Appaloosa Trots Easily Along

The word Appaloosa rolls off the tongue slow and languid, much like film itself.  Ed Harris‘ traditional western, like a fine whiskey, should be enjoyed slowly to be truly appreciated.  Surely in no hurry to get where it’s going, swaggering and moseying across its desert landscapes like its cowboys do, Appaloosa relies on its swaggering, moseying cowboys to brew the film into such a pleasurable treat.

As renowned gunmen and “peacemakers” Virgil Cole and Everett Hitch, Ed Harris and Viggo Mortensen intoxicate.  Ed Harris’ Virgil Cole exudes authority with every wrinkle of his brow.  He dresses sharp, shoots sharper, and speaks simply.  He gallops into Appaloosa with his deputy, Mr. Hitch, and with a snide remark and devious grin, takes the small town into his own hands to save it from Randall Bragg (a smarmy Jeremy Irons) and his misbehaving men.  Within moments Cole’s shot two men in the local tavern for lewd behavior and shows little moral issue with it.  He is a man of the law, and he is the law – best no one forget it.  His pride is truly a beautiful creature to observe, and his loss for words – which Everett has no problem correcting – leaves him endearing despite his propensity toward violence.

But it’s the magnificent Viggo who steals the show with his quiet, all-encompassing honesty.  With just a tip of his hat – or an ever more revealing tip-up of his hat – he speaks volumes.  Actually he rarely speaks, except to tell Virgil what the word is he’s looking for, but he has no need for long-winded speeches.  He sees the world plainly and assesses it fairly with a deep integrity and a charming, unsettling intensity.  One imagines that if he looked you in the eye, you’d do whatever he said – or just melt in his arms.  (Or it could just be those baby blues.)

The plot for the western, like its men, is nothing fancy – just classic western fare.  They shoot ‘em up, arrest ‘em, track men through the desert, and are forced to reassess their values after falling under the spell of a (not so good) woman.  Playing the little woman is Renee Zellweger who is fine (just fine) as Ally French, a widow whose fear of being alone leads her into the arms of whichever gentleman boasts the most power.  Ally attracts the love of hard-hearted Virgil Cole – who’d never loved nothing but “whores and squaws” before – and falls hard for the clean, piano-playing, good-looking woman.  One hopes for a more compelling actress in the role – a better seductress than the mousy Zellweger – but the Oscar-winner displays Ally’s confusion and self-loathing admirably as she flits from man to gun-swilling man.

Love is a troubling bedfellow in Harris’ western saga where Ally’s ever-loosened corset leads the men into dangerous territory, but there is no doubt of Harris’ love for the genre.  His landscapes and sunsets are dusty and lush with the camera glazing over to portray the hazy, harsh sun.  And his nighttime character profiles speak to a western majesty while its swooping panned shots of the empty desert contribute to the thematic isolation.  Simply, it’s a beautifully shot film.

There’s little of the unexpected in Appaloosa, and the good guys and the bad guys have the lines drawn firmly in the sand.  But it’s the humor and character depth that transports Appaloosa out of the dusty desert and into the sun.