The Man from the Alamo (Budd Boetticher / U.S., 1953):

A characteristic calm sets the scene, Jim Bowie impatient in his sickbed while blood is wiped off the blade bearing his name by a somber, stocky slave. The besieged compound stands for the Republic of Texas, Colonel Travis responds to Santa Anna's demand of surrender by inspecting the battlements, "is this cannon loaded?" The flag struck during the bombardment is restored by one of the volunteers (Glenn Ford), whose courage must be disguised as cowardice when he's chosen to leave to check on the families of his fellow defenders. (He gets the black bean in the upturned Stetson, "always unlucky.") His ranch is burned by marauders in deceptive uniforms, cf. The Wild Bunch, his reputation as would-be deserter precedes him. "I don't know, but it seems to me that the air here is pretty foul," growls the town elder (Chill Wills) of his presence. Pioneer maiden (Julie Adams) and Mexican orphan (Marc Cavell) are the only ones on his side, a cellmate (Neville Brand) is his ticket into the culprit gang. "Still don't know what I'm fighting for." The cowboy is cagey, well-knit, adroit, cunningly humble, the Budd Boetticher protagonist fully formed. A question of bravery and cravenness as fronts (De Toth's Springfield Rifle), a trenchant miniature on the margins of a historical epic. Stripped of Cavalry protection, the women and children of the wagon train rise to the occasion with makeshift barricades while the hero vanquishes the outlaw (Victor Jory) in a scuffle on a waterfront's edge. "That's not what I asked you." "That's the answer you're going to get." Wayne helps himself to Wills for his subsequent Alamo panorama, though the set of astute ironies remains Boetticher's own. With Hugh O'Brian, John Daheim, Myra Marsh, Jeanne Cooper, Edward Norris, Guy Williams, Arthur Space, Stuart Randall, Trevor Bardette, and Dennis Weaver.

--- Fernando F. Croce

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