This is a Western directed by Sergio
Leone, with music composed by Ennio Morricone, starring Charles Bronson and
Henry Fonda. Rotten Tomatoes rates it as the 6th top Western, with Empire,
Total Film and Time magazines all listing it as among the hundred greatest films
in history. Yet it is The Good, the Bad
and the Ugly which gets the popular Spaghetti recognition, the cultural
references and the oft-repeated soundtrack. But Once Upon a Time in the West is the greatest.
Background
Once
Upon a Time in the West is a winding epic which pits several gunslingers against each other on a vengeful collision course, set at the end of the Old West. They are all trying to fulfill their own desires: money, revenge, survival. It is a more sombre and serious film than the earlier Dollars
trilogy, a series which could at times seem like a playful chuckle at the
Western genre. Here, Leone has created an unforgiving world in which only the
toughest survive. Children become adults quickly (if they live), and there are
few ‘in thees world there are two taypes of peepole my frieend’ caricatures. It
is a harsh slice of reality.
The brutality of existence is a major strength
of this film. There are bursts of death, destroying bad guys, good guys,
children and animals. Leone wanted to show the build-up and reaction to
violence, so the action is often curt. In many ways, the film is about the aftermath
of violence: it is the effects of killing which dictate the characters’
movements.
It is also a highly emotional tale.
Familial slaughter, vengeance, and warped justice drive the plot. The
characters don’t simply act because they are ‘good’ or ‘bad’, but because of
deep emotional wounds sustained in the tundra of frontier America. This engages
the viewer, elevating the film above stock Westerns.
If for no other reason, watch for the
final shoot-out: one of the best in cinema. It is a rare example of a Mexican
stand-off which has genuine feeling, split by a gut-wrenching flashback
explaining the situation. And the soundtrack (which I will discuss later) is
more than the usual tense musical accompaniment.
But why is it better than every
other Western? Well, of course, that is an impossible claim. But consider its
virtues: a vivid portrayal of life, death and emotion, contained in a gripping
narrative with consummate acting, topped by a remarkable score and flawless
style. It is a rare mix.
Characters
Charles Bronson stars as the mysterious
Harmonica in a titanic performance as the wronged loner. He is this film’s Man
with No Name: no past, no future (perhaps not totally accurate). The restrained majesty of his
acting is superb. With his tough immigrant upbringing and WWII combat, Bronson looks
convincing and natural in this landscape. His face is marked with expression:
intelligent eyes smile through leathery skin. The actor manages to suggest an intricate
persona with a wounded history without revealing anything, which makes
Harmonica so intriguing. The reason for his presence is only made clear at the
end, in an show-stopping visual explanation. Essentially, Harmonica is so much
more complex than the leads in, say, The
Magnificent Seven.
Henry Fonda spits and shoots his way
through the film as hired gun Frank, who revels in the killing of children and
the destroying of lives. His sparklingly clear blue eyes belie (or perhaps
exaggerate) the sheer evil of his existence. Frank is a maniac: Fonda forces
you to realise that.
Claudia Cardinale and Jason Robards
support, as the widow of one of Frank’s victims and as an outlaw caught up in
the violence respectively. Cardinale is a forceful presence, rare for a woman
in this genre. She conveys the tough vulnerability of her troubled character excellently.
Robards also does well in what is a secondary position, furnishing the hounded Cheyenne
with a rounded and realistic performance.
Pace
The pace is slow and deliberate, yet at
no point is Once Upon a Time in the West
boring or lacking dramatic tension. Consider the opening scene: During ten
minutes of crushing near-silence, a group of gunslingers prowl round a
ramshackle station in the vast, empty desert. We see the grimy, unshaven faces
of the sweating killers, their skin reading like an autobiography of a life of
frontier desperation. The only significant noise is a rusty sign swinging in
the lonesome wind, occasionally punctured by an irritating fly or the splashing
of stale water. A menacing Charles Bronson appears, taunting his foes with laconic
threats and a harmonica. Insults are traded, the audience holds their breath,
and within a flash everyone on-screen has lead in them. Only a masterpiece
could hold the viewer in its thralls through such a protracted period of hot
boredom, every movement seeming significant, building the tension to an
ecstatic finale. And that is how the whole picture goes, all two and a half hours.
Style
Viewing Once Upon a Time in the West makes one feel as if they are in the
old West, not a film set. A major strength of the film is the fact that we see a
lost world: throughout the film, the nascent railway-building nears the town, a
metaphor for civilisation conquering the wilderness. The grime and dirt is
hyperbole, but completely necessary to transport civilised audiences back into
an age of peasant brutality. Sombre Natives ramble by honky-tonk bars
containing scarred drifters. Dust whirls mercilessly over the Chinese railway
labourers. One can almost feel the splinters in the rough wooden huts. There is
no place for aesthetic revisionism or Wayne-style clean American heroes in this
evocative landscape. Any delusions that frontier America would be a fun and
quirky place to knock about in quickly evaporate with the onslaught of reality.
Music
The soundtrack showcases Leone at his best:
great music on its own, but it combines with the on-screen events to induce
real primitive emotion from the audience. There are several pieces, broadly matching
the different characters. In Fonda’s theme, a clanging, roaring guitar pierces
the baying harmonica, reminding us of Bronson’s omnipresence while juxtaposed
with the grinning evil of Fonda’s gang. The score stirs itself into a fitful
melodrama of strings as the slaughter takes hold. Bronson’s theme is simple: a
mysterious Harmonica playing slowly and deliberately, like the character. It is
curious, watching the action before committing, a hint of violence in the
stalking. Cardinale’s is dulcet and emotive, the swaying voice and violin
creating pathos for the only woman in this masculine struggle, without becoming
melodramatic or cheesy. Robard’s is generally merry, tinged with tragedy, again
much like the character. It is haunting, epic, emotional, a masterpiece of art.
Much like the film.
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