Welcome to the second part of my first post specifically about the Western film genre. In Part One I had left off discussing the stagecoach robbery sequence from my ASU Film & Media class assignment “3:10 To Yuma: Arizona Western Film Experience Par Excellence”.
Here is the rest of what I wrote:
To add insult to injury, not only is Evans powerless during this robbery which turns into cold-blooded murder…but he is spotted by Wade and his gang, who then commandeer the horses of Evans and his sons. Curiously, though, Wade promises to only “borrow” the horses and then will turn them loose for grazing where Evans can fetch them back later. Here is an intriguing little plot anomaly which suggests that Wade possesses some sort of honor, since most Western outlaws will normally have no compunction about stealing another man’s horses – especially after just committing double murder. Shortly after, the broken, weary Evans and kids straggle back to their parched ranch where he faces his dispirited wife, who (like the children) is discouraged by her husband’s lack of action. At this point the dialogue between them is more reminiscent of the hard-bitten, cynical film noir characterizations than would usually be associated with a Western.
Indeed, the attitude Dan Evans conveys comes off more like a pessimistic 1940s big city detective of the Humphrey Bogart or Robert Ryan mode. Evan’s viewpoint on the stage hold-up and shootings is indifferent and fatalistic as the dialogue with his wife Alice (Leora Dana) would indicate. She is mortified by the story her husband has related about the stick-up ending in bloodshed. Alice is clearly disappointed and ashamed that Evans did not try to intervene, but as he says: “That’s life. Terrible things happen every day. People get killed every day. Lightening can kill you…” In expected Western fashion, the typical settlers often have more to contend with as they try to earn an honest living and carve civilization out of the wilderness, and 3:10 To Yuma is no exception in this regard.
Still, once again the austere black & white cinematography in this film helps the audience grasp the grim, drought-ridden circumstance the Evans family faces. As Dan is the patriarch with all the weight of a thirsty cattle ranch and the welfare of the family resting entirely on his shoulders – it’s completely understandable that Evans is reluctant to entangle himself in any further difficulties. Though Evans will ultimately be the hero (of sorts) in 3:10 To Yuma, at this point that exalted role is not a forgone conclusion and when he finally does step up to the plate to bring Wade down and save the day, the motivation is less than noble.
Meanwhile, Wade and his cohorts abandon the stagecoach and its hapless passengers in the middle of the desert and casually stroll back to Bisbee posing as cowhands. This scene is a good example of how the bad guys easily convey the message that crime does indeed pay (at least in the short term) as the cool, casual front they convey makes it all seem so easy. In the saloon Wade displays another curious side which belies an itchy trigger finger and a sophistication lacking in most Western criminal and gunslinger types. Wade is clearly more intelligent and conversational than the average Wild West cinema denizen. His charm with the barmaid Emmy (Felicia Farr) seems genuine, effortless, with only a trace of the sardonic. The placement of him and Emmy alone in the saloon without all the attendant, raucous activity that is part and parcel of such sequences is another reason why 3:10 To Yuma is more memorable than the bulk of Westerns released during this period. Then again, this incarnation of Bisbee is not anywhere near the boisterous and flamboyant “wickedest town west of the Mississippi” types that distinguished the fabled town of Tombstone, site of the O.K. Corral.
In this tale Bisbee is indifferent, almost physically and psychologically sluggish. Extended drought in Arizona has that kind of an effect on a place. With that in mind, coping with Wade’s gang is not immediately high on the list of priorities for Bisbee’s citizens as their own survival naturally takes precedence. During the first instance when Wade and his crew were at the saloon posing as cowhands, there was a slightly amusing scene where Wade tells Emmy to get the sheriff because the stage from Contention City was held up and left stranded in the middle of the desert…they had just passed it by – and the coach had no horses. After Wade gets no response he asks her again to inform the sheriff of what happened. Her reply basically sums up the Bisbee attitude regarding anything: “Well, the Marshall takes his nap between one and two.” Only after a pause and some small talk with Emmy does Wade nonchalantly add that the stage driver was killed during the robbery. Then she gets excited and rouses the Marshall exclaiming: “That’s different. If there’s been a murder he wants to know – only if it’s robbery, don’t disturb him.”
With a prevailing mentality such as this, it’s no surprise that the finally awakened sheriff and his deputy have no idea that Wade & Co. are the real perpetrators and their suspicions are not aroused. The addled Marshall, his deputy and one town drunk ride off to the broken-down stage while Wade quietly tells his men to scatter across the nearby Mexican border where he will meet up with them at Nogales. Wade remains behind in Bisbee where his fascination with Emmy and a too-relaxed demeanor results in his undoing. Of course, this is where the story really takes off. Once Evans regains his horses, he and Mr. Butterfield encounter the bumbling sheriff and his pitiful little “hick posse” (as one of Wade’s men derisively referred to them) in the vicinity of the stage and inform them that the real robbers were just in Bisbee and slipped right through their fingers. This is the point where Evans takes center stage and becomes the main protagonist of 3:10 To Yuma. Since Wade lingered too long at the saloon, he ends up in a confrontation with Evans that takes on heat – and the close, tense battle of wills between the two men begins.
While Butterfield and the Marshall’s group surround the saloon, Evans has created a diversion to distract Wade and (amazingly) plays on his odd sense of honor and extorts money from Wade for having the cattle driven off, horses commandeered, and for the labor and trouble of getting all of that back. The sheriff sneaks up behind Wade and takes him into custody – and that would seem to resolve the matter, with Dan thinking that he has played his part. However, this is only closes the first act and Dan gets roped into helping transport Wade by train to the territorial jail in Yuma. There are few men in Bisbee up to the hazardous assignment – as Wade’s gang still roams loose and will surely try to break their leader free. As it turns out, Dan is up to the task for the $200 reward money that Butterfield offers to any and all men who will assist with getting Wade to secure custody. Unlike many Western scenarios, there is little interest “in truth, justice, and the American Way” as the virtuous, motivating force to punish Wade for his sins. Dan needs and wants whatever money he can get his hands on for his troubles and no effort is made to conceal this bald, mercenary move.
In any event, a plan has to be devised to try and fool the gang and throw them off the trail as to where Wade will really be sent to. The plan involves an imposter on the stagecoach passing for Wade, transferring the real article at Dan’s ranch…then sending him by another stage to Contention City where he will be shoved onto a train bound for Yuma. This plot device makes for good use of several gritty Arizona locations and realistic looking, ramshackle little whistle-stops which all add flavor to the downbeat story. Eventually, Evans gets holed up with Wade in the hotel at Contention City where the battle of wills between the two men really starts to gnaw away at Dan’s resolve to get the notorious Ben Wade to Yuma. By this time the narrative begins to resemble some elements of a suspense thriller in the Alfred Hitchcock mold…as the clock ticks away the hours and minutes until the train arrives. Ben tries to break Dan down with smooth temptation, needling him with bribes into letting him go, and at times Dan appears very tempted to do so. The taut silence of the town outside, the passing funeral for the murdered stagecoach driver and Ben’s gang lurking somewhere…also add much to the tightly drawn atmosphere among the two men and keeps the attention riveted.
Meanwhile, as the prisoner and his keeper are engaged in debate upstairs, the brother of the murdered man coerces information from Butterfield that Wade is being kept in the hotel and nearly foils the entire plan to get him on the train to Yuma. This little plot maneuver adds some additional spice to the proceedings but does not change the outcome of the plan. As the story continues and zero hour encroaches, the resolve of Butterfield crumbles as the fear that that Wade’s gang will come and free him are a very real, looming possibility. Butterfield even absolves Dan of responsibility for the prisoner. Nobody else from Bisbee or Contention will offer any lasting assistance as they also fear retaliation from the gang. Ironically, Dan Evans was the one most concerned with taking the unenviable job of taking Ben as his prisoner and will now see it through – although the gang lies in wait on the outskirts of the town’s train station. In an exciting climax, Dan escorts Ben Wade out through the hotel’s back door as the gang members take shots at Dan while trying not to injure or kill Wade. Nevertheless, they are unable to prevent the men from reaching the station platform.
Ultimately, the criminal Wade is successfully put on the train — the 3:10 To Yuma whose title has lingered with varying degrees of intensity throughout the tale and the story is wrapped up to the logical conclusion of most Western plots, and of course the rain finally comes to bring joyous relief to solve the crisis that placed Dan into this whole prickly situation to start with. Yet, 3:10 To Yuma is more of a thinking man’s Western than many others are. Though Dan finally (and conveniently) accepts his responsibility as the morally upright action to take – in the final reel, this film is memorable regarding the individual conscience and the clash between courage and cowardice, financial necessity versus doing the right thing, being a stand-up and hero (or not) for the family and the decision to take or reject overall civic responsibility. The two main characters were certainly more subtle and distinct than might ordinarily be expected, while the concerns and worries of the everyday townspeople lacked stereotypical Western bravado and heroism as well. All were the opposite of what Western writer Tony Thomas summarized well in his remarkable tome The West That Never Was: “Starting at about the age of nine, I became dazzled with the sight of men riding around on horses amid vast landscapes of deserts and mountains in what seemed like perpetual summer. The values were simplistic. The good guys were solidly so and the bad guys were opposite.” (Pg. 10)
