THE BIG COUNTRY: Blu-ray re-issue (UA, 1958) Kino Lorber

Few westerns rival the stark, rugged handsomeness of William Wyler’s The Big Country (1958), a visually resplendent super-colossus, thundering across movie screens in Technirama. A moment’s pause here, in praise of Technirama itself, initially marketed as the CinemaScope wannabe. Developed by Technicolor, and virtually superior to ‘scope’ in every way, Technirama’s debut and demise were closely aligned. It hit screens in 1957 but was an afterthought by 1965. Technirama’s advantage was in the size of its negative running horizontally in an 8-perforation frame – virtually twice the size of standard ‘scope’ – and more aligned with Paramount’s own motion picture hi-fidelity process: VistaVision with one fine line of distinction. VistaVision projected 1.85:1. Technirama matched ‘scope’s 2.35:1 aperture, producing an infinitely crisper image with far less distortions and greatly refined grain. All but a handful of first-run movie palaces projected actual ‘native’ Technirama. The rest saw it in reduction prints on standard 35mm minus its much touted 4-track magnetic stereo. Nevertheless, Super Technirama 70 ostensibly set it on par with other 65mm negative processes of the era, most notably Todd-AO and Super Panavision. Fewer than 40 movies were actually shot in Technirama – a genuine pity, but which The Big Country can claim bragging rights as one of them.

Franz Planer’s cinematography captures the vastness of an untainted American west in Technirama’s breathtaking clarity. Yet, Wyler’s epic is more than just a lovingly crafted tome to a way of life long since blown as the tumbleweed into prevailing winds. It is an intimate portrait of the ties that bind and those corrupting influences that can tear civilizations apart. Too easy to misconstrue The Big Country as just another bloated late-fifties' Hollywood mega-western. The vastness of its canvas might have sunk a more intimate familial saga. Yet, The Big Country is immeasurably blessed by some exceptionally strong performances. Chiefly, Gregory Peck – typecast as a paragon of virtue, and, Charlton Heston – whose rough-hewn masculinity, tinged in panged menace here, is an arresting anathema to the less emotionally complex role of Moses he trademarked in Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments two years earlier. Between these towering achievements, Heston’s career experienced an unexpected hiccup. Instead of offers flooding in, almost immediately the well ran dry, relegating Heston to TV work until Wyler’s decision to cast him as Steve Leech. Portraying the noble savage of Latter Ranch in The Big Country resurrected Heston's big screen appeal as Hollywood’s go-to he-hunk.

From top to bottom, The Big Country is exceptionally cast. Burl Ives sheds his ‘Lavender Blue, Dilly-Dilly’ congeniality in a breakout and Oscar-winning turn as the unscrupulous, Rufus Hannassey. Charles Bickford marks time as his deviously congenial counterpart, Maj. Henry Terrill – who is as pitiless, though masking his contempt behind a contrived gentlemanly reputation. Carol Baker as the Major’s Scarlett O’Hara-esque daughter, Patricia is willful, yet self-defeating. Jean Simmons is superb as the independently minded prospector/school marm, Julie Maragon. And last, though hardly least, is Chuck Connors, Rufus’ deliciously callow baddie, Buck Hannassey. Everyone here is in very fine form. And yet, in a William Wyler Production they all seem to acquire something more – something greater – more vibrant, visceral and truer still to life, doing their best work for the man in the director’s chair who today, curiously, requires a re-introduction to younger audiences. 

One of the most eclectic directors of his or any generation, the name William Wyler should be just as renowned as that of Alfred Hitchcock. Wyler, perhaps even more so, as his was a determination to make at least one masterpiece in every genre in his film-maker’s craft. Directors of Wyler’s caliber, were rare then, but are virtually unheard of today. Wyler’s proficiency and keen artist’s eye, his ability to morph his particular style to suit virtually every genre, made him much in demand.  A quick perusal of his achievements boggles the mind in all his mesmerizing diversity. Wyler’s masterpieces have gone on to attain the status of certifiable classics: Jezebel (1938 – and winning Bette Davis her second Oscar), The Letter (1940), The Little Foxes (1941), Mrs. Miniver (the Best Picture of 1942), The Best Years of Our Lives (Best Picture, 1946), The Heiress (1949 – winning Olivia DeHavilland her Best Actress Oscar), Roman Holiday (1953 – Audrey Hepburn’s Oscar win), Ben-Hur (Best Picture, 1959 and Charlton Heston’s Oscar for Best Actor), How to Steal a Million (1966) and Funny Girl (1968 – Barbra Streisand’s Best Actress Oscar) to name but a handful. If a commonality connects these masterworks it is Wyler’s ability to tell highly personalized stories on a larger-than-life canvas; something that, in later years, would be affectionately branded as ‘the Wyler touch’.

The Big Country greatly benefits from ‘the Wyler touch’ – the movie’s craggy mountains and inhospitably sunbaked vistas easily brought to heel by Wyler to the more intimately focused screenplay by James R. Webb, Sy Bartlett and Robert Wilder, based on the novel by Donald Hamilton. For here is a ruthless tale of blood feuds and barons; the Major and Rufus Hannassey sparring to gain everlasting control over ‘the Big Muddy’ – a parcel of fertile land wedged between their properties, with a small sump and a few trees, desired by both men, but inherited by Julie Maragon, who aims to keep it until such time as she can decide who will make better use of its bequest.  To this clash of wills, Wyler telescopes in on a lover’s triangle between James McKay (Gregory Peck), a lanky Northerner, unaccustomed to the unbridled lawlessness of this western frontier, (the proverbial fish out of water – literally, in these sun-parched plains) his pig-headed bride never to be, Patricia, preferring her man sacrifice his integrity merely to gratify her misconceptions about the mettle of true manhood, and, Julie -  the proverbial heart of gold, sought by boorish reprobate, Buck. Destiny, of course, has other plans for all concerned. And James eventually realizes he has made a grave error in judgment by falling in love with Pat, openly desired by the ranch’s robust foreman, Steve Leech.

Leech is the jealous type – sort of – unable to recognize what Pat sees in James, who cannot fight worth a damn and doesn’t even ride – at least, not Old Thunder, the fiery stallion from which he is repeatedly and embarrassingly thrown at first, but later, through blind perseverance, tames much to Leech’s dismay. In one of the movie’s smaller ironies, Leech’s admiration for James exponentially grows in proportion to Pat’s sudden loss of interest. Pat and Julie are best friends. Now, she attempts to shake some sense into Pat’s fool brain about her fiancé. Jim – not Steve - is the real man, the fellow who can think his way out of most any situation, employing his fists only as a last resort. This moment too gets played out, but away from the ladies. Steve and Jim engage in moonlit fisticuffs. This leave both panting, bloodied, yet unbowed. Jim may not have grown up rough n’ ready, but he has proven his adaptability to some of the harshest obstacles placed in his way. And Steve is impressed. Perhaps, he ought to consider Jim, not as a rival, but a good man to know in a pinch as his friend.

An ever-pivoting weathervane of antagonistic 'bro-mantic' chemistry stirs through The Big Country; Steve’s undying devotion to the Major, whom he regards as something of a father figure, challenged by Terrill’s brutal quest to wipe the Hannasseys clean off their land. This proves just a tad too blood-thirsty for Steve to embrace in the end. Interestingly, Steve’s contempt for Jim morphs into admiration after Jim refuses to surrender to his principles. Clearly, actions speak louder than words. Finally, there is Rufus Hannassey, misperceived at the outset as the stock villain of the piece, exploiting three shiftless sons, Buck, Rafe (Chuck Hayward) and Dude (Buff Brady) to terrorize the Terrill clan. Actually, it is the other way around. The Major and Pat are conspiring to break the Hannasseys. Pat is even willing to sacrifice Jim to her caprice for a knock-down, dragged-out fight that reaches its own unanticipated climax when Jim rides into the Hannassey’s heavily-fortified canyon on horseback alone to rescue Julie, who has been taken hostage by Buck under the pretext she intends to marry him and thus, gain control of The Big Muddy. Rufus agrees to Jim’s request to settle their score with pistols at twenty paces. Buck, deviously plots to gun down his adversary in cold blood before the count is finished. Mercifully, he misses his shot and Jim, waiting for Buck to run true to form, instead refuses to fire his pistol into a coward as rebuttal. Rufus is shamed.

With the exception of Gregory Peck’s newcomer, all of these menfolk are variations on a theme of untamed masculinity. Charlton Heston, here epitomizes the solitary man of the west - broad-shouldered and square-jawed.  But Peck’s James McKay is the more fascinating to observe; selfless, noble and unaccustomed to the physically demands of an uncharted wilderness. Though occasionally derailed in his pursuits because, unlike the others, he does not immediately wear his passions on his sleeve, James will conquer demons the others can only guess at. Culture may separate a man from his instincts. But it does not take the place of satisfaction derived from a primal display of chest-thumping male machismo. Yet, even during the fistfight with Steve, or the duel against Buck, Peck’s northerner shows remarkable restraint, or rather, a genuine ‘thinking’ man’s ability to employ brains in service of brawn rather than the other way around. Like most every western of its era, The Big Country would have us believe in the mythology, these vast spaces were ‘civilized’ without the influence of a good woman…or even a few wayward ones.

The two female leads here are basic representational femininity – Pat, the slightly tomboyish daughter of a wealthy land owner, with a wild streak that can only be tamed by brute force (in short, the girl who would have liked to wear the pants in the family if only she had been born a man), and Julie – self-made, strong-minded, but appropriately feminine, contented to love a man as a woman – whole-heartedly and for the virtues he already possesses, rather than the one’s Pat so desperately desires to cultivate in Jim.  Why Pat never fell for Steve remains one of the oddities of The Big Country, because their temperaments are suspiciously alike. It has always been a Hollywood convention that men of intellect somehow make for tepid lovers, seemingly hampered by cerebral satisfaction, leaving the hot-blooded love-making to their Neolithic counterparts, who lurch hulking bodies, penetrating stares and meaty fists perpetually clenched. Heston’s thug muscle, however, is matured by his exposure to Jim’s manly grace, as is Jim’s mutual regard for Steve. They may never be drinking buddies. But each has come to favor the other with more than a modicum of genuine respect and an ounce of envy for the type of man each of them can never be. 

The Big Country opens with an exhilarating main title - a stagecoach streaking across unadorned plains to a thunderous ovation of galloping horses’ hooves, memorably underscored by Jerome Moross. Arriving at a small outpost in the middle of this landlocked nowhere is retired sea captain, James McKay (Gregory Peck) who has been anticipating his reunion with fiancée, Patricia Terrill (Carroll Baker) for many months. The stage is met by Steve Leech (Charlton Heston), the beefy, embittered foreman of Latter Ranch, the most prosperous homestead in these parts, overseen by the superficially congenial, though utterly ruthless, Major Henry Terrill (Charles Bickford). Leech has lusted after Pat since they were teenagers, even making crude romantic overtures readily dismissed by the lady of the house. Upon returning home from her trip to San Francisco, Pat informed the family she had decided to marry McKay. So, Leech utterly despises a man he has never met. His animosity is transmitted from their first casual introduction; McKay’s unassuming congeniality incurring Leech’s imperishable jealousy.

Pat meets McKay at the modest home of good friend, Julie Maragon (Jean Simmons), put upon by the unwanted affections of Buck Hannassey (Chuck Connors). There is a genuine spark of friendship between McKay and Julie that goes unnoticed by Pat, who has idolized McKay all out of proportion to fit her own warped sense of manly grace. But these self-imposed myths are about to rupture when McKay and Pat’s carriage is ambushed on the open road by Buck and his brothers, Rafe (Chuck Hayward) and Dude (Buff Brady). The boys make a mockery of McKay’s genteel manner. Pat is enraged but also shamed. She cannot understand why McKay will not fight these ruffians. Back at the ranch, Pat informs the Major of their run-in with the Hannasseys and this prompts Terrill to order an ambush of the Hannassey’s canyon hideaway, despite Jim’s strenuous objections.

Actually, the Major is just looking for another excuse to engage the curmudgeonly Rufus (Burl Ives, in a bone-chilling performance) in a showdown. The Major has Steve and a posse of Latter’s men go into town. They ambush Rafe and Dude at a brothel and beat the tar out of them in a public spectacle that is bent on humiliation. Alas Buck, the ringleader escapes, cowardly concealing himself in the back of an open carriage. Buck a colossal disappointment to Rufus. To temper their confrontation, Buck lies to his father about having secured Julie’s romantic intentions. In doing so, Rufus reasons the Hannasseys might be closer than ever to gaining control over ‘The Big Muddy’ – the only fresh water reserve for miles. Julie currently holds the deed to this land, but has permitted both the Hannasseys and Terrills to access her sump to water their horses and cattle. Meanwhile, back at Latter Ranch, McKay disappoints his bride yet again by refusing to accept Leech’s public challenge to ride ‘Old Thunder,’ a wild stallion no one, not even Leech has been able to tame. Pat misperceives McKay’s refusal as sheer cowardice. But actually, McKay is more determined than ever to break the stallion, only in his own way and good time.

After the others have gone away, McKay repeatedly saddles the violent steed with the aid of stable hand, Ramon Guitares (Alfonso Bedoya). He is as easily thrown many times. Bruised and bloodied, though decidedly committed, McKay’s slow but steady approach eventually domesticates the animal. Hence, when Steve and his men return from their lynching of the Hannessey brothers, they find to their utter bewilderment, McKay parading about the paddock astride Old Thunder.  Sometime later, the Major invites Julie and a host of guests to his home to announce Pat and McKay’s engagement. Again, the mood turns sour when Rufus arrives uninvited, rifle in hand. He informs the Major he will no longer tolerate raids on his homestead and further challenges the Major to reveal himself to his guests as the cutthroat Rufus knows him to be by shooting him in the back. This tense showdown ends peaceably. But McKay has begun to have second thoughts about marrying into this family, as has Pat about taking him to husband.

McKay and Julie become chummy after he accidentally stumbles across The Big Muddy while on a solitary ride through the canyons. Learning of its importance in keeping the strained peace between the Hannasseys and the Terrills, McKay offers to buy the land as a wedding present for Pat, but then breaks off his engagement to keep the land for himself after realizing Pat’s love as irreversibly cooled. Leech decides to confront McKay in a midnight brawl outside Latter Ranch. At long last fed up with having to chronically reaffirm his manhood, McKay meets this challenge and, despite being the physically weaker of the two, refuses to buckle or surrender. His stubbornness earns Leech’s respect. To satisfy the lie he told his father, Buck kidnaps Julie and takes her to the Hannassey’s canyon hideaway. But after questioning Julie, Rufus realizes she has absolutely no intension of marrying his son. When McKay comes to her rescue, Rufus informs Julie she would be wise to send him away to spare his life. At the last possible moment, Rufus has a change of heart, suggesting a more telling redemption - a gentlemen’s duel between Buck and James for Julie’s honor.

Too bad Buck is no gentleman and proves it when he prematurely fires his pistol at McKay before Rufus has had a chance to finish the countdown. His lousy shot misses McKay. Now, Rufus orders his son to stand his ground while McKay takes his clear shot in retaliation. Instead, Buck panics and attempts to hide behind a carriage. McKay deliberately spoils his shot, inferring Buck is not worthy of an honorable death. Realizing McKay has upheld his part of the bargain, as well as maintained his honor while Buck has disgraced his, Rufus shoots his own son dead. The echo of gunfire draws the Terrill posse into the canyon. But at the last minute, Leech pulls back his men, leaving the Major and Rufus to finish their blood feud as lone adversaries. The men kill each other and Julie and McKay depart the canyon for the wide-open spaces, presumably to start their lives anew as man and wife.

The Big Country is a striking masterpiece. There is a refreshingly primal quality in these sexually charged relationships, the implied sensuality in shifting male/female alliances played in sharp contrast to the overtly confrontational, testosterone-infused prowess exercised within the company of men. The most compelling of these adversarial relationships is arguably, Leech and McKay. Both Gregory Peck and Charlton Heston are at the top of their game as polar opposites in the male animal. Peck is playing to type as a man of integrity – an onscreen persona he cultivated in his private life. Heston’s performance is the real breakthrough, diametrically different from the man, and, riveting in all its darkly purposed complexity. Even today, Heston’s superior handling of Steve Leech’s raw persona is something of a revelation. It would eventually cause William Wyler to consider him for another epic: his remake of Ben-Hur (1959) for which Wyler, Heston, and, the picture would all take home Oscars. 

Conversely, Carroll Baker’s Pat and Jean Simmons’ Julie represent two sides of conflicted femininity. Pat is fundamentally flawed and destined to live perpetually dissatisfied in her unhappily ever after. But Julie is the quintessence of the clear-eyed – sadder but wiser – gal, long matured beyond childhood romantic fantasies about men. Julie understands human imperfection – male imperfection even better. She has had to come to terms with it her whole life.  And, she came from nothing. Ergo, her respect for hard work over the perks of privilege. Julie is the real woman in this big country. Conversely, Pat is stunted as the adolescent tomboy, wearing dresses now, but still very much with her head stuffed full of naïve notions about the proverbial white knight astride his steed. She fancies herself as the princess of Latter, even as time bears her out as a variation on the wicked queen.  It isn’t all Pat’s doing, however. After all, she is the Major’s daughter and, as such, a woman largely fostered by her father’s cruel designs on conquering whatever is desirable in the moment.

Finally, there are the formidable contributions of Charles Bickford and Burl Ives to reconsider. The genius here is how Wyler gradually illustrates the startling similarities between these two life-long adversaries, drawing basic parallels (ego, drive, and, jealousy) to narrow the chasm of disparities between a seemingly upstanding citizen and the castoff hermit from the hills. Both are devoted to their families. Each is hell-bent on destroying the other, merely for want of the same thing. In a perfect world, these two might have formed an alliance to jointly rule. Instead, they share a slavish devotion to willfully self-destruct. The Big Country deserves a grander treatise and profile of our critical respect and admiration than it currently holds. While the passage of time has steadily earned the picture more just deserts than the critical oversight upon its theatrical release, more than ever it has advanced toward the top 5 western movies of all time, just behind The Magnificent Seven (1960), Shane (1953), The Searchers (1956) and High Noon (1952).

Kino Lorber’s re-issue of The Big Country on Blu-ray is identical in every way to its previous, out-of-print disc. The color palette here is, for the most part, robust. Skin tones favor a warmer glow. The palette favors browns, beiges and blues. There are a few instances where slight fading is noted, though nothing egregious. Contrast is uniformly excellent. Blacks are deep and solid. Film grain has been accurately reproduced. There are a handful of instances where slight age-related artifacts are detected – again, nothing here to distract. Kino’s DTS 2.0 mono audio is excellent. The spate of extras that accompanied the earlier Kino disc make a welcome return herein, including a thorough commentary from noted cultural historian, Sir Christopher Frayling – one of a handful of film commentators whom I could listen to until the proverbial ‘cows come home’.  Better still, we get 1986’s hour-long documentary ‘Directed by William Wyler’, one of the most comprehensive accounts of any director’s career, with interviews from Bette Davis, Greer Garson, Audrey Hepburn, Charlton Heston and many others. This is followed by nearly 23 min. of outtakes from this same documentary, the vintage featurette ‘Fun in the Country’, an original theatrical trailer and TV spots, plus an image gallery. Bottom line: The Big Country is grand entertainment. If you do not already own this one, you should. Very highly recommended!

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

5+

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

4.5