Big Jake

Big Jake a Fun if Flawed Romp

by Kristin Battestella

John Fain (Richard Boone) and his gang – featuring fast gun O'Brien (Glenn Corbett), crusty Pop Dawson (Harry Carey Jr.), and the machete wielding John Goodfellow (Gregg Palmer) – injure Jeffrey McCandles (Bobby Vinton) and abduct his son Little Jake (Ethan Wayne) after a violent massacre at the McCandles ranch to open 1971's Big Jake. Matriarch Martha (Maureen O'Hara) knows this kidnapping is more than the army or the Texas Rangers can handle, so she telegrams her estranged husband Big Jake McCandles (John Wayne), who sets out to find the young boy along with his bitter older son James (Patrick Wayne), the progressive, motorcycle riding younger son Michael (Christopher Mitchum), longtime Apache tracker Sam Sharpnose (Bruce Cabot), and his dog...Dog.

Photo slides, black and white footage, and newsreel style narration fill the audience in on Big Jake's 1909 setting, for the cosmopolitan East has moved into the twentieth century while the lawless Old West is still populated with desperate men living in the past. As a sophisticated pillar of the community wealthy with staff, finery, and new technology such as 1911 experimental pistols, the McCandles spread is an easy target for the lingering hang 'em now and ask questions later gunslinger infamy. The similarly crusty versus next generation attitudes also have several interesting dramatic clashes – the pups are ready to leave all the old ways behind but lovely conversations on when the West was free and buffalo plentiful recall the fading pioneer spirit. The trouble with Big Jake is that the picture never decides if it is going to be a gritty, regretful piece or a teach these youngin's a lesson comedy. Brutal violence and bloody action set pieces are meant to lure younger audiences with explosive automobiles, motorcycle feats, and wild shootouts. The picture doesn't stay this way, however, but trades the western aggression for a seventies audience with a humorous horseback road trip where quips are rampant and every son takes a humble on the chin – no matter how old he is. Neither of these schools is bad at all. Sure, the choreography is at times nonsensical and the gore uneven, but the stunts are entertaining. Those quips also, are to die for – from every “Dog!” to the repeated response to Big Jake as “I thought you were dead?” (“The next person who says that, I'm going to shoot, so help me.”) Familiar John Ford company casting and real life father and sons interplay add to the winks as horror worthy scary zooms and escalating score elevate the knife wielding violence. Unfortunately, all of these elements just don't quite go together. Big Jake may have had too many cooks in the kitchen with aging director George Sherman (The Comacheros) and John Wayne's behind the scenes influence. Wayne is said to have directed when Sherman could not, and it's believable thanks to the film's polarizing tones – which also seem bent on recapturing McLintock's past success with confusing ties to 1970's Chisum and Rio Lobo thanks to repeated Batjac cast and crew. Big Jake's ending is also incredibly abrupt with no resolution to any of the violence or deaths and no return follow through compared to the lengthy McCandles Ranch assault that started everything. The rousing action score is woefully out of place in swelling over the final still frame – an all smiles portrait that would have us believe Big Jake was a happy family bonding experience. Fortunately, the individual confrontations and rivalry moments rescue the uneven pace and mixed narrative with Big Jake remaining infinitely watchable so long as you enjoy the pieces rather than analyze the whole.

Let's admit John Wayne is old and looking past his prime in Big Jake, but that's on form for the eponymous character – who still has enough wallop to his punch, point to his aim, discipline for his sons, and chess game versus the bad guys. Jacob McCandles knows what he is doing has risks but he will do it to save a kidnapped boy. He acts gruff, but Big Jake has an underlying tender, as seen in his rescue of a lynched sheep herder and his embarrassment over wearing reading glasses. Big Jake is surprised to hear his grandson is named after him and takes pride in his sons' respective grit – different grades though each of them may be. Wayne has several great one on ones in the battle of wills with Boone, and point blank there should have been more of the criminally underused Maureen O'Hara as Martha McCandles. Rather than an ongoing wink at their film partnership in the likes of Rio Grande, The Quiet Man, and McLintock, the briefly seen rocky McCandles' relationship becomes more like stunt casting a la mellow crooner Bobby Vinton as the third but essentially forgotten by the end of the movie McCandles son. Bruce Cabot's (King Kong) lovely Apache Sam Sharpnose starts cliché as if this were a John Ford cavalry picture from twenty years prior. However, Sam becomes realistic in his wear and tear. He's old, catching one of his quarry but not both. Sam remembers the buffalo and the good old days but has enough crafty up his sleeve when Big Jake needs it. He's loyal, reliable, and essential to this mission. Big Jake might have been neat as just a buddy picture – one last hurrah with an appearance from good old Hank Worden (The Searchers) of course. And seriously, shout out to the two collies from the Lassie/Weatherwax family who portrayed Dog. The animal choreography is well done, enabling Dog to assist Big Jake honorably with his own special canine zeal.

Gang leader John Fain has a plan, a darn good plan, and poncho wearing Richard Boone (Have Gun, Will Travel) is delightful in this last outlaw heist. It looks like he's succeeding at this cat and mouse for most of Big Jake, too. He's calling the shots and is always one step ahead. We believe his ruthless – Fain's black hat stands up to Big Jake's long shadow as two relics of an earlier age. It's great to see their tactics and threats turned, and fellow John Ford Stock Company veteran Harry Carey Jr. (She Wore a Yellow Ribbon) is unrecognizable as Fain's icky old henchman Pop Dawson. Pop is the nasty flip side to good old Sam, however, this villainous gang is both reasonably big enough for its killer kidnapping task as well as unfortunately too big to feature all of its members. Glenn Corbett (Route 66) is in only a handful of unnecessary scenes, adding some kind of angry “half-breed” history to Big Jake that goes nowhere while wonderfully nasty machete man Gregg Palmer (The Shootist) also has precious few scenes to develop his vile. After the opening violence, both gang members seem absent for most of the movie until featured moments in the final act that have these supposedly so bads quickly and easily dismissed. It might have been interesting if Corbett's O'Brien had some kind of personal enemy history with Patrick Wayne's James McCandles, mirroring each troop's members while further developing each son's parental issues. The two played brothers in Shenandoah, but sadly, their late fast draw duel becomes a blink and you miss it moment in the rushed finale.

Speaking of Patrick Wayne, as a kid I loved him in Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger and The People That Time Forgot. He was good looking, had charisma, and did branch out into other roles, but unfortunately Patrick Wayne will probably always be considered as getting a free pass just for being John Wayne's son. That's perhaps never more so than here with Patrick playing Big Jake's angry elder son, and the family in joke adds a lot of cranky fun. James sarcastically calls Jake “Daddy” and mocks his reputation as a womanizer as difficult to believe. We understand why he has a chip on his shoulder, and there is some character development as James goes from being embarrassed by his dad tossing him in the mud puddle (“Since you don't have any respect for your elders, it's time somebody taught you to respect your betters!”) to mastering the prototype pistol and fighting side by side with Big Jake. Of course, there is no resolution to the bonding – we don't know if Jake stayed on the ranch assisting James or if the sons joined their father roaming the remnants of the West. Though I loved Christopher Mitchum (Rio Lobo) for a hot minute, too, it's easy to suspect his out of place casting was likewise because he's Robert Mitchum's son. His Michael is the younger, hip child with the latest gadgets and style, but his delivery is out of sync with everyone else. Michael learns how to get rough and tumble with his weaponry in their quest, but teaching him to kill and beating him up a few times seems like a backward journey for the character. Honestly, there should have been only two or even one McCandles son – imagine Big Jake on the trail with a progressive son who is at angry at him and willing to get radical with his neat gear to save his own kidnapped son. That's tension!

The aforementioned violence in Big Jake is also bemusingly uneven. People rise up from a perfectly safe hidden location to take aim at the bad guy who's ready and waiting to shoot. Sometimes the resulting gunfire is bloody with superfluous blow back and exaggerated destruction, yet other casualties merely slump over with no clear wounds indicating injury. Is it a technical error or uncertainly about what was allowed in a post-The Wild Bunch genre? Bandaged legs and arms in slings look worse then they are with injured men immediately up and running back into the fray. Fortunately, all the western styling is here with fitting ranches, stables, horses, and rugged Northern Mexico scenery. O'Hara's lovely Gibson Girl frocks, feathers, and parasols invoke a turn of the century modern, but the sweet new supposedly better than horses automobiles turn out to be none too practical for the roughness on the Mexican border. That motorcycle leaping over quarry and skirting enemy mounts is dandy, but not knowing how to handle that gas pistol isn't. Even Little Jake is dressed in one of those tiny Fauntleroy suits – giving cowboy hat wearing Big Jake a double take when he sees him. Despite the back and forth and weak conclusion, Big Jake does tie the old versus new together well with veteran wit, fast draws, and sharpshooting plans coming together amid the traditional western knock 'em drag out. The seemingly serious kidnapping plot, violence, bloody shootouts, and machete implications may be tough viewing for super young audiences. However, the lack of dramatic resolution means Big Jake isn't the dark, heavy western it initially appears to be. Personality, zingers, and lighthearted moments put the big names head to head in charming, if not properly strung together vignettes that remain entertaining. Flaws and uneven tone aside, Big Jake is an enjoyable piece for John Wayne fans, western audiences, and movie lovers looking for some old school cool.

More Early Hitchcock Gems!

More Early Hitchcock Gems!

By Kristin Battestella

It's Round Two featuring more early British fare and young Hollywood Alfred Hitchcock diamonds in the rough!

The Lady Vanishes – Only one lovely train passenger has seen the titular dame, causing rail car mayhem for Margaret Lockwood (The Wicked Lady) and Michael Redgrave (Mourning Becomes Electra) in this 1938 mystery. Travel delays and assorted languages invoke the tourist hustle and bustle as our ensemble is humorously introduced – from the governess rambling about her past charges and country songs or dances to cranky Englishmen commandeering the phone just to ask the line from London for the cricket scores. All the rooms are let out in this hectic hotel save for the maid's quarters, and she comes with the room, wink! The bellhop is trying not to look at the scandalous bare legs as our bachelorette orders caviar and champagne, but the men in bed together is gay in both senses of the word with jolly good innuendo. This quirky inn comforts the audience yet there are whispers of pretty American girls and the almighty dollar getting preferential treatment, newspaper sensationalism, and intensifying continental troubles. A hit on the head at the train station leads to a kaleidoscope of confusion, unfamiliar faces, magic tricks, and slight of hand illusion. Everyone's interconnected – incognito affairs, musicians, a famous doctor, magicians, and foreign diplomats. Some genuinely don't recall seeing the woman in question, but others have an ulterior motive for not wanting the train delayed, willful gaslighting compounded by lies, lawyers watching their own back, and that unreliable bump on the head. Tea in the dining car alone, suspicious wine glasses – complaints about non-English speakers, nationalism, political secrets, and conspiracies. Who's really on who's side? Train whistle harbingers pepper the constant hum of travel, matching the rail montages, impressive rear projection, and black and white photography. Despite the confined setting, the pace remains fittingly on the move with perilous comings and goings between cars. There are stoles and divine hats, too, but that giant monogram scarf looks more like a napkin stuck in her collar! Humorous bunging in the cargo with magician's rabbits, trick boxes, false bottoms, and contortionists is good on its own, however, perhaps such fun should have happened earlier before the serious mystery escalates. There are some contrived leaps as well – it's amazing how all the Englishmen can shoot to kill and do it so easily – and though not naming the enemy country is understandable thanks to political relevance then and now, the obligatory bad guys are just nondescript. Likewise, one can see why the sardonic comedy teams and shootouts were included, and Flightplan really steals from this right down to the writing on the foggy window. Fortunately, the ticking clock race to the border, wrong track turns, gunfire standoffs, and international chases roll on right up to the end. But seriously, what it is with Hitchcock and trains already?

Lifeboat– Journalist Tallulah Bankhead is stranded on the high seas with torpedoes, sunken ships, u-boats, and Nazis in this 1944 self-contained thriller nominated for Best Director, Story by John Steinbeck, and Black and White Cinematography. There's no need to waste time on spectacle with the in media res sinking – flotsam and jetsam with everything from English playing cards to dead Germans heralds the nationalism and wartime grays to come amid damp passengers, dirty sailors, famous dames, mothers, babies, and injuries. Tallulah's in furs, smoking a cigarette, and dictating what junk to bridge aboard, and despite the tiny boat space, multiple conversations happen fore and aft thanks to strategic intercutting between the immediate wounded and more self-absorbed survivors. Fog and windswept water sprays accent the superb rear projection, and the strategic filming captures everyone from all angles with foreground zooms and background silhouettes. Natural ocean sounds and the rocking of the ship, however, might make sensitive viewers seasick. There are numerous colloquialisms as well as accents and translations, but conversation is all we have – a stage-like talkative jam packed with insinuating layers, interrogations, and double meanings. Can you make your own law in open waters and toss the Nazi overboard? Everyone feels the need to establish who's American, Christian, or had relatives in Czechoslovakia and France, and the black cook is surprised he's included in all the decisions. It's unfortunately expected that Canada Lee's (Cry the Beloved Country) Joe is the least developed character, yet he's also the most genuine person starboard. This is also a more diverse ensemble than often seen in today's movies, and three women talk to each other about shell shock and lacking supplies but nobody knows the right prayers for a burial at sea. Cold, wet, sleepless individual vignettes allow the refreshingly flawed stranded to come clean, and at the time having a Nazi officer as a realistic character rather than an evil archetype was understandably controversial. Testy questions on who's skipper, united sympathies, and diplomatic delegating drop the formalities, as after all “we're all in the same boat.” However, information is not always forthcoming and no one knows the course to Bermuda – except Herr Kapitan. Can you trust his seamanship? A compass, typewriter, watches, diamond bracelets, brandy, and newspapers with Sir Alfred in the classifieds add tangibles and some humor alongside baseball talk, debate on the superior rowing capabilities of the Master Race, and other unexpected camaraderie, for “dying together is more personal than living together.” Repeated “Some of my best friends are...” quips also address differences as rambling on past regrets becomes veiled talk about shocking revelations and amputations. Lost material possessions give way to symbolic shoes, bare feet, shirtless men, and tattoos, but there's time for intense poker, lipstick, and flirtation. Bermuda is the macguffin, and storms, hunger, delirium, suspicion, and men overboard get in the way of getting there. Rather than just special effects cool, wet and wild action heightens the internal boat suspense as beards grow and tables turn. They're surrounded by undrinkable water, rain is precious, fishing bait is nonexistent, and sudden twists happen with nothing but a splash. Violent mutinies and shellfire are surprising to see in a forties movie, but Bankhead is a stunning, strong, sexy older woman able to be kissing or angry in the same scene – a multifaceted female role few and far between these days. Once stripped bare by the consequences of welcoming your enemy, do you accept your fate, continue to row, or laugh at the irony? Perhaps this warning against fatally lumping all together and the guilty lessons learned in such a no win situation can only be appreciated in retrospect, as this tale tries to see everything from both sides, remaining gripping from beginning to end with nothing but eight people in a boat in the middle of the ocean intensity. It makes one wonder why nowadays everything is so gosh darn bombastic.

Sabotage – Buzzing light bulbs go dark in this 1936 caper based on The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad – not to be confused with Hitchcock's previous Secret Agent or later Saboteur. Whew! Crowds are both confused and giggling in this blackout, singing or arguing by candlelit and wanting their money back from the down picture show. Flashlights, the silhouetted skyline, shadow schemes, and askew camera angles add to the power tampering suspicion, and suspenseful notes follow our mysterious man in black as he returns home, washes his hands, and claims innocence – despite his neighbor's claims to the contrary. He talks of money coming soon yet doesn't want to draw attention to his cinema business, but the professional, public, and domestic are intertwined with families living above the bustling marketplace. Fine dresses, fedoras, and vintage cars add to the quaint, however no one is who they seem thanks to grocers with an angle, Scotland Yard whispering of trouble abroad, and shadowed men with their backs to the camera conversing over promised payments. The innocuous movies, aquarium, and pet shop host seemingly innocent ingredients used for making bombs, and onscreen days of the week lie in wait while the public is occupied by the picture show, hoodwinked by what's in plain sight. Creepy packages, trick bird cages, and threatening “sleeping with the fishes” coded messages become a tongue in cheek nod to the nature of cinema and hidden observations as covers are blown and men scatter. Our wife is clueless abut her husband and oblivious to her family being used for information, creating an interesting dynamic for her between the handsome detective and a damn cold, cruel husband. Who are behind these plans and why? Despite several great sequences, convenient plot points leave too many unanswered questions. The busy start is rough around the edges, meandering for half the movie before becoming eerily provocative as a child delivers a fatal ticking package in the middle of the crowded market. We know the route and the time – delaying for street sales, demonstration detours, and interfering parades ups the suspense alongside traffic jams, stoplights, and montages featuring clock tower gears, dangerous flammable film, our innocuous brown papered package, and the puppy on the bus next to it! A clock on every street corner checks each five minutes passing amid town criers, newsboys, crescendos, and clues in the film canister that go for the big shocker while silent visuals bring the threats home to the dinner table. Although I don't think today we'd have a cartoon singing “Who killed Cock Robin?” but that might just be me.

Love It or Hate It?

Jamaica Inn – Charles Laughton (The Private Life of Henry VIII) and Maureen O'Hara (The Quiet Man) star in this 1939 adaptation of Daphne du Maurier's novel – Hitchcock's last picture before his stateside huzzahs. There's nineteenth century lawlessness, shipwrecks, and the perilous Cornish coast with rocky buildings to match the blustery and unforgiving waters and storms. The opening montages are ye olde well done, and the crashing waves, sailor screams, and squawking seagulls accent the bleak Gothic mood. The unforgiving start continues with bumpy carriage rides, dangerous roads, and a spunky niece warned off the titular lodge only to be wooed with Byron quotes. Creepy uncles, more lecherous men, and racketeering add more brutality – is someone double crossing the scheme or pocketing a percentage? Eavesdropping, spying from above, and perspective camera angles are early Hitchcock hallmarks along with up close knives, a wrongly accused man, and winding stairs. Marriage is rough, women both help or hinder the crimes or remain helpless, and blossoming opposites attract banter sets off the rescues, ironic twists, surprises, and enemies in disguise. Unfortunately, it's tough to tell the pirate-esque but RP speaking henchmen apart, and the back and forth smuggling is overly chatty plodding delaying the better parts. This should be more scandalous or scary than it is, and apparently years worth of crime is just so irrevocably disrupted by a nosy girl in less than two days? Laughton's fake nose likewise takes over the ham – it's not quite Doctor Evil with the pinky smirk but close – and those ridiculously obvious eyebrows are not the kind of hiding in plain sight we had in mind. Using this villain for some kind of comedic effect misses the mark because we are so excruciatingly aware of the scene chewing, which is doubly surprising from the otherwise always on point Laughton. There is some suspense if you aren't familiar with the story, but the book is better thanks to the uneven cat and mouse here. The standard thirties period drama never rises to truly Gothic ominous, but it can be bemusingly watchable fun if you don't expect perfection on the scale of Hitchcock and Du Maurier's next venture: Rebecca.