Kino sports a vibrant Technicolor image, properly
framed, and, with gorgeous textures. Contrast is excellent with solid blacks
and cleaner whites. Film grain looks indigenous to its source. Fine details are
still a tad wanting, but greatly advance over the tired old hi-def release.
Where Kino’s experiences minor slippage is in the audio. While the MGM/Fox
release was mastered in 24-bit mono, the Kino only gets a DTS 16-bit mono. What
does this mean to your ears? Not much, as the two tracks are virtually
indistinguishable, although it begs the question why Kino would regress here,
instead of merely porting over the pre-existing track. Kino has also deigned to
offer us an audio commentary from author, Alex Cox which is comprehensive and
well worth the price of admission, plus a ‘Trailers from Hell’ episode,
theatrical trailer, and reversible artwork. Bottom line: Vera Cruz is a
fantastic western, finally given its due in hi-def. Could it have looked even
better? Arguably, yes. But what’s here is the very best it has ever looked on
home video. Western aficionados and fans of Cooper, Lancaster and Aldrich will
want to snatch this one up. Recommended!
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the
best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
4
EXTRAS
2
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