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 Ramírez (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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