With a promising cast and premise, this oater winds down like a lather-slick horse. Just as Hackman and Coburn can barely cross the finish line, the viewer is similarily beaten into boredom.
The plot is a horserace across 700 miles involving seven riders. Candice cuts a proud profile sans character development or dialogue. Ben Johnson is an early retiree, dropping from pump failure, but not before he effortlessly adds authenticity and good lines like, "I've never met a man who could hold his liquor better'n a bottle." Director Brooks nods to most western conventions--even pays a little ironic homage to "Mag 7" with Coburn kicking Vincent's boot to get his attention early into the film. But all the endless shots of the riders in uninspired, noon-sun landscape slows the pace to a crawl. The inner struggle and machinations of the group prove to be just as tedious. Although there are some good soliloquies--Johnson and Hackman's pontifications on recognition and loss, respectively--they seem strangely distant from the action of the film. And Hackman's character, for being such a horse lover, spends little time nurturing his hoofer, as director Brooks does with anything interesting or creative in this film. Even his use of slow motion camerawork views as dated and ill-advised.
For light-hearted fare from a post-classic era film, try "Cat Ballou" instead.
The plot is a horserace across 700 miles involving seven riders. Candice cuts a proud profile sans character development or dialogue. Ben Johnson is an early retiree, dropping from pump failure, but not before he effortlessly adds authenticity and good lines like, "I've never met a man who could hold his liquor better'n a bottle." Director Brooks nods to most western conventions--even pays a little ironic homage to "Mag 7" with Coburn kicking Vincent's boot to get his attention early into the film. But all the endless shots of the riders in uninspired, noon-sun landscape slows the pace to a crawl. The inner struggle and machinations of the group prove to be just as tedious. Although there are some good soliloquies--Johnson and Hackman's pontifications on recognition and loss, respectively--they seem strangely distant from the action of the film. And Hackman's character, for being such a horse lover, spends little time nurturing his hoofer, as director Brooks does with anything interesting or creative in this film. Even his use of slow motion camerawork views as dated and ill-advised.
For light-hearted fare from a post-classic era film, try "Cat Ballou" instead.