STAGECOACH, United Artists, 1939 (B&W).
Dir. John Ford, Perf. John Wayne, Claire Trevor, Thomas Mitchell, George Bancroft.
Review by Dominic

Where does one start with Stagecoach?—so influential was Ford’s 1939 film that starting with Stagecoach feels like starting with the Western’s entire history. Not only do we have the Duke in the legend-making lead role and the first of his many collaborations with Ford, but the thoughtful exploration of what would become a number of longstanding Western themes, such as the conflict between personal freedom and the uncertain benefits of “civilization.”

A stagecoach heads east to New Mexico Territory carrying a mixed group of townsfolk, two of whom—prostitute Dallas (Trevor) and alcoholic doctor Boone (Mitchell)—are leaving at the behest of the town itself. Knowing escaped gunfighter The Ringo Kid (Wayne) is headed to New Mexico to avenge the murder of his father and brother, Marshal Curly Wilcox (Bancroft) also hitches a ride. Sure enough, the coach is stopped by Ringo, whom the Marshal attempts to take into custody for the length of the journey. However, not only does Ringo have good reason to value his freedom after he falls for one of the coach’s less “respectable” passengers, Dallas, but with the Apaches on the warpath, the group will need all the help they can get to even survive this journey.

The fine performances of Stagecoach breathe life into what might easily have been flat stock characters. The stand-out is of course Wayne, and Ringo’s famous entrance is both playful and romantic, overwhelming us with his youthful energy. He seems to literally come “out” of the scenery around the coach: we know this is a place of danger, but it’s also one for the free spirit, and this romantic notion is what makes up much of Ringo’s charm. “Good for him,” says the driver upon hearing of the Kid’s escape from prison. Indeed, Ringo serves as a kind of reminder for the dejected wayfarers, a realization of the idea that there’s more to life—and more to oneself—than pandering to the desires of a society that promises nothing in the way of happiness in return.

The doctor is a similarly vivid character, a man who has no qualms about allowing his drinking to undermine his social status, while still being deeply proud of his work in the service others. During the journey a pompous banker along for the ride (Berton Churchill) turns to him and announces: “You’re drunk, sir.” The man’s answer is humorously pointed: “I’m happy—BOO!” This is a small example of Stagecoach’s celebration of personal freedom over the joyless moral proselytizing of society. Ford’s film deftly conveys that life is for oneself, and living in a society can too easily become living for one.

In this sense, the voyage into Apache country and the impending danger of Indian attack at times seems to be a metaphor for all the uncertainty of life. For the majority of the film’s duration we just don’t know what might happen, and those characters able to live their lives without shame or hypocrisy are the ones that command our real respect.

Ford’s skillful direction has enabled him to explore the full scope of the script without forcing its emotional subtexts down our throat. The opening scenes in the town teem with natural vitality, and quick shifts in tone from comic to melancholy convey a strong sense of real characters in the bustle of a real town. Additionally, and while the role of the Indians is questionably one-dimensional, the climactic high-speed gunfight is a highly coordinated, pulse-pounding feat of cinematographic energy, seamless editing and inspired stuntwork.

Ford’s film remains an exhilarating and powerful one that tackles ambitious themes with poise, and without compromising the pace of its engaging narrative. As an iconic Western whose influence on film-making has been indelible, Stagecoach’s historical significance was never in doubt; however, this by no means it should be confined to dusty film libraries far from the modern viewer’s living room.