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The trilogy continues on to Union Pacific and North West Mounted Police, Lincoln's directive ("The frontier must be made safe") provides the shared thrust. A close-up of the President (Frank McGlynn Sr.) pulls back to a long shot of a cabinet full of Capitol Hill beardos, a panoramic view of the St. Louis wharf cranes in to a close-up of the crate against which Wild Bill Hickok (Gary Cooper) leans, Cecil B. DeMille's detailed canvases in spades. A "long-legged, fugacious old gallinipper," the veteran scout heads to Kansas and bumps into Buffalo Bill (James Ellison). His friend plans on settling down with a lady (Helen Burgess) so civilized she sweeps tumbleweeds out of their prairie cabin, her tomboyish counterpart whips the hats off discourteous former lovers, Calamity Jane herself (Jean Arthur). Faced with a Cheyenne uprising and a reunion with the amorous spitfire, Hickok waxes philosophical: "Well, son, I can tell you what an Indian will do to ya, but you never know what a woman will do." DeMille's slurry of historical figures has a trenchant foundation, the military-industrial complex's shift from supplying weapons for the Civil War to sneaking rifles to rebellious braves, "a legitimate business." (Charles Bickford as the sneering gunrunner carries out the dirty business of Washington magnates and gets slapped with a skunk pelt for his trouble.) West and East and masculine and feminine, Calamity Jane has an easier time lashing a vengeful posse than getting a romantic admission out of the "ornery son of a mule" she loves. For his part, Hickok matures from "corpse-maker" to reflective wraith, Cooper's fatalistic poise in full sway at the fateful poker game. "This is a big country and trails cross... sometimes." Hill's Wild Bill visualizes the acid haze of myth. With Porter Hall, Paul Harvey, Victor Varconi, John Miljan, Granville Bates, Frank Albertson, Purnell Pratt, Anthony Quinn, Fred Kohler, Edwin Maxwell, and Francis Ford. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |