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Richard Dix strikes a pose as Irene Dunne looks on in the appalling Cimarron |
Over 40 years in Oklahoma, from the Land Rush of 1889, the
town of Osage grows from tents and mud hats to a thriving modern 1920s city. Part
of the story of the town are the lives of two of its founders, Yancey Cravat
(Richard Dix) and his wife Sabra (Irene Dunne). Yancey is a noble, man’s man
with wanderlust, who rides into Osage, guns down the bullies and campaigns for
the rights of the poor and down-trodden via his newspaper. Sabra picks up the
pieces when he wanders off (often years or decades at a time) raising the
children, running the newspaper and eventually becoming a congresswoman.
It should be a sprawling epic, but Cimarron is a dull
fart of a film that runs out of any narrative drive after its opening hour
(which largely focuses on 1889-1893) and collapses into a series of
disconnected, uninteresting scenes, very dully filmed, that sees our characters
obtain increasing amounts of old age make-up while shedding what little
personalities they had to begin with.
Ruggles shoots the film with such tepid flatness, you might
as well be in the theatre. Most of the scenes sees the camera set in a static
position (to capture the sound – the sound mix on the film, by the way, is
appalling making most of the dialogue extremely hard to hear) with scenes taking
place in medium shot allowing us to see the sets and follow the actors walking
in and out. You might as well be sitting in the theatre – although, if you were,
it would be harder to leave.
It’s not helped by the generally terrible acting, pretty
much across the board. Irene Dunne just about emerges with some dignity by underplaying
and even showcases a surprising amount of feminine independence – even if her
character is an insufferable prig, demonstrating flashes of racism as and when
the plot requires. But you can at least see why she continued to have a career
– just as you can see why this was Richard Dix’s highest profile sound film.
Dix doesn’t know whether to go for a declamatory theatrical style or to
telegraph every emotion with poses, silent movie style. So, he does both. The
result is a ludicrous collection of poses and grandstanding, that his wild
eyes, dyed hair and middle-distance starring stance doesn’t help with. It’s a
dreadful performance.
It’s fitting it sits in a film as bad as this one. The only
moment of invention the film manages is its opening sequence, restaging the
Oklahoma Land Rush. This set piece uses an army of carts and horses to restage
the entire land grab from start to finish, the camera capturing these waves of
prospectors charging into Oklahoma to grab the best bits. Nothing else in the
film beats it, not even the gun fight that occurs part way through. Instead,
the film degenerates into long, vague scenes, usually centring around a
self-important speech of self-righteous bluster from Dix.
Nothing looks more dated in the film than its depiction of
anyone not white and Christian. Now I will cut the film a little bit of slack
here. It’s clearly trying to make a plea for greater toleration. Dix’s
character passionately campaigns for the rights of Native Americans (or “the
red men” as he puts it). He treats his black servant Isaiah with love and
affection. He defends the Jewish prospectors. This film is trying to push an
agenda more advanced than its time. It gets points for that.
It loses them all though for how these characters are
presented. The Jewish characters are smiling, wizened Shylocks. The Native
Americans are exotics, forever “How”-ing and happily accepting their status as second-class
citizens. Worst of all, Yancey’s servant Isaiah is one of the most shockingly
racist caricatures put on film. You think Gone with the Wind is bad?
Watch this. Isaiah is stupid, muddle-headed, speaks in a clumsy patois, ridiculously
fawning, delighted to be a servant and treats the white men like Gods. The film
encourages us to chuckle at him, while patting his head with a smiling
paternalism. All the tragic death scenes in the world can’t wash the bad taste
out of the mouth. Back then it was fairly forward-thinking – today its jaw
dropping.
The main problem is the film is a dull, drifting, dawdling
mess that goes nowhere and asks us to root for two characters who are both, in
their ways, self-important prigs, convinced they are right about everything. It
builds to nothing at all, other than mirroring the sort of relentless march of
time you’ll experience while watching it. It’s patronising, uninteresting and
outstays its welcome. I can’t even work out why it’s called Cimarron
(the name of Yancey and Sabra’s son). Is it because it’s a film asking us to
think about the future? It can’t be because Cimarron is important – in ten
minutes he ages from about 12 to 40. But then the fact the title refers to an
empty non-character is somehow fitting for a film that really should be put
down at the earliest opportunity.
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