Oprah Movie Club: Once Upon a Time in the West

1968 Western

Rating: 19/20

Plot: Some guy who might have a name travels the Wild West in search of some talented musicians to complete a band he wants to start--The Belt and Suspenders Blues Band. At the beginning of our story, he's got himself on lead harmonica, and all he needs to complete the band are a back-up harmonica, a gitfiddle, a drummer, a stand-up bass, a washboard, a bottle blower, a harpist, a bassoonist, a tromboner, another tromboner, an accordionist, a piano player, a lead singer, four mildly-attractive women for back-up singers, a beat-box, and another back-up harmonica player. Meanwhile, a guy who's usually a good guy but in this movie is a bad guy has been sent by a guy with his own train to scare a nerd with "the worst hair west of the Mississippi" and either does a really poor job or a really good job. Then, his wife--Boobsy McWhoresalot--shows up and starts distracting everybody. She realizes that her honeymoon is likely ruined and makes some coffee. A bunch of ugly guys are shot, and it all builds up to a thrilling climax when a dying man pats Boobsy on her sweet sweet behind.

"How can you trust a man who wears both a belt and suspenders?"

See, I didn't remember this movie had a character who wore both a belt and suspenders. There was a line in Billy Wilder's Ace in the Hole about belts and suspenders and a line in a novel that will remain unfinished because I'm too much of a dumbass to write a stinking chapter of it with a character who wears both. I might need a "belt and suspenders" blog label. Can you imagine Nicolas Cage playing a character who wore both a belt and suspenders? Pants would literally be shat!

Did everybody but me know that Dario Argento co-wrote this?

There's more goodness in the first fifteen minutes of this thing than most directors can dream of putting together in their entire careers. Bird taunting, whistling metal, a stutterer, veins on a dark hand, a ticket flying right into my living room. Under the direction of Leone, I'm pretty sure I could have watched these characters sit around and do absolutely nothing for two hours and forty minutes or so, all scenery and glorious sound effects. I'm not sure who's decision it was--Morricone's or Leone's--to not have music over the opening scene at the train station. If it was the composer's decision, this might be his best work. And that's saying a ton. This movie doesn't need to go anywhere. You've got a screen packed with details, and you just want to absorb it all. There are chunks of this movie where it's barely a moving picture. The pace is leisurely, and that allows us to just savor it. It's more a summertime movie pace, but it's the kind of pace I love, especially when there's so much to look at. Of course, contrast the overall pace to the blink-and-you-miss-it climactic gun fight.

I also love the character's dynamics and the often confusing relationships. They operate with these unwritten rules, this code that shows that Leone's version of the Wild West has this underlying structure. In fact, you almost wonder what samurai movie Leone lifted the story and its characters from. The characters, by the way, are just so complete. You don't need their back stories. All it takes a few moments on the screen and a few lines of dialogue and you just get them. Bronson ain't Eastwood, but everything he says is so cool. Fonda makes a great bad guy (love his sinner's smile), and Claudia Cardinale is so cute that I'll likely dream about patting her behind myself. Robards' Cheyenne is a complex and tragic figure. And they all get their own music! The periphery characters fill in the gaps. As Scott commented (premature commentation, by the way, but I'll allow it), Elam's "wandering eye" is a nice little detail, but really all of these characters' faces twitch or contort in ways that mine can't. I should know because I spent some time in front of the mirror trying to look tough after watching this movie. Leone's really put together a Who's-Who of Grizzled Guys. He sure loves his close-ups.

My favorite moment: Fonda searching Morton's train while the camera pans over a ground littered with dead bodies. When Fonda exits, it's almost enough to convince you that Leone was the greatest director ever. As I type this, I can think of about fifteen other favorite moments or shots in this.

This is a big movie, successful as a Western revenge epic or as an ode (or maybe an elegy) to the American West. Poetic and shockingly beautiful.

I should add that the way Charles Bronson holds that harmonica is perfect.