There has been no tougher or more formidable Western heavy than Richard Boone... He was a fine, respected actor and powerful presence, one of the screen's most efficient scene-stealer...
In 'The Tall T,' Boone was Randolph Scott's intelligent, embittered adversary, smooth as a rattlesnake and twice as treacherous; in 'Man Without a Star,' he wrapped non-conforming farmers in barbed wire; in 'Way of a Gaucho,' he was a mean, sadistic Major who persecuted Rory Calhoun; and in 'Hombre' he gave Paul Newman a rough ride: 'Well, now, what do you suppose hell is gonna look like?'
Not many of the serious Westerns of the late sixties can match the mood and authenticity of Martin Ritt's 'Hombre.' It is a suspenseful Western melodrama pointing up racial bias and hypocrisy, with a plot modeled on greed, nobility, prejudice and resignation...
John Russell (Paul Newman) has no emotion (except anger) and little vitality; he's totally alienated from mankind and is 'alienating' as well Russell is a white man raised by the Indians, who call him "Hombre," and with whom he identifies
Choosing to isolate himself from white society, which he despises, he lives on a reservation and looks and dresses like an Indian But he's persuaded to cut his hair and return to civilization to take over some property He winds up on a stagecoach with white passengers, who, learning his background, force him to ride with the driver Not quite an Indian, and banished by whites, he's the classic outcast in no man's land Ironically, Russell is the only one capable of rescuing the passengers from bandits and guiding them back to civilization The drama depends on whether he will accept responsibility for his fellow man
"Hombre," which reunited Newman with the "Hud" team (director Ritt, writers Ravetch and Frank, cinematographer Howe), resembles John Ford's classic Western, "Stagecoach": several people, whose personal crises are outlined, are thrown together, and their interactions provide a social commentary on avarice, bigotry and responsibility But in Ford's film, those deemed worthless by society reveal their inherent nobility, and only one man, the absconding banker, is bad Here, the embezzler of Indian fundsFavor (Fredric March), is not much worse than the others Except for Jessie (Diane Cilento), an honest, earthy woman in the Patricia Neal-Hud vein, they're all helpless, coward1y or selfish
In this context, Russell is an inversion of the John Wayne hero He's strong and silent in the traditional manner, but instead of being the expected virile defender of the weak, he helps the others only when his own survival is at stake He refuses to intercede when the malevolent bandit Grimes (Richard Boone) deprives a soldier of his seat; is willing to leave the helpless passengers stranded; indifferently sends Favor out into the desert without water; and declines to rescue Favor's Indian-hating wife (Barbara Rush), left by the bandits to bake in the sun
Even though he acts out of a justifiable outrage, Russell is not meant to be a sympathetic character: the white man's mistreatment may have made him indifferently cruel, but cruel he is, nevertheless... Perhaps to soften our attitude, the filmmakers have him suddenly abandon his disengagement at the end, and perform the traditional act to rescue Favor's wife
Newman's performance here is unlike any of his others His style has been stripped away to the bare essentials; to call it underplaying would be an understatement He imparts a sense of transcendent stillness; when he acts he does so suddenly, returning immediately thereafter to his relatively immobile state He speaks laconically, in clipped sentences, with a solemn, deliberately monotonous, almost lifeless voice In addition, his facial expression hard1y changes; at times it approaches an infinitesimal smile, but otherwise it is unsociable, severe, bitter, or inscrutably neutral
At first glance, it seems that Newman is hard1y acting, and some critics called him wooden Russell's inscrutable expression is a mask to cover his ingrained hurt, and suggests a man in a constant state of meditation or deep reflection on the chaos around him Appropriately, the film opens and closes on close-ups of his face, and throughout, our attention is directed toward the blue eyes, which are constantly watching, thinking, judging, condemning
Newman also frequently folds his arms as if protecting or insulating himself from the worlda natural defense mechanism of someone who's suffered a great deal of pain, and a physical equivalent of his psychological introversion This is Newman's most completely self-sufficient, isolated, and inhuman loner, and he gives a performance that bravely risks complete alienation of the audience And that's what happens; as in "Torn Curtain," the character is ultimately non-involving But it's an extremely interesting piece of disciplined acting
Martin Ritt puts the whole picture together in a straight, precise layout of plots, accumulating action that holds interest up to the big scenes... Of all the sequences which stay in the mind, perhaps the most memorable is that in which the Mexican bandit (Frank Silvera) painfully congratulates Russell as a sharp shooter: 'Hey, Hombre! A compliment on your shooting. You put a hole in me.'
In 'The Tall T,' Boone was Randolph Scott's intelligent, embittered adversary, smooth as a rattlesnake and twice as treacherous; in 'Man Without a Star,' he wrapped non-conforming farmers in barbed wire; in 'Way of a Gaucho,' he was a mean, sadistic Major who persecuted Rory Calhoun; and in 'Hombre' he gave Paul Newman a rough ride: 'Well, now, what do you suppose hell is gonna look like?'
Not many of the serious Westerns of the late sixties can match the mood and authenticity of Martin Ritt's 'Hombre.' It is a suspenseful Western melodrama pointing up racial bias and hypocrisy, with a plot modeled on greed, nobility, prejudice and resignation...
John Russell (Paul Newman) has no emotion (except anger) and little vitality; he's totally alienated from mankind and is 'alienating' as well Russell is a white man raised by the Indians, who call him "Hombre," and with whom he identifies
Choosing to isolate himself from white society, which he despises, he lives on a reservation and looks and dresses like an Indian But he's persuaded to cut his hair and return to civilization to take over some property He winds up on a stagecoach with white passengers, who, learning his background, force him to ride with the driver Not quite an Indian, and banished by whites, he's the classic outcast in no man's land Ironically, Russell is the only one capable of rescuing the passengers from bandits and guiding them back to civilization The drama depends on whether he will accept responsibility for his fellow man
"Hombre," which reunited Newman with the "Hud" team (director Ritt, writers Ravetch and Frank, cinematographer Howe), resembles John Ford's classic Western, "Stagecoach": several people, whose personal crises are outlined, are thrown together, and their interactions provide a social commentary on avarice, bigotry and responsibility But in Ford's film, those deemed worthless by society reveal their inherent nobility, and only one man, the absconding banker, is bad Here, the embezzler of Indian fundsFavor (Fredric March), is not much worse than the others Except for Jessie (Diane Cilento), an honest, earthy woman in the Patricia Neal-Hud vein, they're all helpless, coward1y or selfish
In this context, Russell is an inversion of the John Wayne hero He's strong and silent in the traditional manner, but instead of being the expected virile defender of the weak, he helps the others only when his own survival is at stake He refuses to intercede when the malevolent bandit Grimes (Richard Boone) deprives a soldier of his seat; is willing to leave the helpless passengers stranded; indifferently sends Favor out into the desert without water; and declines to rescue Favor's Indian-hating wife (Barbara Rush), left by the bandits to bake in the sun
Even though he acts out of a justifiable outrage, Russell is not meant to be a sympathetic character: the white man's mistreatment may have made him indifferently cruel, but cruel he is, nevertheless... Perhaps to soften our attitude, the filmmakers have him suddenly abandon his disengagement at the end, and perform the traditional act to rescue Favor's wife
Newman's performance here is unlike any of his others His style has been stripped away to the bare essentials; to call it underplaying would be an understatement He imparts a sense of transcendent stillness; when he acts he does so suddenly, returning immediately thereafter to his relatively immobile state He speaks laconically, in clipped sentences, with a solemn, deliberately monotonous, almost lifeless voice In addition, his facial expression hard1y changes; at times it approaches an infinitesimal smile, but otherwise it is unsociable, severe, bitter, or inscrutably neutral
At first glance, it seems that Newman is hard1y acting, and some critics called him wooden Russell's inscrutable expression is a mask to cover his ingrained hurt, and suggests a man in a constant state of meditation or deep reflection on the chaos around him Appropriately, the film opens and closes on close-ups of his face, and throughout, our attention is directed toward the blue eyes, which are constantly watching, thinking, judging, condemning
Newman also frequently folds his arms as if protecting or insulating himself from the worlda natural defense mechanism of someone who's suffered a great deal of pain, and a physical equivalent of his psychological introversion This is Newman's most completely self-sufficient, isolated, and inhuman loner, and he gives a performance that bravely risks complete alienation of the audience And that's what happens; as in "Torn Curtain," the character is ultimately non-involving But it's an extremely interesting piece of disciplined acting
Martin Ritt puts the whole picture together in a straight, precise layout of plots, accumulating action that holds interest up to the big scenes... Of all the sequences which stay in the mind, perhaps the most memorable is that in which the Mexican bandit (Frank Silvera) painfully congratulates Russell as a sharp shooter: 'Hey, Hombre! A compliment on your shooting. You put a hole in me.'