Directed by Walter Hill.
Starring James Keach, Stacy Keach, David Carradine, Keith Carradine, Robert Carradine, Randy Quaid, Dennis Quaid, Christopher Guest, Nicholas Guest, James Remar and Savannah Smith Boucher.
SYNOPSIS:
The story of the legendary bank raids of the James-Younger Gang.
Last year saw the end of Bin Laden and Gaddafi, and a curious morbidity in certain circles made bloodthirsty calls for pictures of the corpses, the likes of which haven’t been seen since the days of the old West. Back when photographs of bullet-ridden cadavers sold for the price of a keepsake locket, there was one man the collectors wanted to see dead more than any other. Schooled by Quantrill’s Raiders in the probably-not-that-noble art of bushwhacking, his name, of course, was Jesse James.
For the James-Younger gang, Missouri after the Civil War was a mess of unsettled old scores. Knocking off Union-owned banks, trains and stagecoaches, their crime spree certainly started as a way of getting back at the government, but there are only so many “permanent loans” you can take from the Rock Island Line before people get wise to your tricks and start putting timelocks on their safes.
Right. No more history cliffnotes. On with the gunslinging and the heart-wringing. That, more than anything, is what The Long Riders concerns itself with. Director Walter Hill certainly points out the historical landmarks, but we quickly sail past, headed for solid storytelling and gripping set pieces instead. His visual style, at least in the shootouts (sooo many shootouts), owes more than a little to Sam Peckinpah. Hill goes as far as he can for as long as he dares to make us feel every bullet rip through every man in the climactic Northfield Bank sequence. History tells us they had it coming all along; Hill makes us wish it didn’t have to be like this.
The Long Riders does hold together on its own merits, if only because we believe that these men are brothers. For a film chiefly about notorious, troubled families, Hill made the obvious, if somewhat ambitious decision to cast four sets of brothers as four sets of brothers. We get the Keachs, the Carradines, the Quaids and the Guests, probably the biggest collection of acting brothers in one film since Duck Soup. The simple fact that various groups of men look like each other is our way into the film.
By sheer virtue of the men it chooses to tell a story about, The Long Riders earns itself considerable familiarity with us. After the briefest of title sequences set to Ry Cooder’s rootsy, award-winning bluegrass score, we jump straight into the middle of a bank robbery with the gang. We know them, the locals know them, and, in their way, they respect them. After a century and a half of outlaw ballads, dime-store novels and Hollywood westerns bearing his name, Jesse James and his gang have become the men who need no introduction.
This film, like so many other westerns of the eighties, has been allowed to slip under the radar for too long. It was a genre going out of fashion at the time, with only the odd flash of brilliance like Clint Eastwood’s Pale Rider to remind everyone just how cool gunslingers could be. Any western fan who rates The Wild Bunch or The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford would do well to take advantage of this tantalising glimpse into the past lives of America’s most wanted men, played by one of the most fascinating cast ensembles you’ll ever see in Stetsons.
James Keach doesn’t play up to the usual cool and collected persona, showing up more of Jesse James’ violent temper and hypocritical tendencies than any hints of heroism. Then there’s David Carradine as Cole Younger, the cunning, blunt-mannered desperado. He’s coming to terms with his strange attachment to a prostitute with ambition (a supremely feisty Pamela Reed), which involves quite a lot of gambling and knife fights. Stacy Keach and his scene-stealing moustache comprise Frank James, a man fighting against his restless nature and a nagging feeling that he should have outgrown this lifestyle a long time ago.
It’s all compelling stuff, played with finesse and subtlety, but the sparse, episodic structure of The Long Riders feels more like a network TV series reaching the end of its run than a feature film. There’s a handful of stories here that might have panned out beautifully, if they hadn’t been boxed into a 100 minutes of screen time. Spread out over a six part series, who knows, it might’ve been bigger. Or maybe Jesse James was big enough when he was still alive, and no film is long enough or ambitious enough to hold him. Then again, the same could be said about Stacy Keach’s moustache. Spinoff series? Spinoff series.
Simon Moore is a budding screenwriter, passionate about films both current and classic. He has a strong comedy leaning with an inexplicable affection for 80s montages and movies that you can’t quite work out on the first viewing.
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