The Making of The Magnificent Seven: Behind the Scenes of the Pivotal Western 0786496959, 9780786496952

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The Making of The Magnificent Seven

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The Making of The Magnificent Seven Behind the Scenes of the Pivotal Western Brian Hannan

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Jefferson, North Carolina

LIBRARY

OF

CONGRESS CATALOGUING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

Hannan, Brian, 1954– The making of The magnificent seven : behind the scenes of the pivotal western / Brian Hannan. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7864-9695-2 (softcover : acid free paper) ISBN 978-1-4766-1910-1 (ebook) 1. Magnificent seven (Motion picture : 1960) PN1997.M254335H36 2015

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I. Title.

791.43'72—dc23

2015011870

BRITISH LIBRARY CATALOGUING DATA ARE AVAILABLE

© 2015 Brian Hannan. All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. On the cover: shown from left James Coburn, Brad Dexter, Robert Vaughn, Charles Bronson, Horst Bucholz, Steve McQueen, Yul Brynner in The Magnificent Seven, 1960 (Photofest) Printed in the United States of America

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers Box 611, Jefferson, North Carolina 28640 www.mcfarlandpub.com

To Anne Marie

Acknowledgments Many thanks to Sir Christopher Frayling for encouraging me in this enterprise and for reading parts of the manuscript. Walter Bernstein helped fill in the gaps on his involvement in the screenplay. Special thanks to Mary K. Huelsbeck, assistant director of the Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research, University of Wisconsin–Madison, for guiding me through the center’s archive. Lesley Mackey McCambridge, senior director of Credits & Creative Rights, Writers Guild of America, West, directed me through the intricacies of the WGA credits process. Dr. David Witt, systems librarian, University of Maryland–College Park, and professorial lecturer in film studies at the George Washington Library, helped me locate relevant sources on Mexican cinema. Tino Balio was responsible for putting together the United Artists archive at the University of Wisconsin and wrote two books about the company, both of which are indispensable to an understanding of UA and Mirisch. The Margaret Herrick Library at the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences provided access to the annotated screenplay of The Magnificent Seven. Equally, I am indebted to Glenn Lovell’s biography of John Sturges. Dave Worrall and Lee Pfeiffer at Cinema Retro magazine first encouraged me to start writing about film and the annual Bradford Widescreen Weekend encouraged me to talk about it. Lastly, Variety magazine has a massive archive without which life would be more difficult for film historians like myself.

vi

Table of Contents Acknowledgments

vi

Preface

1

Introduction

3

1. The Arthouse Actioner

13

2. Yul Brynner, Movie Mogul

28

3. John Sturges and Mirisch: A Hollywood Marriage

42

4. Battle of the Scriptwriters

55

5. Walter Newman vs. William Roberts

65

6. Masquerade, Strike, Lawsuits, Censor

76

7. Casting: The Truth Went Thataway!

90

8. Egos Unleashed

103

9. Steve McQueen, Scene Stealer, Elmer Bernstein, Scene Setter

116

10. Breaking the Rules

125

11. Interlude: The Poster That Never Was

134

12. John Sturges: Artist and Economist

138

13. John Sturges: Battle Master

147

14. Interlude: Renegades and Firebrands

157

15. Encountering the Inevitable: Themes of The Magnificent Seven

162

16. The Film Nobody Remembers

172

17. Panic Stations

183

18. Showdown at the Box Office

194

19. Redemption

207 vii

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Table of Contents

20. Magnificent Seven the Musical

217

21. Legacy

229

Appendix: Seven Samurai Reissues

237

Chapter Notes

241

Bibliography

263

Index

267

Preface Like all good stories, this began with a mystery. Some years back, I was researching Butterfield 8. I had got to, what was for me, the fun part of the research, digging into the box office statistics. The Magnificent Seven was released about the same time as the Elizabeth Taylor Oscar-winner and occasionally I would happen upon its box office figures. Without thinking, and certainly without thinking it would lead to this book, I opened a new notebook and started jotting down the box office details of the western. The figures I uncovered on The Magnificent Seven were surprising because I had grown up thinking it had been a big hit. What was more surprising was something that was missing. I could not find any information about how the John Sturges picture had performed in New York. In that era, the Big Apple was the single most important box office arena. Big films generally opened there first and how a movie did in New York was indicative of its prospects elsewhere. I must have gone over the Variety box office figures at least a dozen times and covering about a dozen weeks, wondering if perhaps the film had opened earlier or later than I had thought. But no matter how hard I looked, I could find no reference to The Magnificent Seven among the earnings reported for the first-run cinemas in New York. So then I got to thinking—what on Earth had occurred to this major multi-million-dollar western with what we now see as an all-star cast that it did not merit a New York opening? And like all good stories, one mystery led into another. Why had it rotted in development hell for years? Why had Yul Brynner been so keen to direct the film? Why had he gone into movie production in the first place? What made Anthony Quinn, who makes no appearance in the movie, so angry that he sued United Artists and others for a million dollars? What had so enraged the Mexican government that it nearly prevented the film being made? Within a short time I realized this had all the makings of a classic case study. In fact, because virtually every aspect of the film could be dissected in such depth, it offered much more than most analyses of famous westerns. Viewed in the wider context of Hollywood at a time when the industry was plunged into crisis and stars and directors were assuming more power than ever before it was an ideal microcosm. It incorporated the rise and fall of a major star and the birth of other stars, sparked the trend for remaking foreign movies, fueled the spaghetti western, and rode the sequels boom. Its music broke open the licensing business. There were politics—an actor’s strike, a writer’s strike, the lingering remnants of the McCarthy era, controversy over the screenplay credit, the first time Hollywood’s high1

2

Preface

handed way of running roughshod over the cultures of foreign countries had come back to bite it, the film’s storyline, of invading a foreign country for its own good, a subject for endless scrutiny. There were other firsts, some good, others bad, so many it was almost a cascade, but all indicators of a business that knew it must change its ways and fast. The film’s afterlife, the opportunities and the running sores that opened up, could have made a book in itself. And, of course, at the heart of it was a stunning movie. Strangely enough, I was not entranced by this movie as a child. I grew up in the mid–1950s and mid–1960s in towns without cinemas. Until I was fourteen, I had barely visited a cinema. The first time I saw The Magnificent Seven I thought I was seeing double. It was partnered with the sequel Return of the Seven. Then, as I guess it has with millions, it kind of grew on me. It returned so often to cinemas I came to believe that if one waited long enough other classic westerns like Shane and The Searchers would show up at the local cinema, not realizing there was less public demand for those more critically-acclaimed films. That was another puzzle. When I came to study film, John Ford and Howard Hawks attracted reams of attention. Interest in The Magnificent Seven from those quarters was, to put it mildly, low. Yet The Magnificent Seven was the one that kept showing up in cinemas and then, endlessly, on television. It was almost as if it was a secret treat nobody dared admit. So when I came to write this book, I wanted the opportunity to explore what was unique about this film. The central part of this book analyzes the script, who wrote what and who stole what, how Sturges put the film together, what the actors contributed. In examining anecdotal evidence I was able to explode a few myths. Sturges is always considered the best action director of his generation and I wanted to take a closer look at that, so have forensically examined the battle scenes. And, of course, when an author looks at a film again and again he finds things that were not obvious on first viewing and a number of those he would file under “flaws” so I have not shied away from that. And I also wanted to put the picture in the business context of the times. I wanted to discover why it took so long from idea to completion and what changed in Hollywood that affected its reception and what on Earth Anthony Quinn had to do with it. Films do not open in isolation. They can only often succeed by beating the competition. So I have looked at what got in the way of the release of The Magnificent Seven. And, of course, I wanted to find out why it had such an enduring appeal and, along the way, solve the New York mystery.

Introduction It is easy to make the mistake of thinking that westerns have been integral to Hollywood since the earliest days, forgetting that, for long periods, quality westerns vanished from cinema screens. It is true that a large proportion of the two-reelers from the silent era were westerns but that was partly to take advantage of outdoor locations and stories best suited to natural terrain. When movies got bigger and longer, the western followed suit—but only for a short time. After the flop of The Big Trail in 1930, the western went into hibernation for nearly a decade. Except for a handful of films like Cecil B. DeMille’s The Plainsman (1936) and Wells Fargo (1937), the western became a pale shadow of its former self, dominated by singing cowboys like Gene Autry or series characters such as Hopalong Cassidy and made on low budgets to a strict formula. John Ford, who had not made a western since the arrival of sound, was generally credited with sparking the revival in 1939 with Stagecoach. But he had not single-handedly resuscitated the genre. He was following a trend—Stagecoach had been preceded by Henry King’s Jesse James, starring Tyrone Power and Henry Fonda, and Michael Curtiz’s Dodge City starring Errol Flynn. Also in the mix were Virginia City, another Curtiz-Flynn offering, James Cagney as The Oklahoma Kid and Cecil B. DeMille’s Union Pacific with Gary Cooper. When a genre exploded in this fashion, the industry referred to it as a “cycle.” Why so many different studios come up with the same idea at the same time was part of how Hollywood worked, and in this instance westerns were seen as a subgenre of the trend for outdoor historical films. Whatever their cause, such cycles were essential for the survival of any particular genre. This one barely lasted a couple of years. No sooner had the western re-emerged than it died away, partly because directors like Ford enlisted in the war, partly due to restrictions placed on film stock and partly because once the equally redundant crime genre, transformed through High Sierra and The Maltese Falcon, had segued into film noir, tough guys seemed more at home in the mean streets of the city than out on the range. The western was in the doldrums. “All this was to change,” wrote critic Philip French. “Westerns were to attract the best acting talent, the most skilled writers and accomplished directors, not just for occasional forays but regularly and with decreasing condescension.”1 In the 1950s westerns were an endemic part of the Hollywood psyche. Relatively cheap to make, they traveled well. Where comedies and musicals struggled on foreign turf, westerns made themselves at home. Post war, John Ford and Henry King rode to the rescue. Ford re-teamed with Fonda 3

4

Introduction

for My Darling Clementine (1946) and with John Wayne for the cavalry trilogy Fort Apache (1948), She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) and Rio Grande (1950). Henry King chipped in with The Yellow Sky (1949) and The Gunfighter (1950), both starring Gregory Peck who was also in King Vidor’s Duel in the Sun (1947). Younger directors Delmer Daves with Broken Arrow and Anthony Mann with Winchester ’73 broke onto the scene in 1950. The western became the acid test of a great director—Howard Hawks rustled up Red River (1948), Fred Zinnemann High Noon (1952) and George Stevens Shane (1953). Before the 1950s the genre boasted only one reliable box office star—John Wayne. Afterwards, John Wayne, James Stewart, Gary Cooper, Randolph Scott and Alan Ladd regularly featured in polls of top stars.2 Far from being trapped in a small vicious circle of regurgitated stories featuring onetrick ponies as stars, the western proved itself endlessly adaptable, partly as a result of the different kind of intelligence being brought to bear and partly from the need to satisfy a new market, the one opened up by the box office success of Red River, High Noon and Shane. The seven standard formulas of basic westerns, as identified by screenwriter Frank Gruber3—the railways, the ranch, the cattle empire (a variation on the ranch but dealt with in more epic fashion), cavalry versus Indians, revenge, the outlaw, and the marshal/law and order—were reinvented in a hundred different ways. French called the western “a hungry cuckoo … of a genre, a voracious bastard of form, open to visionaries and opportunists, ready to seize upon anything that is in the air from juvenile delinquents to ecology.”4 High Noon sparked a cycle of lawand-order westerns, Winchester ’73 a subgenre revolving around weapons. Bad Day at Black Rock invented the postmodern western, “playing on the audience’s feelings about and knowledge of westerns.”5 Yet westerns did not dominate the box office. Between 1946 and 1955 less than ten percent of the biggest- earning movies were westerns. At times there were slim pickings. In 1946, there were only five westerns in the annual top 100, the following year three. The public showed more appreciation in A rare still from Shane (Paramount, 1953) shows Brandon the early 1950s—15 westerns en De Wilde shocked by the noise from Alan Ladd’s gun. Shane was chosen to inaugurate the new panoramic screen tered the top 100 in 1952, 12 in 1953. Classic status did not always at the giant Radio City Music Hall in New York.

Introduction

5

equate to box office success. My Darling Clementine in 47th place on the annual chart was well behind the top western of 1946, The Virginian starring Joel McCrea in the 22nd position. She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (24th in its year) was beaten by Alan Ladd as Whispering Smith (19th). Both Fort Apache and Rio Grande placed 22nd in their respective years, The Gunfighter a lowly 45th. Two 3D efforts—The Charge at Feather River (12th) and Fort Ti (27th)—beat The Naked Spur (41s) in 1953.6 The three westerns regarded as best of the 1950s were critical and box office smashes— High Noon was second in 1952, Shane third in 1953 and The Searchers tenth in 1956. A total of 19 films, the highest ever, found a spot in the top 100 in 1956, including Friendly Persuasion (19th) and Kirk Douglas as The Indian Fighter (33rd). But almost immediately, the genre was in decline, just ten entering the rankings the following year, led by John Sturges’ Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (12th) and James Stewart in Night Passage at number 30. Among the more memorable were Daves’ 3:10 to Yuma and Mann’s The Tin Star with Gary Cooper. Less memorable were Westward Ho the Wagons, Jesse James, Gun Glory, The Iron Petticoat, Three Violent Men and The Guns of Fort Petticoat. In 1958, the number of successful westerns dipped to just five—The Big Country (11th), Henry King’s Bravados (39th), Gary Cooper in Man of the West (51st), and Glenn Ford in Cowboy (joint 51st) and The Sheepman (58th). There was marginal improvement in 1959. Rio Bravo came in 10th and The Horse Soldiers 15th with John Sturges’ Last Train from Gun Hill 34th, Gary Cooper in They Came to Cordura one place lower, Cooper again in Daves’ The Hanging Tree 43rd and Richard Widmark in Edward Dmytryk’s Warlock and television star Clint Walker in Yellowstone Kelly sharing 53rd spot.7 Casting around for someone to blame for the decline, Hollywood pointed the finger at television. Cinema audiences had dwindled, annual attendance crumbling from well over three billion in 1948 to two billion a decade later with revenues in similar decline, a collapse that would have finished off most industries. But television was not the only reason. As mentioned before, movies were cyclical. Sometimes audiences grew bored with films of a certain type. Cinemagoers were prone to moving on, to something bigger, something new. Westerns, using the same locations for the past few decades, could not compete with movies shot in Ceylon or Japan or Africa. Audiences had grown more sophisticated. But Hollywood was, in itself, to blame for a lack of consistency. Fans of B westerns could be sure of seeing their favorite stars, but better known actors such as John Wayne and James Stewart, who owed their career revitalization to westerns, abandoned the genre for long periods. Many stars had become bankable in tandem with particular directors—Wayne with Ford, Stewart with Mann and Peck with King. After Rio Grande in 1950, Wayne made only three westerns over the decade. Following The Gunfighter, Peck put away his six-shooters for eight years. In six years after 1954, Stewart only made two westerns. Montgomery Clift did not make any nor did Grace Kelly (High Noon). William Holden let six years elapse between John Sturges’ Escape from Fort Bravo in 1953 and The Horse Soldiers. Burt Lancaster made two in six years. Kirk Douglas made four in five years, but audiences preferred him in other genres. Broken Lance (1954) and John Sturges’ Bad Day at Black Rock a year later were Spencer Tracy’s only contributions. Only Gary Cooper remained faithful to the genre. The breach was filled by lesser stars such as Randolph Scott and Audie Murphy—the former’s highest-ranking film being Sugarfoot (69th in 1951) and the latter’s Cimarron Kid (eighth in 1952)—and Jeff Chandler and Glenn Ford.8

6

Introduction

Directors were as unpredictable. After Red River Howard Hawks did not make another western for four years (The Big Sky) and it was seven more before Rio Bravo. Following Wagon Master Ford hung up his spurs for six years. Henry King abandoned the genre for eight years before The Bravados. Stevens and Zinnemann never made another western. Although the gap was filled by Delmer Daves, Anthony Mann, Robert Aldrich (Apache and Vera Cruz), William Wyler (Friendly Persuasion and The Big Country), André de Toth (eight westerns) and Budd Boetticher (ten), the absence of the big-name directors was a loss. Had a Western Marketing Bureau existed, the management would have gone crazy managing public expectations. When stars and directors would not commit with any regularity, what chance was there of steady business? On the face of it, television appeared to have cannibalized the demand for westerns. The argument went that over-familiarity with the genre made each new big screen effort less attractive. The small screen was dominated by westerns and at one point the top three programs overall in the Nielsen ratings were Gunsmoke, Wagon Train and Have Gun—Will Travel. At one point a third of the television population watched each of these shows. At one point nine out of the top ten in one month were westerns.9 But television was not guilty as charged. For a start, it went against all the laws of synergy. The relationship between cinema and television has, in general, been more one of cross-fertilization than mutual destruction. Creatively, they have fed off each other. James Bond and the other spy films of the 1960s were responsible for hit television shows like The Man from U.N.C.L.E, whose popularity did not kill off Bond. Star Trek jumped from small to big screen and back again. Batman did the same. M*A*S*H, one of the most successful television comedies of all time, originated on the big screen. Many hit films developed small-screen spinoffs and successful television series were adapted for the movies. So why should the television western of the mid to late 1950s, Advertisement for the Gary Cooper western The Hanging alone of any period, flout this Tree (Warner Bros., 1959), directed by Delmer Daves. To publicize the film, Cooper did 27 telephone interviews and rule? And the answer is that it did appeared on television on The Perry Como Show. not. Cinema and television west-

Introduction

7

Audie Murphy was the king of the B western. Ride a Crooked Trail (Universal, 1958) was from a story by Borden Chase, who had written Red River, Winchester ’73 and Vera Cruz. Gia Scala, who played the female lead, was the traitor in The Guns of Navarone.

erns did have synergy, although not quite in the modern sense. They reflected each other. Bear in mind what I said about movies being a cyclical business. That meant it was impossible for any single genre to dominate for a long period of time. Musicals, epics, film noir, romance, comedy, all went in and out of fashion. No single year in the post-war western glory boom—the era of My Darling Clementine, Duel in the Sun, Red River, Fort Apache and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon—produced as many hits as 1956 and 1957. Yet it was in 1956 and 1957 that westerns began to dominate television. In the light of that, is it not more likely that rather than destroying cinema demand for westerns, it had a synergistic effect on movie-going? The decline of the movie western had a parallel with television. For what is not always made clear in studies of the golden era of the television western, running roughly from 1956 through to 1966, was that it split into two distinct periods, as demand evolved from thirtyminute shows to ninety-minute programs. Toward the end of the 1950s the television western was in freefall. The boom had faded, the cycle as short-lived as any affecting movies. But not everyone in the movies noticed, or made the connection, and as many carried on regardless.10

8

Introduction

The figures showing a television downturn were undeniable, had anyone paid attention. In the 1960–61 season, westerns, once the dominant breed, accounted for just 21 percent of the schedules of the three main television networks.11 Only 25 percent of ABC’s shows were westerns. Where once westerns had been the backbone of this company’s programming, now they were primarily limited to two days a week. On Sunday ABC blocked in Maverick, Lawman and The Rebel and on Tuesday The Rifleman, The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp and Stagecoach West. Six out of its seven westerns would run on these two nights. The other one, Cheyenne, was reserved for Mondays. The other four nights of the week were now western-free zones. In total, ABC’s seven shows equated to just five hours a week which represented a three-year low. CBS had reduced its commitment to five westerns covering just three hours. NBC had 11 westerns, accounting for eight-and-a-half hours, including a Saturday night line-up of Bonanza, The Tall Man and The Deputy.12 Advertisers had lost faith in the product. After cancelling Wichita Town, sponsor Procter & Gamble decided against replacing it with another western.13 While that still left the company backing six programs, it was symptomatic of hardening attitudes against the horse opera. Crime was rapidly replacing the western as the staple. Around 14– 17 hours would be clocked up by 17–21 crime shows compared to 16 hours from 28 westerns. The previous season seven crime shows had made their debut, compared to one western. Westerns no longer had “takeoff ” power.14 Failure to spot that television was not having the adverse effect reported was because the small screen was seen as the enemy. The relationship between the two media, though complex (movie studios were happy to reap the The poster for Rio Bravo (Warner Bros., 1959) was revolution- rewards of selling old films to ary. Heroes in westerns were usually seen from the ground up television), was confronta(to enhance their heroic status) or facing the camera. Here, the tional. That it has taken this camera looks down on the trio, as if they are trapped. The film opened in first run at the Warner Cinema in London’s West long for anyone to challenge what the figures represented in End.

Introduction

9

terms of the western reveals how deeply embedded was the theory. That is not to say television did not affect cinema. Of course it did, but the biggest casualty was the B feature. In 1957, including B films, Hollywood had churned out 60 westerns. But by 1960 the total number of westerns had fallen to 13 and for the first time the production of high-quality westerns outstripped the B’s. To reverse the overall fall in ticket sales, films became bigger, longer and costlier. On the evidence of Ben Hur, Giant, The Ten Commandments, Around the World in 80 Days and Bridge on the River Kwai studios were conditioned into thinking that the most expensive movies made the most money. It did not take long for someone to pose the question: If big budgets could work wonders with other genres, why not westerns? The Big Country in 1958 cost $4.1 million.15 The Horse Soldiers in 1959 paid John Wayne and William Holden $750,000 apiece.16 For 1960 MGM announced a $6 million remake of its 1931 Oscar-winner Cimarron. John Wayne’s directorial debut The Alamo would cost even more. Bigger budgets meant longer movies. Audiences were going to be wooed back to the western by spectacle. And they would pay more for the privilege. Big budget movies seemed less of a risk than cheaper ones. Including The Magnificent Seven, eight big-budget westerns were planned for release in 1960. United Artists was involved in three, Fox had two, Warner, Paramount and MGM one apiece. Each was distinctive in its own way. The roadshows led the way in terms of expectation. John Ford’s Sergeant Rutledge and John Huston’s The Unforgiven tackled racism. Heller in Pink Tights, directed by George Cukor, banked on the allure of Sophia Loren. North to Alaska involved more comedy than was usual for a John Wayne western. With its finger on a different pulse was Elvis Presley in Flaming Star. As action-driven a movie as The Magnificent Seven was perceived as an antidote to the psychologically-heavy westerns of previous years. However one looked at it, the western had reached a crossroads. The cheap programmers that had littered the Hollywood horizon for the last decade were being shown the red light. Bigger was the only way forward. More was being gambled on the future of the western, on the spins of a few dice, than ever before. Nobody expected The Magnificent Seven to turn out to be the pivotal film of the year, the western that would mark the end of one era (movies reliant on one or two main characters, moral codes, hymns to the American landscape) and the beginning of another (multiple characters, dubious morals, Mexico). It became the western’s new border. On the one side were tradition and myth, on the other irreverence and reality. Nobody could foresee the impact the movie would have on the decades to come. As it closed the door on the westerns of John Ford and Howard Hawks, The Magnificent Seven sowed the seeds for the films of Sergio Leone, Sam Peckinpah and Clint Eastwood. This book is divided into the three parts, marked by “Interludes”—the movie’s long genesis, the making and analysis of the film, and its release and astonishing afterlife. Wherever possible, I have taken an empirical approach to give a greater understanding of specific aspects of the film and the business elements that influenced its developments. In reexamining the myths surrounding the film, I sought explanation for what appears strange. I have taken nothing on face value. Ambition fathered this film. That’s not such an unusual idea now when most good

10

Introduction

films are driven by individual vision. But it was in the 1930s and 1940s and to a large extent the next few decades. Twin aspirations engineered this film—the determination of United Artist to offer a viable alternative to the major studios, and the desire of actors to take creative control of their careers. UA took advantage of the explosion of independent production in the 1950s, and subsidized production companies like Mirisch, which made The Magnificent Seven. Actors like Yul Brynner and Anthony Quinn and directors like John Sturges saw independent production as their salvation. What nobody has written about before is how successful Brynner was at this—at one point he was offered the biggest-ever contract of any independent in the 1950s, bigger than companies like Mirisch, Rarely-seen studio shot of Gregory Peck and Jean Simmons producers like Walter Wanger from The Big Country (United Artists, 1958). The film went over budget and co-producers Gregory Peck and (Stagecoach) or directors such as massively director William Wyler fell out. One scene called for a “sea Otto Preminger (The Man with of cattle” which Peck envisaged as about 4,000 head. Wyler hired 400. the Golden Arm). Brynner’s overriding aim was to direct, his chosen vehicle The Magnificent Seven. To do this he had teamed up with Anthony Quinn and using new evidence I show how this partnership fell apart in acrimonious circumstances. Critical to the development of the film was the growth of Mirisch, but my evidence shows that the company flattered to deceive and, contrary to perceived wisdom, that at the time the film went into production Mirisch was in dire financial straits. Brynner, too, had to surrender the director’s chair to John Sturges. I have separated fact from fiction as regards the screenplay. Forensic analysis of Seven Samurai and the work of Walter Bernstein, Walter Newman and William Roberts reveals for the first time who wrote what. The Mexicans demanded script changes but I take an alternative view of the furor, explaining its principled cause. The casting is a web of myths and, among other things, I throw a different light on the oft-repeated stories regarding Steve McQueen and the supposed tensions on set. I expose the origin of most of the stories. The contribution of composer Elmer Bernstein is not ignored either. The second part of the book concentrates on the movie itself. I examine Sturges’ working practices, misunderstanding of which gave rise to other myths. I debunk the scene-

Introduction

11

stealing stories but at the same time analyze McQueen’s deftness in this area. Mostly I concentrate on the direction, scrutinizing the film’s structure and characterizations, explaining how (and why) the movie works. Economy of action, thematic symmetry, visual overlap, color shorthand and fluidity of motion are skills he brought to bear. The two battles are studied in minute detail, the director capturing the action in a series of snapshots lasting seconds, the audience vividly involved throughout. In the one minute and forty-seven seconds of the first battle there are forty-seven cuts. The second battle is longer, the choreography involving more ebb and flow, an intricate jigsaw of action and emotion for which rhythm is key. Critical appreciation of the film was slow in coming. But the themes are compelling. First of all, it is a film about change and the penalties for resisting change. It is about professionalism. Some critics see parallels in the platoon movie but I also connect it to the heist movie. Its most controversial aspect, of course, is that it has been interpreted as an allegory of American intervention in foreign countries. The third part deals with the film’s abortive release and surprising rejuvenation. United Artists did not like the completed film. Fearing box office disaster, the studio sent it into saturation release. Although common practice today, then it was used for exploitation films. In those days films had several posters, not one, each fulfilling a specific function, and I give unique insight into how this worked and also look at instances where cinemas created their own posters. The film’s release is put into context, showing what other films it was up against, and again what is unique is the opportunity to examine the week-by-week impact at the box office. In the U.S. the film was a flop. That it turned into a success was due to foreign revenue and repeated showings in U.S. cinemas. I follow the attempts to turn it into a television series and the sequels and assess why the film has become the most popular western of all time.

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1 The Arthouse Actioner It was Anthony Quinn’s idea.1 In 1956, watching a new 155-minute Japanese film about seven samurai, which had won the Silver Lion at the annual Venice Film Festival, second only in global prestige to Cannes, and was astonishingly action-packed for a movie playing an arthouse theater, it occurred to him this would make a good western. It already had a great title—The Magnificent Seven2 (as Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai was known in the U.S.). Kurosawa was a hot director on the U.S. arthouse circuit after Rashomon, winner of the Grand Prix in Venice a few years before, had been picked up for American release by RKO and launched at the newly-refurbished Little Carnegie arthouse in New York on Christmas Day in 1951. It made $14,100 in its first week, $11,000 in its fourth and $12,000 in its fifth.3 On the back of an Oscar for Best Foreign Film and as much publicity again from outraged local censors,4 Rashomon received the widest release of any Japanese picture to date, running for ten weeks in Los Angeles, six in Chicago, and four in Washington and when it opened in St. Louis it did so on two screens.5 The picture was credited with sparking a boom in foreign movies and by spring 1952 half the arthouse cinemas in New York were showing films from overseas.6 Unusually, it received a limited release on cinema chains.7 Seven Samurai had its New York opening at the 450-seater Guild in November 1956, taking a hefty $11,500 in its first week, impressive given its running time restricted it to four shows a day. Although making $9,500 in its sixth week, it was forced out in its eighth.8 After transferring to out-of-town cinemas, where turnover was more important than prestige, it was trimmed by fifteen minutes so that exhibitors could squeeze in an extra show a day.9 Thinking it would be a good vehicle for them both, Quinn mentioned his samurai idea to Yul Brynner.10 Brynner had been a star-in-waiting since appearing on stage in the Rodgers and Hammerstein musical The King and I in 1951. To create an air of mystique (and torment interviewers), the actor disguised his origins, variously claiming Swiss, Japanese, Austrian and Russian ancestry and putting his year of birth as 1915 or 1920.11 In reality, he was born on July 11, 1920, in Vladivostok in the U.S.S.R., and later moved to Manchuria and then to Paris where he became an acrobat, played guitar in nightclubs and later claimed he was an instructor at the Sorbonne.12 Arriving in the U.S. in 1941, he studied acting under Michael Chekhov, touring with his company. After starring in one of the first U.S. television shows, Mr. Jones and His Neighbors, in 1944,13 as well as acting he began working behind the scenes, 13

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The Making of The Magnificent Seven

making the grade as a director, working on well over 1,000 programs, everything from cookery and wrestling to live drama and sport and the first television talk show, Mr. and Mrs.,14 in 1948 with actress wife Virginia Gilmore. He made his Broadway debut on February 6, 1946, in Lute Song,15 a musical adaptation of a Chinese classic, opposite Mary Martin,16 fresh from her first major stage success in One Touch of Venus. Producer Michael Myerberg commented: “My guess is that he really came to the audition for one of the secondary roles.”17 Added director John Houseman: “His voice was untrained and he had a wavering pitch. But he satisfied all other requirements— a sexy exotic leading man.”18 The show ran for 142 performances, but did not turn Brynner into a star and in the touring production he took second billing to Dolly Haas. He was turned down for the film version, directed by William A. Seiter, in favor of Robert Walker. Brynner’s movie debut came three years later in Port of New York, an independent film directed by Laszlo Benedek (who later made The Wild One with Marlon Brando), in which he received fourth billing playing a dope smuggler. “Unless this reviewer is a bad guesser, you’ll be seeing plenty of him after this film break,” predicted the Hollywood trade daily Variety.19 Brynner was not particularly enamored of the experience. “I never did find out what the picture was about.” He showed up every day and received his lines. He claimed never to have seen the film.20 Hindsight has a habit of making fame look pre-ordained but, despite these various breakthroughs, there was no immediate queue for his services as an actor, either on stage or screen. If he was in demand, it was as a producer and director at CBS21 on episodes of the series Sure as Fate, Starlight Theatre, Danger and a 10-minute puppet show broadcast four times a week, Life with Snarky Parker. Colleague Martin Ritt, later the Oscar-nominated director of Hud, recalled: “He was a brilliant tv producer. Probably the best we ever had. His innovations were so unique the BBC sent two of their top men to study him.”22 In terms of creative recognition, however, television lagged far behind the stage and the movies and, although receiving consistently good notices and a reputed salary of $1,000 a week,23 Brynner was not in the public eye and it would be nearly another decade before talent like Ritt, Sidney Lumet and John Frankenheimer emerged from the ghetto of television onto the big screen. Rodgers and Hammerstein had three hits out of four when they turned their attention to creating a musical from Margaret Landon’s 1944 novel Anna and the King of Siam, the story of an English governess bewitching a stern foreign potentate. Their first collaboration, Oklahoma! (1943), had run for a record five years and 2,212 performances, Carousel (1945) racked up 890 performances and South Pacific (1949), at this point still playing on Broadway, would go on to 1,925 performances. Their only misfire had been Allegro (1947). The star of the new show, to be called The King and I, would be the legendary London-born Gertrude Lawrence (later the subject of the Julie Andrews film Star), who owned the stage rights to the novel. Rodgers and Hammerstein believed Lawrence’s charismatic stage presence required a strong male counterpart. British actor Rex Harrison24 was the ideal candidate, having starred opposite Irene Dunne in John Cromwell’s 1946 film of the book, but he preferred returning to the stage for T.S. Eliot’s The Cocktail Party. Next choice was Broadway star Alfred Drake who had played the male lead in Oklahoma! and Kiss Me Kate (1948). Reports differ as to why this did not work out—either he wanted too much money25 or was com-

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mitted to Kiss Me Kate in London.26 (Possibly both were true as he would need a significant incentive to pull out of London.) Meanwhile, from the sidelines, Mary Martin was pushing for Brynner. 27 Rodgers and Hammerstein went along to watch a routine audition. Rodgers summed up what they saw. They told us the name of the first man and out he came with a bald head and sat cross-legged on the stage. He had a guitar and he hit his guitar one whack and gave out this unearthly yell and sang some heathenish sort of thing, and Oscar and I looked at each other and said, “Well, that’s it.”28

Brynner, it has to be said, disputed this version of events.29 Although he signed an eight-month contract, Brynner continued to protest that “directing is what I really do.”30 Then, like now, Broadway musicals were a massive gamble. The In the pressbook for Port of New York (Eagle-Lion, 1949) King and I cost $340,00031 to stage Brynner’s character was described thus: “The man in the (the equivalent of $10 million shadows … for him no crime is too vicious … no sin too today) and would need to play for a vile.” Of the actor, the pressbook informed the exhibitor: “He eats five full meals a day, sleeps for no more than five whole year just to break even. No- hours and has never been to a doctor” (Hannan Collection). body would risk that kind of money on an unknown like Brynner. Between them, Rodgers and Hammerstein and Gertrude Lawrence provided the necessary marquee appeal.32 The musical had its world premiere in New York on March 29, 1951, at the St. James Theatre. Although many female stars, including Audrey Hepburn, the original Gigi, and later Julie Andrews made the successful transition from Broadway to Hollywood, there were as many who failed, including Lawrence herself, who made only nine films in twenty years including a critical roasting for The Glass Menagerie (1950). Mary Martin had made less than ten films, her last starring role occurring in 1943. Few cinemagoers remembered the singers who originated the male leads on the stage in musicals like Oklahoma! (Alfred Drake33) or South Pacific (Ezio Pinza34 and Ray Middleton35) because they never made the grade in movies. So going down this route was no guarantee of Hollywood stardom for Brynner. One of the problems of developing a movie career, as Brynner would soon discover, was getting time off from a hit show.

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The Making of The Magnificent Seven

In any case, reviewers could not make up their mind about him. During the tryout for the show, away from New York, the Variety reviewer called Brynner “outstanding,”36 but by the time the show hit Broadway, the critic had second thoughts. Brynner does not walk off with the show as during the tryout…. He is physically impressive in the part with a sinewy, panther-like grace and a dynamic style of playing…. However, his performance lacks variation…. Despite his background as a singer, his only song number is a letdown. But there was no question with his bald head and robust approach to the role he was an “audience-getter.”37

Brynner was named Best Male in a Musical at the New York Drama Critics Awards in 1951 and won a Tony in 1952. It is hard to imagine from today’s standpoint the amazement, not to say consternation, Brynner achieved through his bald head. In those days, lack of hair was no attribute. Ordinary men covered up receding hair by combing over their bald patch or wore hats and movie stars resorted to toupees. Flaunting his baldness was a sign not just of Brynner’s determination but his confidence and coupled with his good looks and direct style appeared to work. And it certainly made him beloved of newspaper reporters looking for an easy story. “He’ll arrive incognito wearing a full head of hair,” joked one columnist.38 Paramount was embarking on a major project to build a new—and cheaper—roster of up-and-coming talent.39 Audrey Hepburn was one of the first signings. The studio wanted Brynner to put his name to a seven-year deal, but commitments to the stage show—the entire New York run, whatever that amounted to, plus one year on the road—limited his movie options. Rodgers and Hammerstein, however, permitted him time off to make one movie in 1953 and Paramount snapped him up for that and another in 1955.40 The first projected film, A New Kind of Love, had terrific credentials, written by Preston Sturges (Lady Eve) and Billy Wilder, better known at the time for searing dramas like Double Indemnity (1944) and Sunset Boulevard (1950).41 Wilder was also on board as producerdirector. Brynner was not Wilder’s first choice, but French actor Maurice Chevalier had been refused an entry visa to the U.S. after signing the Stockholm Peace Appeal.42 The director had also envisaged the movie as the ideal comeback vehicle for reclusive star Greta Garbo.43 Brynner would play a Russian ballet dancer going to America on a goodwill mission. As well as dancing, the initial script called upon Brynner to sing—he had written two songs and would accompany himself on the guitar.44 He was in danger of being typecast, having been offered a similar role in a film of the life of Nijinsky by producer Sam Spiegel (Lawrence of Arabia).45 From the beginning of his movie career, Brynner saw himself as more than a star. He was intent on becoming a director and claimed he had a clause in his “eye-popping” contract allowing him to direct, as well as script and co-star approval. Billy Wilder rebuffed this notion with typical wit: “Actors study direction for the day they lose their hair. Yul’s already lost his.”46 But Brynner’s determination to become a movie director heavily influenced his career choices and was integral to The Magnificent Seven being made. In the end Audrey Hepburn47 was lined up as Brynner’s co-star though that was dependent on her availability from the stage run of Gigi. Preston Sturges and Billy Wilder could not agree on the angle of the script as it veered from comedy to something more serious48 and the United Nations objected to the concept.49 Still, in January 1953, Paramount boasted to the trade that Brynner was “immediately ready for maximum star stature.”50 To accom-

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modate his three-month break from The King and I, he was on a tight schedule. The day after he ended in the show, he was to fly to Venice for a fortnight’s filming and then back to Hollywood to complete the production before returning to Broadway in mid–June. Meanwhile, Brynner’s career had received a boost from an unexpected source. Gertrude Lawrence, the undisputed star of The King and I, had died of liver cancer in October 1952. Rather than fill the gap with someone of equal magnitude, the producers replaced her with understudy Constance Carpenter, gambling that Brynner had the charisma to draw in the crowds. The Variety critic was no more impressed than before, commenting that his playing “still seems harsh and lacking in charm,” while conceding the actor on stage possessed the “sort of savagery that the femme audience obviously dotes on.”51 When Audrey Hepburn dropped out of the Billy Wilder film she was replaced by namesake Katharine Hepburn.52 But the film fell through for a number of reasons. The 3D boom had arrived, throwing Hollywood into turmoil, every studio rushing to develop its own version of the gimmick, believing it was here to stay, but Paramount did not have time to experiment with its new Paravision (not to be confused with Panavision) process before filming began. Doubts arose about the other Hepburn’s availability and it was increasingly looking as if it would be impossible to squeeze the production into the time available to Brynner, especially with the studio facing crippling financial penalties if the actor did not return to the stage in time.53 So Paramount shifted Brynner’s commitment to South Seas Story,54 which had originally been planned as a 1954 production. But this was also slated for 3D and did not get off the ground. Furious that his movie plans had been stymied, Brynner demanded Paramount cancel his entire contract. Instead the studio gave him a $75,000 pay-off for the first film but held onto its rights for the second. Meanwhile, to take advantage of the actor’s time off, Columbia55 stepped in with a double offer. First was a musical version of Rain, based on the famous Somerset Maugham story and now re-titled Miss Sadie Thompson, to star Rita Hayworth. Debut was a remake of the Oscar-nominated One Night of Love (1934). Brynner went so far as testing for Miss Sadie Thompson and at one time was up against Charlton Heston and José Ferrer56 for the role. Ferrer got the part but the film went ahead as a straight drama and instead of using his break from the stage to make his movie debut Brynner enjoyed a long holiday in Bermuda. The vacation was enforced, Paramount insisting that income from other work during this period, such as guest spots on television, would belong to the studio.57 Meanwhile, others had been appraising his potential and in September 1953, wooed by the Italian producing team of Dino De Laurentiis and Carlo Ponti, he was announced for the leading role of painter Vincent Van Gogh in Lust for Life.58 A year later, that turned into an oral agreement for a two-picture deal, the second being Biblical drama Judith and Holofernes with Silvano Mangano (Bitter Rice), the wife of De Laurentiis. Both films were to be directed by Jean Negulesco, hot after How to Marry a Millionaire (1953) starring Marilyn Monroe and Three Coins in the Fountain (1954).59 Luck plays a big part in any actor’s burgeoning career and Brynner was no exception. Cecil B. DeMille, the biggest director in Hollywood with a string of blockbusters going back three decades, was planning a remake of his 1923 silent classic The Ten Commandments.

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The Making of The Magnificent Seven

My granddaughter and secretary were urging me to see a show called The King and I. I didn’t want to go but they were so persistent I had to. When I arrived at the theater they sat on each side of me so they could nudge me if I fell asleep. During the first act, they wondered why I said nothing. I couldn’t. I was seeing a rare theatrical experience … a performance of dramatic integrity. At the end of the second act, I went backstage and found the dressing-room of Yul Brynner, whom I had never met.60

In fact, DeMille was giving himself some artistic license for in 1950 he had discussed hiring Brynner for a radio program.61 Brynner explained his reaction to the sudden appearance of the director. In four years he had never permitted backstage visitors and in the brief interval between acts DeMille impressed the actor by the amount of research he had done. By the time Brynner was due back on stage he had not only agreed to do The Ten Commandments with him but another picture following it.62 The DeMille epic, in which he would play Pharaoh Rameses II, would start shooting in 1955. However, the starring role of Moses went to Charlton Heston. And, at the start, in terms of billing, Brynner’s name would come third in the credits, Anne Baxter taking precedence. Nonetheless, given the director’s reputation for lavish crowd-pleasers, it would thrust Brynner into the public eye. Although DeMille made all his films for Paramount, the director worked as an independent, so this did not count toward Brynner’s commitment to the studio. (For that, Paramount initially wanted The Loves of Omar Khayyam.) The Broadway run of The King and I ended in March 1954 after 1,246 performances. With the touring production set to roll the following month, that meant Brynner would not be free for any filming for over a year and first up would be Judith and Holofernes, scheduled to start in August 1955, two days after the tour was expected to finish. Just before the show closed on Broadway, Twentieth Century–Fox reputedly spent $1 million on the movie rights, setting aside another $4 million for the production (the total would soon rise to $6.5 million). At this stage, Brynner was mentioned only as a “possibility” to repeat his role on screen because he was contractually bound for the touring show while the studio aimed to start filming in the summer.63 As producers of the show, it was not in the interests of Rodgers and Hammerstein to let Brynner quit touring but as profit-participants in the movie, they desired the best actor in the role. Negotiations with Brynner were drawn out and even when Fox opened talks with the actor, he played hard to get, explaining he was keen “if it can be scheduled in.”64 Later he explained his reticence was due to his desire to direct it.65 When Marlon Brando’s name came into the frame it was viewed as a ploy to get Brynner to lower his price66 but Brynner disputed this idea. “I decided I was going to do the direction and get someone else for the part—I wanted Brando.” Following discussions, Brando turned him down.67 Brynner went further and claimed he only took on the role when Brando did not want it.68 But the idea that Brynner was in line to direct the movie—and that Fox would seriously entertain the idea of entrusting a novice with one of its biggest films of all time, and a musical at that—seems as far-fetched as the wildest of the actor’s claims. Fox got its man, which spelled the demise of Judith and Holofernes (signaling, in a way that would have repercussions for The Magnificent Seven, Brynner’s disregard for any deal that was not written down). The studio set out to make the blockbuster of the year. But it was far from a sure thing. Despite their Broadway dominance, Rodgers and Hammerstein

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had no movie pedigree. In theory, this anomaly was easily explained—musicals often encountered a long delay in transferring from stage to screen. A show’s producers, wishing to maximize revenue from theatergoers attending Broadway and touring productions, placed an embargo, often lasting years, on filming. The duo’s only movie, State Fair (1945), had underwhelmed at the box office. The 1950s had been a golden age for screen musicals. Annie Get Your Gun, starring Betty Hutton and Howard Keel, was sixth in the annual box office chart in 1950. Jerome Kern’s Showboat, featuring Kathryn Grayson, Ava Gardner and Keel, finished second in 1952. An American in Paris, directed by Vincente Minnelli and toplining Gene Kelly and Leslie Caron, came in third in 1951. Kelly was also the star, and co-director with Stanley Donen, of Singin’ in the Rain, tenth in 1952. Bing Crosby in White Christmas headed the 1954 charts while the same year Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, again directed by Donen and starring Jane Powell and Keel, was ninth.69 The lack of a Rodgers and Hammerstein movie on that list of hits was expected to be rectified by the release of Oklahoma! at the tail end of 1955, which would have the added attraction of being the first movie produced in the Todd-AO 70mm process. Its expected success would justify Fox’s lavish expenditure on The King and I. From Brynner’s perspective, there was cause for caution. Few actors known for musicals had made any impact in the dramatic side of the business. Bing Crosby was the only real exception being a major light comedy (and light drama) attraction for many years especially in conjunction with Bob Hope in the Road films. Frank Sinatra, of course, had shuffled off his musical roots to make a splash in From Here to Eternity (1953), but his dramatic career, at this point, was in its infancy. Despite a few swashbuckling roles in The Pirate (1948) and The Three Musketeers (1948), Gene Kelly had not consistently managed the transition nor had a plethora of musical stars. So, in taking the Fox coin, Brynner, despite his ambition, could well be burning his boats. Touring productions were a grind, but offered one bonus for a rising star. The sell-out production wound its way across America—Cleveland, Cincinnati and Indianapolis in April, Los Angeles in May, Portland, Seattle, Salt Lake City and Denver in August, Des Moines and Omaha in September and Dallas in October. Although the limitation of musicals was that they took so long after their launch to go on tour, one of the key marketing tools was the original cast album. While The King and I album fell far short of the 1.3 million sales of Oklahoma! or the half million rung up by Carousel, it was nonetheless the sixth-biggest cast album up to then with sales topping 350,000.70 (Lute Song, by comparison, sold fewer than 100,000 copies.) Certainly getting his name known across the country did the actor no harm. Reviews always commented on his stage presence. It was almost as if he was worming himself into the hearts of the female population in preparation for later screen roles. Few other actors had the opportunity to take the country, city after city, by storm, the show setting box office records. Bit by bit he accumulated a following. The album provided residual marketing, playing the music brought back memories of seeing him in performance. In order to accommodate his burgeoning movie career, the show’s producers agreed to give Brynner time off to shoot The Ten Commandments. Anthony Quinn came into the frame to act as his stand-in while he was away filming, but Quinn turned it down.71 While Brynner’s career was taking off, Quinn’s was at a standstill.

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The Making of The Magnificent Seven

Quinn, born in Mexico in 1915, his father a soldier in the revolutionary army of Pancho Villa, had studied architecture with Frank Lloyd Wright before moving into acting. Because of the longevity of Quinn’s career and due to his later popularity on the television talk show circuit, it is easy to get the impression that he had been dining at Hollywood’s high table for a long time. Despite making his movie debut in 1937—with small parts in Cecil B. DeMille’s The Buccaneer (1938), Raoul Walsh’s They Died with Their Boots On (1941) starring Errol Flynn and William Wellman’s The Oxbow Incident (1943)—he had struggled to be accepted as a leading man, mostly receiving low billing. From 1947 to 1950 he did not make a single screen appearance. Instead he relied on television, beginning with an episode of the Philco TV Playhouse in 1949. The small screen became his home and in 1951 he was in The Pulitzer Prize Playhouse, Somerset Maugham TV Theater, Ford Theater Hour and in episodes of the series Lights Out and Danger before winning third billing in Robert Rossen’s The Brave Bulls (1951) and second billing the same year behind John Derek (later husband of both Ursula Andress and Bo Derek) in Mask of the Avenger. He made more of an impact on stage, replacing Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire and headlining the touring production. Even winning the Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Viva Zapata, starring Brando and directed by Elia Kazan in 1952, had not done much for this career. In a bid to revitalize it he had gone to Italy in 1954, but that did not bring him any closer to stardom. In Attila, directed by Pietro Francisci, Ulysses, directed by Mario Camerini, and Federico Fellini’s La Strada, he did not have the starring roles. Fellini’s wife Giuletta Masina headed the cast of La Strada, Kirk Douglas had the title role in Ulysses and audiences for Attila were keener on Italian sex symbol Sophia Loren. Post-Oscar, he was still seen as more likely to succeed on the small screen, pursued for the leading role as Pancho Villa72 (which never materialized) and for Schlitz Playhouse’s Hideout (which did). When top billing finally did arrive in The Long Wait, a film noir directed by Victor Savile, whose career was coming to its end (he followed this with his final movie, the ill-fated The Silver Chalice), Quinn played an amnesiac struggling to discover his true identity. When he finds out he is wanted for murder, he must prove his innocence. It sank without trace. Quinn’s window of opportunity was brief. He returned to second billing, the credit that would haunt him for years to come, the leading man but not the star attraction, playing second fiddle. His next movie was supporting Maureen O’Hara in The Magnificent Matador, directed by Budd Boetticher. By contrast, Brynner made a pampered entrance to screen stardom, flown to Egypt at the end of October 1955 for just two days of shooting on The Ten Commandments for a scene involving Pharaoh heading his army of 10,000 men, then whisked back home until March 1956, when the musical completed its tour. Filming of the DeMille epic would last until August.73 By then he had been assigned the male lead in Fox’s big-budget drama Anastasia. Directed by Anatole Litvak, it would be filmed in France, England, Russia and Denmark. But once again his was not the star part. That went to Ingrid Bergman, in the title role, making her Hollywood comeback after a scandalous affair with Italian director Roberto Rossellini. A superstar of the 1940s after Casablanca (1942) with Humphrey Bogart and Hitchcock’s Spellbound (1945) opposite Gregory Peck, she had not made a film in the U.S. for eight years. She was a controversial choice, causing

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much internal friction among studio chiefs, who determined to resolve the issue of how to sell a tainted Bergman to the American public by commissioning a poll.74 In theory, at least, the movie should have been impossible to get off the ground, as, by this time, Brynner was just as tainted, having enjoyed affairs with Judy Garland, Marlene Dietrich and Joan Crawford,75 but these were largely hidden from the public. Nor was Brynner considered the main attraction in The King and I. Top billing went to British actress Deborah Kerr, a massive star after the success of From Here to Eternity. She would also be seen in the war romance The Proud and the Profane with William Holden. No doubt it must have rankled with Brynner to lose star status for a show which had depended on him for so many years. Whether there were doubts that his stage presence would not translate to Derek had the lead in Mask of the Avenger (Columthe screen or that the production’s John bia, 1951), tagline “The screen breathes fire as Monte structure demanded an actress of the Cristo lives again!” Taking second billing, Anthony highest caliber is not known, but it Quinn played his arch enemy (Hannan Collection). was almost as though the intervening years had not mattered. Whatever way one cuts it, in his first three movies, Brynner was not considered the main attraction. Small wonder, then, that his thoughts turned once again to directing. He was in discussions with Paramount over a possible actor-director contract. Despite his outward ebullience, he was ambivalent towards acting and crippled with self-doubt. The stage is basically an actor’s medium while a director comes into his own in movies and television. Good parts are extraordinary scarce and good plays are even more so. As a director I can find my own plays and direct them with scope and imagination. The acting life has its own fascination but it requires constant discipline that is quite tiring if the role is not as rewarding as my present one.76 Acting was only supposed to be a temporary job.77 During the original tryout of The King and I, I asked friends to comment on my performance. They all told me I seemed to be directing myself every step of the way and that there was a stiltedness to my acting and I forced myself to change my psychological approach to the job.78 I don’t like to act. Primarily, I have been a director—not an actor. Directing is my baby. It is for me more satisfying than acting—it’s like leading a symphony orchestra compared to playing a fiddle.79

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The Making of The Magnificent Seven

Although at this point his name, as far as directorial assignments were concerned, had been associated with musicals or musical-comedies, he was already mulling over the idea of making a western. For his next project following The King and I, he told columnist Erskine Johnson he wanted to make a western, light-heartedly pointing out how, in that genre, his directing inexperience could be easily overcome. “If the story and acting aren’t too good in a western, the scenery takes care of everything.”80 Three times in two months he was reported as showing a particular interest in this kind of movie. “Westerns are the poetry of films,” he said.81 He confessed that he wanted to make an “epic western,”82 and he also said, “I have a yen to make westerns.”83 It turned out the way to get what he wanted was to give studios what they wanted and shortly afterward, in February 1956, Paramount announced it had signed him up as an actordirector.84 According to Brynner, it was a million-dollar deal.85 Studios were used to accommodating egos. The growth of the hyphenates—writer-directors John Huston, producerdirectors DeMille and Hitchcock and even writer-producer-director Joseph Mankiewicz— had partly been a method of assuaging this. Actor-directors had been considered such a dangerous compromise of talent that, setting aside silent giants like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin, there had only been a handful in the past—the most prominent being Orson Welles, Laurence Olivier, Gene Kelly, Burt

Despite a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Viva Zapata, Anthony Quinn could not find top roles in Hollywood. Fleeing to Italy did not improve his lot. He was billed below the title for Ulysses (Ponti-De Laurentiis, 1954). Among the seven credited screenwriters was novelist Irwin Shaw (The Young Lions).

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Lancaster and Jose Ferrer. Each exhibited brilliance in one area. Orson Welles had terrorized the country with his radio production War of the Worlds before his stunning cinematic debut Citizen Kane (1942). Olivier was already ack nowledged as the greatest stage actor in the world, and peerless in Shakespeare, when he made Henry V in 1944 for which he was awarded an “honorary” Oscar—the equivalent of today’s award for Best Foreign Film. Kelly was, of course, the foremost proponent of dancing, his exuberant style lifting many musicals, and Singin’ in the Rain (1952) had been a commercial and artistic smash. Lancaster had been Oscar-nominated for From Here to Eternity and his westerns Apache and Vera Cruz been big hits in 1954 before he helmed The Kentuckian the following year. But success in one sphere was Yul Brynner as Rameses in The Ten Commandments (Paramount, 1956). Director Cecil B. DeMille’s research was legno guarantee. Ferrer had won the endary. Around a quarter of his archive was taken up with Best Actor Oscar in 1951 for Cy- this Biblical epic. rano de Bergerac and twice been nominated, for Joan of Arc (1949) and Moulin Rouge (1953), but that had not prevented the U.K.-made Cockleshell Heroes tanking in the U.S. in 1955. Brynner was far from a proven talent as either actor or director. His television work had not been acclaimed in the manner of contemporaries Ritt, Frankenheimer and Lumet. Albeit he had enjoyed massive stage success, The King and I had been his only hit and although expected to become a star it seemed a huge risk to allow him to direct himself when he had so little experience of a movie set. But someone else had total faith. Cecil B. DeMille had done a separate deal with Brynner for a remake of The Buccaneer. It was a strange arrangement. Brynner was to be “co-director” rather than completely in charge. Hollywood was agog since DeMille had long been expected to retire and also because the director, a notorious dictator on set, appeared an unlikely candidate to work in partnership with anybody. The press announcement emphasized, in rather ominous fashion, that the film would be made “under the personal auspices of DeMille.”86 Further reports explained that the director would “take an active interest” in production and later that he would “perhaps sit in on an advisory capacity.”87 DeMille’s producer Henry Wilcoxon would direct Brynner in his own scenes.88 Perhaps the biggest sign of DeMille’s

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confidence in the actor was that Brynner was on a percentage, the first time anyone had managed to wrest such a concession.89 The other interesting element from a PR point of view was that Brynner would not be bald. Discussions about who was going to do what were overshadowed when it transpired in April 1956 that The Buccaneer was going to be a musical. Now Hollywood was really flummoxed. Neither DeMille nor Brynner had ever directed a musical, although of course the actor had been in one for a very long time, but only on stage. According to Anthony Quinn, who would later become more involved in the project, the musical was Brynner’s idea and DeMille went along with it. DeMille’s excuse? “Mr. Brynner thinks it’ll make a great musical. Of course, I don’t think it’s a musical myself, but if Mr. Brynner thinks it’s a musical, we’ll make it a musical. If it’s not, we’ll just make another swashbuckler.”90 Perhaps Brynner had been encouraged by his experience on The King and I, various biographers agreeing with the view of Brynner and Deborah Kerr that his role behind the cameras had been significant, perhaps even more responsible for the film’s success than director Walter Lang. In Eric Braun’s biography of Kerr, she asserted that the reason “it came out so well was due to his insistence that this and that be done the way he wanted it.”91 Two of Brynner’s biographers took a similar view. Jhan Robbins reported that when Brynner was nominated for an Oscar, Kerr wired him, “Not only are you a marvelous actor but a marvelous director,” suggesting that he treat the single nomination as reward for his efforts in both areas. She commented, “His imaginative suggestions and instructions were responsible for turning The King and I into a great movie … he had a wonderful way of handling actors.”92 In his Brynner biography, Michelangelo Capua appeared to go along with this notion when he claimed, “Walter Lang did not have any experience directing a musical.”93 This would have come as a surprise to Lang. Not only was he one of the men responsible for the surge of Fox Technicolor musicals in the 1940s, including Tin Pan Alley (1940) and Moon Over Miami (1941), he had directed the Rodgers and Hammerstein movie musical State Fair. His last four films had all been musicals—On the Riviera (1951) with Danny Kaye, With a Song in My Heart (1952), Call Me Madam (1953) and There’s No Business Like Show Business (1954)—so the movie could hardly be in safer hands. He was no slouch either in getting performances out of actors—two of the Best Actor nominees for 1948 had been in his films, Clifton Webb in Sitting Pretty and Dan Dailey in When My Baby Smiles at Me. Susan Hayward had been nominated for Best Actress and Thelma Ritter for Best Supporting Actress for With a Song in My Heart. And, of course, both Kerr and Brynner were nominated for The King and I. But The Buccaneer remained an unlikely subject for a musical and details of composer and lyricist were not forthcoming. Jesse L. Lasky, Jr., explained that the initial idea died once DeMille realized that, despite his visual imagination, Brynner had no grasp of story structure.94 In the summer Brynner considered another proposal—the lead role in the Darryl F. Zanuck production of The Secret Crimes of Joseph Stalin. He underwent tests for the role, and although these went so well that Brynner claimed, “I understand they are more Stalin than old Joe himself,”95 in the end he rejected the part in venomous terms: “I wouldn’t touch the part with a 10-foot pole and the best American-made rubber gloves.”96 Meanwhile, the Fox top brass was growing concerned about The King and I. Oklahoma! had not been the whopping success predicted. Its major claim to fame was that it was the

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first major screen musical in recent times not to finish in the top 20 in the annual rankings. In fact the top screen musical of 1955 was There’s No Business Like Show Business starring Ethel Merman. Fox was now committed to the biggest musical of all time and had placed its faith, for two major productions, in an actor with no marquee value. The studio had to face up to another issue. Although studios became accustomed in the 1960s to long musicals—George Cukor’s My Fair Lady ran to 170 minutes and Robert Wise’s The Sound of Music clocked in at 174 minutes, none of which affected their Oscar chances—that was not the case in the mid–1950s. The stage version of The King and I was 164 minutes, including over an hour of songs and musical numbers. Fox boss Darryl F. Zanuck pointed out that “no successful musical … has ever run longer than two hours and twenty minutes.” Newspaper advertisement for the first widescreen showAware that Warner Bros. was already ing of The King and I (Twentieth Century–Fox, 1956). taking the axe to A Star Is Born, aim- Although filmed in widescreen Cinemascope 55, the film was not released in that format in the U.S, but in 35mm. ing to trim it by 30 minutes, and The widescreen premiere was at the Carlton in London’s secure in the knowledge that he and West End. director Walter Lang had just cut 20 minutes out of There’s No Business Like Show Business, Zanuck aimed to make the new film around 30 minutes shorter.97 When he succeeded, all fears proved unjustified. The King And I opened in June 1956, and both Brynner and Kerr were acclaimed for their performances and the movie broke box office records. With the musical idea consigned to the wastepaper basket, The Buccaneer reverted to a more straightforward format. Charlton Heston was signed to co-star and Sophia Loren was in the running for the female lead but lost out to Yvonne De Carlo. In October, when Brynner checked into the DeMille unit at Paramount to begin preparing the film, there were further complications caused by a new rear projection process.98 Despite experimenting with the Electronicam system during rehearsals to help bridge the gap between the acting and directing points of view, Brynner had second thoughts about doing both jobs. “Actually,” he explained later, “I wanted to pull out of the acting and [only] direct the

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film, but DeMille wouldn’t have it.”99 Quinn later put the decision in harsher terms, recounting how DeMille told him that Brynner “hasn’t got the guts to direct a picture he’s contracted to.”100 DeMille had no intention of letting go of his star and insisted Brynner honor his contract to act. The job of direction fell into the lap of Anthony Quinn who had no directing experience either but was, by chance, DeMille’s son-in-law. (When the film was released DeMille continued to harp on that he had “personally supervised” the film, thus belittling whatever contribution Quinn made.) Quinn was no bigger an attraction than before. In relation to his part in Ulysses, critic Bosley Crowther (in the August 18, 1955, issue of the New York Times) had called Quinn “virtually a nobody, one of those suitors who hang around,” but it could as easily be applied to the actor’s career. Following The Long Wait, in routine Hollywood movies The Naked Street (1955) and Seven Cities of Gold (1955), he played second fiddle to Farley Granger and Richard Egan, respectively. He had another shot at stardom play ing a Mexican gunfighter in The Man from Del Rio (1956) but that did not set the box office alight either and neither did The Wild Party (1956) in which he played an ex-football star holding a couple captive in a sleazy nightspot (it was banned in Britain). He hoped for better things from Lust for Life (1956), for which he was hotly tipped for a second Best Supporting Oscar (which he later won), but leading roles in more prestigious productions kept eluding him. But something significant had changed. To take more control of his career, Quinn had shifted gear. He The second Mickey Spillane novel to be filmed, The Long Wait had moved into independ(United Artists, 1954) starred Anthony Quinn as an amnesiac who ent production, forming discovers he is wanted for murder. Female lead Peggie Castle had enjoyed the same billing in the first Spillane film I, the Jury (1953) Antone Productions with (Hannan Collection). his agent Milton Gross-

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man. They hired scriptwriters to work on The Farm, about juvenile delinquents, and The Miraculous Fish of Domingo Gonzales, based on the novel by Martin Goldsmith.101 Quinn also agreed to star in Mexican film El Amante, on the condition that the U.S. rights went to Antone.102 Quinn expanded his portfolio by purchasing the rights to Catari by Antone Pizzi and bullfighting saga Moment of Truth by Louis DeConcini.103 By 1956 he was ready to take the plunge into directing, planning to shoot English and Spanish versions of The Miraculous Fish104 in Mexico and then follow that up by heading to Rome to helm The Shoemaker Takes a Holiday.105 Even so, these were hardly projects that would shake up Hollywood. Quinn had his eye on a bigger prize. In July 1956, he was announced as the star of El Cid. Budgeted at $3.5 million, a joint production between Antone and Spanish company Aspa, the epic was to be filmed in Spain, financed entirely from Spanish funds, and with MGM in line to pick it up for U.S. release.106 This was sensational news. It was a sign of Quinn’s ambition, and confidence, for it would clash with RKO’s film on the same subject, The Peerless Knight, although that lacked a star. Historical, as opposed to Biblical, pictures had been booming in Hollywood for several years. Robert Rossen was already filming Alexander the Great in Europe for United Artists. El Cid was the kind of deal that had the capacity to turn the industry on its head. It was an astute move, the actor hoping to capitalize on the following he had built up in Europe through his three Italian films and, by dint of his birth, appeal to the entire Spanish-speaking world. He was instantly acceptable to the Spanish domestic market, for whom the character was a legend, in a way that a Hollywood actor was not. More importantly, it could propel Quinn into the first rank of stardom. By the end of the year, Antone was set to become a major player on the independent scene. As well as the two directorial assignments and the starring and producing role on El Cid, Quinn had fattened out Antone’s slate. It was bulging with projects—a film about artist Paul Gauguin, the character Quinn had played in Lust for Life, Man on the Island with Gina Lollobrigida (with whom he was filming The Hunchback of Notre Dame), Black Sunday, which he had co-written and was to be directed by Budd Boetticher, and The Man from the North, the first major film about the Eskimo. Coincidentally, Yul Brynner had decided that the best way to advance his career was by a similar route and in October 1956 set up Alciona107 (named after his first boat108) Productions in partnership with his wife. The Ten Commandments had just been released to massive box office and so he felt he could write his own ticket. In December he established a second company, Byla, with Anastasia director Anatole Litvak.109

2 Yul Brynner, Movie Mogul What possessed a mere supporting actor like Anthony Quinn and a burgeoning star like Yul Brynner, whose first film was just in the throes of release, to believe they could get independent productions off the ground? A decade before, the idea of people on low rungs of the Hollywood ladder entertaining this prospect would have been ridiculed. In 1946 the major studios were in complete charge. Stars were still assigned roles, directors allocated to pictures. Actors and directors not tied to long contracts with studios could risk forming production companies, but these were rare; Cary Grant and Alfred Hitchcock, for example, planned to make films together but without success.1 Other attempts were short-lived. John Wayne produced The Angel and the Badman and The Fighting Kentuckian in 1947 before his production company went into hibernation. The major studios had designated top directors as “producers” in order to give them a small share of profits. But Liberty Films, established by Frank Capra, George Stevens and William Wyler, three of the biggest names in the industry, the most high-profile attempt to break out of the straitjacket of the studio system and achieve proper creative autonomy, had been a disaster and, financially, Howard Hawks barely survived Red River.2 Hollywood was plunged into crisis after the Second World War. Ticket sales tumbled,3 studios were forced to sell their cinema chains and television began encroaching on audiences. To cut costs, studios dissolved the star system. In 1947 over 700 actors had contracts with studios, but within a decade that dropped to just over 200, while the labor force contracted from 24,000 to 13,000. That should have put studios in the driver’s seat but most of the actors dismissed meant nothing to the paying public and the top stars reassessed their worth. Cutbacks created opportunity for independent producers. In 1949, independents accounted for 20 percent of the 234 movies released by the eight major studios. By 1957, that had risen to 58 percent (of 291 pictures).4 Leading this charge was United Artists. Although referred to as one of the majors, UA was not run like any other studio. In the first place, it had been set up in 1919 by the talent—actors Charlie Chaplin, Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks—rather than the suits. In the second place, it did not own a studio nor had actors under contract. In the third place, it did not make its own films, instead operating as a distributor of the films of other independents. In the 1930s and early 1940s it was home to top-notch producers David O. Selznick (Rebecca), Walter Wanger (Stagecoach), Samuel Goldwyn (Wuthering Heights) and British 28

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producer Alexander Korda (Elephant Boy). After the Second World War it hit the skids until taken over in 1951 by Arthur Krim and Robert Benjamin. By then, everyone, actors and directors, wanted independence. Autonomy, in whatever degree, was a lucrative business. Warner Bros. handed out profit-sharing deals to Bing Crosby and Bob Hope. For lending his name to the Universal western Bend of the River directed by Anthony Mann, James Stewart received $600,000, equating to 50 percent of the profits,5 double what a top star, such as Clark Gable, might expect to earn for an entire year. The most sensational aspect of this story was not the actor’s remuneration, nor what the studio was willing to give away, but that it formed part of a strategy. To break into the bigger league, one of the smallest studios, Universal, was willing to go into business with the talent on terms hitherto considered suicidal. This brought Universal access to a higher caliber of actors willing to defer salaries until the profits rolled in. But the Universal approach had a major flaw. Actors, often motivated by nothing more basic than greed, made the films the studios wanted. This was not a case of an actor getting the green light for a long-cherished project. Where other studios followed suit and entered into profit participation deals, they, too, stopped short of granting creative autonomy. United Artists carved out its niche by ceding that independence. Creative freedom was not conditional. UA did not bind people to exclusive contracts. Allowing actors and directors the possibility of going to other studios forced UA to work harder at relationships, offering deals that were both creatively and financially appealing. With UA every independent producer was, in effect, a partner, guaranteed a share of profits.6 By a stroke of fortune, the United Artists project got off to a terrific start with John Huston’s The African Queen (1951) starring Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn and Fred Zinnemann’s High Noon (1952) starring Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly. Both were among the top earners of their year and hit the right note with Oscar voters, Bogart and Cooper each named Best Actor. United Artists certainly struck gold often enough at the box office and the Oscars but to maintain its position as a major the studio required a substantial flow of product, far more than it could sustain through prestige movies. The bulk of movies it made throughout the 1950s were run-of-the-mill fare with budgets in the $300,000–$500,000 range, aimed at local cinemas and drive-ins required to change programs two or three times a week, or as the bottom half of double bills. These films provided the company with a staple, if uninspired, diet. To make up any shortfall, films were imported from Britain. The only problem was that this strategy failed to produce sufficient profit—a total of $24,000 on its first 100 pictures.7 Investment in prestige movies was not down to vanity. It was essential for a major to maintain the exhibitor’s trust. For a small studio this could mean entering bidding wars for the services of stars and directors, overspending on either of which could be financially ruinous. So UA went after actors whose ambitions ran towards production, stars who wanted to buck the studio system by empowering their own careers. The first target was Burt Lancaster, an indie producer since 1948 when, with partner Harold Hecht, he made the lowbudget Kiss the Blood Off My Hands. They had moved onto a series of swashbucklers including The Crimson Pirate (1952) but Lancaster’s Oscar nomination for From Here to Eternity enhanced his status. UA contracted Hecht-Lancaster for five films, all bar one starring Lancaster, all except one making money.8 After that, UA became the home for actors—Kirk Douglas, Frank Sinatra, John Wayne, Gregory Peck—willing to take a risk.

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Just why UA’s approach was so appealing was explained by director Otto Preminger, who made The Moon Is Blue (1953), The Man with the Golden Arm (1955) and Exodus (1960) for the company. Only UA have a system of true independent production. They recognize that the independent has his own personality. After they agree a basic property and are consulted on casting, they leave everything to the director’s discrimination. If you’re an independent with other major studios, you won’t get top credit on the opening title. With United Artists I get top credit and somewhere at the bottom there will be a modest line “Released by United Artists.” They don’t compete with us for kudos.9

What made UA different was the genuine freedom, although that did not necessarily come without strings attached. For The Moon Is Blue, Preminger was contractually obliged to gain a seal of approval from the Production Code as well as being passed by the Legion of Decency. If these requirements were not met, or if Preminger refused to comply, UA could edit the picture. In fact, the film was such a censorship hot potato that UA ended up resigning from the MPAA and going on the publicity offensive. UA took the movie down the route of limited release, fighting ten local censorship cases (it won them all), and those theaters that refused to play it on moral grounds were more than matched by those for whom it broke records. Preminger and UA took on the Production Code again for The Man with the Golden Arm, but this time circuits which had turned down The Moon Is Blue agreed to show it. On the face of it, UA was extremely generous when it came to profit sharing. For Preminger,10 this could amount to as much as 75 percent, although the more common split was 50/50. But it was not quite as straightforward. UA extracted a 30–45 percent distribution fee off the top. Next to be paid were the costs of prints and advertising, production or completion loans and deferred salaries. Profit participants came last. And the company insisted on another fail-safe—cross-collateralization. Simply put, if you made a two-picture deal with UA and one film made money while the other lost money, you could not waltz off with the profit leaving the studio to absorb the loss.11 So when Brynner and Quinn set their sights on independent production, they were not ahead of their time. There was no better moment for a determined actor or director to go independent. Brynner and Quinn were simply following a trend. But within a short space of time Brynner, with more to finesse, out-shone Quinn. Where Quinn’s acting career had stalled (in terms of becoming a genuine leading man) despite the boost from a second Oscar, Brynner’s had gone into overdrive. By the end of 1956, all three films had hit the screens. The King and I had turned on the box office jets and was heading for the position of the second-top grossing film of 1956 with $17 million from the U.S. alone. The Ten Commandments, released in October 1956, proved an even bigger success. At Xmas, Fox brought out Anastasia and that, too, proved a big earner. In the space of a few months, Brynner went from relative unknown to the top of the Hollywood tree. The industry had not witnessed such success since James Stewart had scored five consecutive hits in 1939. The Ten Commandments was the number one film of the year, with a colossal $18.5 million in rentals—about $35 million gross (equivalent to over $800 million now) in the U.S. Overseas, it took the same again. Anastasia hit the $5 million rental mark (around $10 million gross), finishing eighth in the annual domestic rankings.12 To cap it all, Brynner was nominated as Best Actor for The King and I, up against James

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Anastasia (Twentieth Century–Fox, 1956) received a royal premiere in London in the presence of Her Royal Highness Princess Margaret. The Berlin press launch went one better by inviting various people who claimed a connection to Anastasia. Screenwriter Arthur Laurents also wrote Rope, West Side Story and The Way We Were.

Dean and Rock Hudson (both for Giant), Kirk Douglas (Lust for Life) and Laurence Olivier (Richard III ). Ingrid Bergman was nominated for Anastasia as was Deborah Kerr for The King and I, and Anthony Quinn as Best Supporting Actor for Lust for Life. Winning the Oscar (as also did Bergman and Quinn) made Brynner, at one fell swoop, untouchable. He was a studio dream—a box office draw who could act. Every major studio bid for his services. Paramount and Fox, convinced they had done most to create this star, wanted to make sure their rivals did not benefit from their foresight. The former was determined to capitalize on the success of The Ten Commandments, the latter offering him the leading role in Jean Christophe.13 Apart from The Buccaneer, he had no other firm commitments and could afford to wait for the best material to enhance his dual ambitions in acting and directing. So he stalled Fox. Columbia discussed The Great Sebastians, a modern remake of Houdini, astonishing given the Tony Curtis version had appeared only four years previously, which would re-team him with Deborah Kerr.14 British director Peter Brook wanted him to return to the stage for Jean-Paul Sartre’s Lucifer and the Lord.15 Desperate to activate Byla Productions, Brynner was also working with Anatole Litvak on The Trip which would reteam him with Ingrid Bergman. MGM agreed to fund this, but when Bergman dropped out Kerr took her place, the film was renamed The Journey and Brynner had to again surrender the coveted top billing.16 After that, Brynner and Litvak had in mind Two Different Worlds to shoot in Istanbul and Paris in 1959.17

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MGM was the immediate winner, signing him up for The Brothers Karamazov, an adaptation by writer-director Richard Brooks of the Dostoevsky classic.18 That would need to go into production immediately to head off a rival project from Jules Dassin (Brute Force).19 Then, although only in an acting capacity, he would go straight to DeMille for a non-musical version of The Buccaneer, directed by Quinn. The most unusual suggestion was playing an Indian in Leather Stocking Tales to co-star Gregory Peck.20 He was inundated with offers. In the autumn there was talk of Olympia with Sophia Loren21 and The Nightcomers from the Eric Ambler book.22 MGM wanted him for a western23 and Paramount for an epic.24 Fox called on him to replace Gregory Peck in The Sound and the Fury, based on the William Faulkner novel with Martin Ritt as director.25 He purchased the rights to Arthur Koestler novel The Gladiator.26 But these deals formed a small part of Brynner’s grander plan. Calling what the actor had in mind audacious was like referring to the Titanic as a big ship. Yul Brynner envisaged himself as a mogul. Harnessing his Oscar-winning talent and box office prowess to his unproven skills as a producer and director, Brynner sought to position himself as a major player. He was in negotiations for a fourteen-picture, multi-milliondollar deal with three top studios, MGM, Paramount and United Artists.27 When news of the talks broke, he was the envy of Hollywood. Although bigger stars had multi-picture contracts with major studios, they were usually for two or three movies, studios not wanting to risk being committed to an actor who suddenly fell from grace and actors reluctant to be stuck with a level of remuneration that future success could prove negligible. Any pact be tween Brynner and a studio would involve an unprecedented level of trust. Few believed the actor could pull of a deal of such magnitude. Negotiations like this were often a way of keeping a star’s name in the news and most disappeared into thin air. More significantly, it was unlikely that either MGM or Paramount would give Brynner the autonomy he required. United Artists, on the other hand, was accustomed to such agreements and in December 1957 he emerged from the UA negotiations with a colossal deal. The UA contract was worth Yul Brynner and Maria Schell in a rarely-seen shot for The an unheardof $25 million. 28 Brothers Karamazov (MGM, 1958). Schell had been named Best Actress at the Venice Film Festival for Gervaise. This covered eleven movies.

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Brynner was to star in eight and direct two. This was unprecedented. (There also was one in which he was neither star nor director.) Nobody in the annals of Hollywood had ever been given such largesse, never mind a man with no experience of the two skills—producing and directing—which he would have to master. How Brynner chose to allocate the money would be up to him. At an average of around $2.25 million per picture, the budgets fell far short of the three movies which had made his name and it remained to be seen how he would perform in films that cost less. But there was nothing to prevent him spending a substantial amount on one film and less on the others. The contract also embraced television and theater. Directors Richard Brooks and Martin Ritt were set to come on board. The UA deal offered Brynner “the greatest amount of creative autonomy.”29 Whereas other studios had insisted on seeing the films at various stages of production, UA would give him complete freedom. Anthony Quinn had not been quite as fortunate. Good luck, it turned out, did not land so easily on mere supporting actors. Quinn’s plans had not progressed as smoothly. In fact, they had not moved forward at all. El Cid had fallen at the first hurdle. His directorial debut was put on hold. Even the notion of turning Seven Samurai into a western had hit an unexpected snag. Unbeknownst to Brynner and Quinn, someone else owned the rights. Ex-newspaperman and Columbia Studios story editor Lou Morheim had the same idea for Seven Samurai. Morheim was born in New York in 1922, and his first screen credit had come in 1947 with The Fall Guy and mostly he was on the B-movie circuit, including The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), and episodes of Sherlock Holmes for television (and would later write for Rawhide, The Virginian and The Outer Limits as well as the 1971 Oliver Reed–Candice Bergen western The Hunting Party). The Kurosawa picture had been released in the U.S. by Columbia in partnership with director Joshua Logan, who had scored a big success in 1955 with small-town drama Picnic starring William Holden and Kim Novak. While in Japan, Logan had been invited to a screening of the movie by Kurosawa and tipped off the studio and garnered a percentage of the profits. But Columbia had only bought the U.S. distribution rights. In October 1957 Morheim had snapped up the remake rights for $2,500 from International Toho, Inc., the Californian subsidiary of Toho Company, Ltd., the film’s producers.30 The deal, drawn up by Morheim’s agent Lillian Small rather than an attorney, was later deemed “crude and incomplete.”31 Being a little-known figure in the movie business with a handful of screen credits and neither production nor finance experience, Morheim set about finding a partner. Aware that Quinn was looking for product, Morheim got in touch. At the time Quinn was directing Brynner in The Buccaneer. Quinn and Brynner had “come to like each other and admire each other’s abilities.”32 After meeting with Morheim, Quinn discussed the idea of adapting Seven Samurai not just with Brynner but the other co-stars of The Buccaneer, Charlton Heston and Charles Boyer.33 Brynner responded enthusiastically. Quinn’s negotiations with Morheim lasted several weeks, foundering over Morheim’s “unreasonable demands.”34 Brynner then stepped in, Quinn offering no objections to Alciona attempting to win the rights.35 For a man in such uncharted waters, Morheim had touted his single ware with considerable skill. He had managed to also interest Kirk Douglas, in the market for a project for

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his Bryna Productions after the success of Lust for Life.36 The relationship between Quinn and Brynner has been overshadowed by later events, so the truth is hard to divine. In his autobiography, Quinn claimed that he and Brynner were not competitors at this stage. “We both wanted to make Kurosawa’s picture into a Western,” he said, “and could not see the point in bidding each other up and inflating the price, so we became partners.”37 But that was not how Variety reported the process. At the time all three companies—Bryna, Alciona and Antone—were known to be rivals for the property. While Brynner and Quinn had at one point discussed the film as a joint enterprise, by this stage they were both bidding.38 Of his three suitors, there was no question in Morheim’s mind which was the best proposition. A company with a $25 million pot of gold was the easy winner. Plumping for Alciona, Morheim demanded $10,000 plus $1,000 a week as producer (worth about another $10,000–$12,000) and five percent of the profits. Not a bad return on his investment. A deal was closed in February 1958.39 But it would be September before Alciona finalized a written agreement with Toho that would replace the rough Morheim document and this incurred a further payment of $5,000 to the Japanese company and $3,000 in legal costs.40 Brynner had decided the movie was the ideal vehicle for his directing debut. His associate Paul Radin would take on the production duties, with Morheim as co-producer. With painful memories of his experience on The Buccaneer, Brynner rejected the idea of becoming a hyphenate. For the western, he would direct, but not act. To avoid a clash with the existing film he registered the title The Magnificent Six.41 But the grand Alciona enterprise was to kick off with Spartacus and the Gladiators.42 Its $5.5 million budget, huge for the time, would swallow over one-fifth of the company’s production budget. Brynner would star and Martin Ritt direct. (Ritt would also act as producer at various points for The Magnificent Seven.) Pre-production got underway in February 1958 with a proposed June start date and the location appeared a straight choice between Italy and, somewhat surprisingly, Argentina. The fact that Quinn had tried to steal the samurai film from under Brynner’s nose did not appear to count against him and he was offered a starring role in the epic.43 The start date proved too optimistic and was shifted back to November.44 Sophia Loren was in contention for the female lead45 but the idea of filming abroad was abandoned and Brynner settled for Hollywood. The project brought Brynner into direct conflict with Kirk Douglas who was readying the $4 million Spartacus, Universal’s biggest-ever picture. Douglas had produced The Vikings for UA and been paid $350,000 to star in Stanley Kubrick’s anti-war movie Paths of Glory. Spartacus had been offered first to UA, who turned it down after abortive efforts to turn The Vikings into a television series and accumulating expenses in other Douglas projects which had been abandoned. In January 1958, United Artists had registered the title Spartacus with the MPAA Title Registration Bureau, the industry’s ruling body, as an alternative to The Gladiator. Douglas contended that he had first rights to the title Spartacus since his movie was based on the Howard Fast novel of the same name; as the book had been first on the scene then, in copyright terms, he argued, it took priority. At first, Brynner appeared to have the upper hand when the MPAA cleared the title Spartacus and the Gladiators. Douglas appealed, refusing to give up, determined to continue the battle “even if the two of us have to fight it out.” The row went on for months. Douglas lost the appeal. To everyone’s surprise, Brynner was

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magnanimous in victory, suggesting they split the title; he would retain The Gladiator and hand over Spartacus to Douglas.46 Settling on a title was not the major problem facing Brynner. What to do next was. He appeared racked by indecision. Projects seemed to flash across his vision, announced in the trades with great fanfare only to vanish instantly from view. But that was in keeping with his new status as a movie mogul. He was doubly encumbered—on the lookout for properties which Alciona could develop and at the same time eager to maintain his position as one of the top actors in the world. The main problem with being a producer was that it did not pay as much as being a star. Although profit share might exceed the earnings of a star, the production process meant that it could be a long wait before Brynner saw any revenues from expected jackpots. Apart from the titles previously mentioned as possibilities, come May 1958 Brynner was entranced by another project—and one could see why. These days it would be called a no-brainer. He wanted to make The Alamo.47 What made the project so special was not just the subject matter, but co-star Alan Ladd. The marketing people had to be salivating at the prospect. Ladd had previously played Jim Bowie, after Davy Crockett the most celebrated of the Alamo’s defenders, in The Iron Mistress in 1952. Jean Lafitte, Brynner’s character in The Buccaneer, had also participated in the most famous last stand in U.S. history. The film was one of the first where the term “high concept” could be used. The actors planned to pool their resources to make the film. But the idea was yet another to fall by the wayside. At least one decision was made that month. Spartacus and the Gladiators was postponed. Alciona would now make its debut with the western, to star Brynner.48 Filming would begin after Brynner had completed his duties on The Sound and the Fury. The Italian epic would follow, leaving one to wonder if the Douglas row had simply been a delaying tactic. And so The Magnificent Six, to be shot in Europe, was announced as Alciona’s first film, being made for United Artists with Brynner directing.49 Brynner’s choice of title sparked another row with the MPAA when Columbia complained it would still cause confusion with the original. The MPAA disagreed.50 Brynner offered Quinn $125,000 (his salary at the time) plus 10 percent of Alciona’s share of the profits to star.51 He would portray Rivers, equivalent to the character in the original played by Toshiro Mifune.52 This was a major step forward for Quinn who, otherwise, for the rest of the decade was stuck with second billing. He was seen as a reliable costar rather than the main attraction, his Oscar kudos helping buttress less exalted productions. He played second fiddle to the likes of Kirk Douglas (Last Train from Gun Hill ), Sophia Loren (Heller in Pink Tights), Gina Lollobrigida (Hunchback of Notre Dame), Henry Fonda (Warlock), Shirley Booth (Hot Spell ) and Lana Turner (Portrait in Black). But UA was not enthusiastic, unconvinced “he would add very much to the box office value of the picture.”53 Brynner assured UA he would bring in a star of the caliber of Clark Gable or Gary Cooper or, as a last resort, himself (as well as directing).54 When it came to drafting Quinn’s contract, Alciona required a minimum ten weeks. The start date remained ambiguous and to cover itself Alciona laid this down as “not earlier than March 15, 1959, or later than October 15, 1960” but it was a “pay-or-play” deal.55 One critical issue remained unresolved—Quinn’s billing. An actor’s position on the credits “often assumes an importance far in excess of compensation … an index of his stature in the

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Poster for The Sound and the Fury (Twentieth Century–Fox, 1959). Producer Jerry Wald bought the William Faulkner novel after undertaking a survey of 4,230 librarians asking which “books of the past” were most requested. On this basis he also purchased D.H. Lawrence’s Sons and Lovers.

industry”56 —and so it proved in this case. Alciona proposed Quinn receive second billing and his name above the title. However, there was the proviso that if Alciona hired bigger names, then Quinn would drop to third or fourth billing.57 Quinn had several objections to the proposal. At a meeting in March 1959 he rejected the 18-month production window as he was already unavailable for much of that time. He had accepted an offer for Heller in Pink Tights, which would not finish shooting till April 1959. After that he was scheduled to work for Fox between June and September and was about to sign up for The Guns of Navarone which would start filming in April 1960. He also wanted a 10 percent share of all the profits, not just out of Alciona’s cut. Quinn flat-out refused to consider being listed fourth on the credits and would only agree to the demotion to third billing if certain stars were brought in above him. He had in mind actors such as Marlon Brando, Burt Lancaster, Spencer Tracy and Gary Cooper. Quinn was dogmatic about this. He did not mean stars of the stature of Brando, Lancaster, Cooper and Tracy. He meant these actors, specifically. Clark Gable, whom Brynner had been courting and who was acceptable to UA, was not on the list. In effect, Quinn was demanding cast approval, a tall order from someone who was not going to be the star.58 Alciona had announced in the trade press that filming on The Magnificent Seven would commence in September 1959 but after further discussions with Quinn in April this was

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amended to November 15, 1959.59 Quinn now wanted his salary increased to $150,000, in keeping with his going rate on the other pictures. Alciona gave way on Quinn’s billing demands and he was reinstated to no lower than third place. But Quinn stood firm over the issue of which stars would go above him on the credits.60 Meanwhile, a third Alciona project had been announced—Nabob, based on the Alphonse Daudet novel, in which Brynner would star as another eastern potentate, this time descending on Paris. For the female lead, he wanted Brigitte Bardot, which would have been a tantalizing prospect.61 As before, there were too many plans and not enough action. Matters were complicated when Brynner entered into a three-way partnership with director Stanley Donen and Columbia to film the Harry Kornitz play Once More with Feeling on a $2.6 million budget, out of which he would receive $500,000.62 Despite the hype surrounding the fancy deals, there was one distinct fly in the ointment. Brynner’s acting career had received a reality check. The Brothers Karamazov was the kind of worthy literary project to which Hollywood has been most susceptible. Like Charles Dickens, author Fyodor Dostoevsky was a huge favorite of filmmakers. The first of his novels to be adapted for the screen was The Idiot, as a short, in 1910. At least another six versions had been made. Kurosawa had filmed the novel in 1951 and a Russian production was made in 1958. Crime and Punishment was the most popular of the Russian’s books, the first film appearing in 1913, with two more silent versions in 1917 and 1923. Other films were made in 1931, 1935 and 1945. There was a Mexican adaptation in 1951 and a French television version in 1955 and a French movie in 1956 starring Jean Gabin. The Brothers Karamazov was first filmed in 1915 and 1921, 1931 and 1947, but these were all foreign-language versions. A Russian, Brynner was seen as ideal casting. As a classic it was considered pre-sold, and had a hot director in Brooks, just off The Blackboard Jungle. The book had languished on the MGM stocks for a dozen years, a screenplay written by Philip G. Epstein and Julius J. Epstein going unused. The success of King Vidor’s War and Peace, starring Henry Fonda and Audrey Hepburn, in 1956 had deluded the studio into thinking it was a simple matter to whittle down a 1,000-page masterpiece into a couple of hours of screen time. Brooks did not want the job, but his protests were overruled. Marlon Brando and Marilyn Monroe, the frontrunners for the key roles, soon dropped out.63 Brynner was paid $250,000 with Maria Schell and Claire Bloom as co-stars. Brooks insisted Schell lose weight.64 Originally, the film was due to be filmed in Russia, with the full support of the Soviets, who planned to film their own version at the same time. Politics intervened and the movie ended up on the MGM backlot.65 Producer Pandro Berman was unhappy with Brynner, but not as much as its first audience. The movie was unveiled at Cannes in May 1958 in the expectation of artistic recognition. The opposite occurred. While films in the past have received negative reactions, never has one been so openly booed here as was The Brothers Karamazov.66 The audience greeted The Brothers Karamazov with boos, catcalls and whistles and … cold-shouldered two of its stars, Yul Brynner and Clare Bloom … and turned icily away from Brynner and Miss Bloom after the show when they stood up to take a bow. The bald American star and the British actress received only a few scattered handclaps … cries of “ridiculous,” “absurd,” and “shameful” could plainly be heard.67

The story made headlines across the country. The studio tried to play it down by claiming that reaction had been exaggerated, but when the movie appeared the American critics

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were no less forgiving. The Cannes story caught fire as a result of growing antipathy towards the star after the media discovered it had been willfully misled about his past. Reporters were accustomed to being fed flack by studio publicists, but Brynner had seemed the real deal and as his story was fascinating enough it was almost perverse for him to resort to invention. Journalists felt humiliated. A month after the Cannes story broke, columnist Erskine Johnson wrote: “Hollywood has read eight different versions of Yul Brynner’s life story and someone quipped, I believe every one of them.”68 But the humor could hardly disguise the resentment. Brynner’s response was baffling. “I have never stopped anyone telling stories about me. I have one answer for people who want me to sit down and tell them ‘the truth.’ My answer is: The facts of my life have little to do with the realities of my life.”69 Nor did The Buccaneer (“A Paramount release of a Henry Wilcoxon Production supervised by Cecil B. DeMille”) provide any succor. Released at the end of the year, it was pronounced “a scrambled affair in the early reels” by Variety, although Brynner was “masterly.”70 Once more, death provided a timely boost to his career. Just as the demise of Gertrude Lawrence several years before had cleared the way for his first tilt at stardom, so the sudden death of star Tyrone Power at the age of 45 offered unexpected renaissance. Power had been shooting United Artists’ $6 million Biblical 70mm roadshow Solomon and Sheba with Gina Lollobrigida. To help out his backers, Brynner stepped into the role for twice Power’s $350,000 salary and 15 percent of the gross once the movie took more than $9 million at the box office.71 His fee was more than covered by the largest-ever insurance payout for a movie—$869,000.72 Brynner called replacing Power “the unhappiest task of my career.” They had known each other since Power had worked on a film with Brynner’s wife. “Nothing like this has ever happened before,” he said. Stars had died during productions before but through the use of doubles and trick shots producers were able to finish these British advertisement for The Brothers Karamazov (MGM, 1958). Claire Boom, on a five-year MGM deal, also appeared films. In this case, the studio had with Brynner in Paramount’s The Buccaneer. to begin afresh.73 The film was

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60 percent complete and the studio initially believed it would be able to use most of the Power footage apart from the close-ups. But it transpired that they had opposite acting styles, Power a more thoughtful approach while Brynner’s was more “attack” and that even in long-shot the differences were obvious. With minor alterations, Brynner fitted Power’s costume although the shoes were too small. He studied four hours of the footage. Nothing was salvageable.74 Despite the inevitable delay this would cause, Brynner was still intent on directing the western and in January 1959 went to Spain to scout locations and organize a shooting schedule. After the directing gig, Brynner was considering The Mad King for Anatole Litvak,75 for whom he had just completed The Journey with Deborah Kerr. But Brynner was soon too much in demand as an actor to contemplate wasting so much time directing. As well as Once More with Feeling he had signed up for another film with Stanley Donen—Surprise Package co-starring Mitzi Gaynor and possibly David Niven.76 Fox was writing The Billionaire (later titled Let’s Make Love) for him.77 The gladiator movie was still in his thoughts and he considered switching production from Italy to Spain where the government promised soldiers as extras.78 Two other matters of significance occurred in January. One attracted little attention, commanding no more than a couple of lines in the trades. That was the news that Brynner was transferring the Alciona office to Switzerland to save $2 million in tax.79 For the next five years his movies would be made outside the U.S. The other matter was not announced. It was important because of its omission. Like all studios, UA promoted its forthcoming attractions in Variety’s annual “Anniversary Issue” and in January 1959 this took the form of a four-page advertisement headlined “UA brings you the finest concentration of top quality product in the history of the industry.” Setting aside the hyperbole, the ad was impressive, 28 features for 1959 and another 30 for the following year including Some Like It Hot, Solomon and Sheba, The Horse Soldiers, On the Beach and The Gladiators. Of The Magnificent Seven, there was no mention. Doubts over its viability forced its exclusion from UA’s 1960 release schedule. Studios tended to use these bombastic announcements as teasers for the future and among films receiving an early push were several that would take years to come to fruition such as Invitation to a Gunfighter and Flight from Ashiya (both released in 1964) and The Way West (1967). Brynner’s samurai western had not so much slipped off the media radar as crashed and burned. From January to June there was no mention of it in the trade press. Frantic negotiations were still going on with Quinn. None of the obstacles had been resolved. The outstanding issues addressed at a meeting on May 12, 1959, remained Quinn’s salary ($125,000 or $150,000), his share of profits, his billing and the screenplay. In order to move the project forward, Alciona conceded on his compensation.80 But Quinn refused to alter his stance on the other issues and by early June, with no firm deal in sight, Brynner came up with a different strategy. He brought in business partner Anatole Litvak, an experienced director with nearly 20 producing credits. Litvak was installed as the director of The Magnificent Seven.81 United Artists welcomed the idea, especially Litvak’s suggestion, made in June 1959, of bringing on board a strong co-star. But Litvak was in demand elsewhere and was willing to tackle the western only on the proviso that “his doing The Magnificent Seven would not hold up his other projects” which included a melodrama, a story set on Capri which he planned to get Walter Bernstein to write, an idea for a farce, and an adaptation of the next novel by James Jones (From Here

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to Eternity).82 United Artists chief Arthur Krim was “seriously concerned” about the ability of an inexperienced company like Alciona to manage costs. The budget had already increased to $2.4 million and there was a danger it would “substantially exceed” that.83 UA found it hard to come to terms with the idea that the western was possibly fifth on Litvak’s agenda. In the meantime came the unexpected news that Glenn Ford had been drafted as co84 star. A top name after The Blackboard Jungle (1956) and Teahouse of the August Moon (1957) with Marlon Brando, Ford had been named the number one box office attraction for 1958 in the annual Quigley Poll conducted among cinema owners. Better still, he was a western star, having made half a dozen in the last three years including the Delmer Daves classic 3:10 to Yuma (1957) and The Sheepman (1958, a comedy western directed by George Sherman). October was announced as the start date. A new title— The Seven Magnificent Ones— was mistakenly reported. Concerned about the rising budget, Alciona’s inexperience in production and Litvak’s other commitments, UA pulled the plug. Alciona was relieved of all responsibility. Brynner was reimbursed $112,000 in costs.85 UA turned the project over to the independent production company Mirisch which had scored a major hit with Some Like It Hot and was well versed in making westerns. Mirisch had the ideal director in mind, one who was equally proficient in the genre—John Sturges.86 Anthony Quinn was out. On June 20, 1959, a telegram from Alciona’s attorney suspended negotiations—and they were never resumed.87 Given he had been seen as a key part of the film’s development for over two years, bringing the initial Advertisement for Solomon and Sheba (United Artists, 1959). idea to Brynner, trumpeted as At the press conference to announce a $1 million global adver- the first actor signed for a major tising spend, journalists received an inscribed Tiffany gold role, at one point possibly a conmedallion. The film used Spanish troops at bargain rates tender for the leading role, this which led to the Mexican press taunting the Spaniards as “only fit to fight for Hollywood” (Wisconsin Center for Film and came as a shock. Although there Theater Research). had clearly been disagreements

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between the pair during this time—bidding against each other for the property and the sour taste left in Brynner’s mouth when Quinn was handed the directorial reins for The Buccaneer—for so long Quinn had been central to Alciona. The fact that negotiations with him had gone on for such a long time was testament to his worth to the movie and, as others would soon discover, finding someone to play the Toshiro Mifune role would prove difficult. For most of pre-production he had appeared set for both the western and The Gladiators. It seemed unimaginable that these could move ahead without him. Not only was Quinn gone, Ford’s presence proved temporary. A new deal was quickly struck. On July 17, Arthur Krim of United Artists wrote to Harold Mirisch to confirm the terms of a pact previously discussed on the telephone. A start date was set for January 10, 1960. Brynner was signed to a $200,000 “pay-or-play” deal with a cut-off point of October 30, 1959, if UA decided not to proceed. Brynner would also receive expenses of $1,000 a week beginning a fortnight before shooting and ending a fortnight afterward. Other perks included a limo and chauffeur plus expenses and salary for a valet, dresser, secretary and make-up artist. The only contractual consideration for his dressing room was that there would be space nearby for the secretary and that it would be air-conditioned. Brynner also won the right to sit in on the first edit of the movie. The contract also gave Brynner the right to dub the French version, approve all stills, and shoot his own stills and sell them to magazines. Apart from the salary (and the photography), the perks were considered so standard as far as the actor was concerned that United Artists had simply copied them from his previous contract with Columbia. The only sticking point was how to get rid of producer Paul Radin.88 (When it later became obvious that the January start date could not be met, Brynner was paid another $200,000—bringing his total remuneration up to $400,000—plus his share of the gross profits.) Just as everything at last appeared to fall into place came a hammer blow—John Sturges quit. Whether he felt railroaded into another western rather than the pair of war films— The Great Escape and 633 Squadron—he had set his heart on or had second thoughts about the project is not known. The Great Escape was blocked by the author’s refusal to sell the movie rights, but 633 Squadron had been proceeding apace with Dean Martin on the verge of signing to star.89 The film was being set for a spring 1960 release date which would be virtually impossible to achieve if he was forced to make the western. His decision created consternation at both United Artists and Mirisch. On August 6, Arthur Krim of United Artists sent the following Western Union telegram to Harold Mirisch: On reconsideration still do not see how we can release Sturges from his commitment. Not only would we have financial disaster involving several hundred thousand dollars in penalties and other losses but we would do irreparable injury to our relationship with Yul Brynner. Since we all went ahead in good faith for past few weeks am sure Sturges will do likewise and move forward with project.90

Sturges did do likewise and the breach was healed. The complicated negotiations with Quinn and Litvak and Sturges’ exit were kept secret. The first the public knew about any new developments was on August 19 and that was an announcement to the effect that Mirisch-Alpha, representing the interests of the producers and the director, was now in charge of The Magnificent Seven.91

3 John Sturges and Mirisch: A Hollywood Marriage John Sturges had signed a three-picture non-exclusive producer-director deal with the Mirisch Corporation in May 19581 after completing Warner Bros.’ The Old Man and the Sea, one of the biggest pictures of the year and considered a hot candidate for the Oscars. Mirisch was in the process of releasing its first film, Fort Massacre, a western starring Joel McCrea and directed by Joseph Newman, a journeyman with over 40 features to his credit.2 Born in 1910 (the same year as Kurosawa), Sturges grew up in Oak Park, the suburb of Chicago where Ernest Hemingway had spent his childhood. His father was a Harvardeducated lawyer, but his parents divorced (a social stigma in those days) and he was brought up by his mother in Los Angeles.3 Joining RKO, then one of the biggest studios, in 1932, he was employed in various backroom capacities such as assistant consultant on Technicolor (then in its infancy), assistant sound editor, rising to assistant editor (on $85 a week) on movies as diverse as Of Human Bondage (1935) and Gunga Din (1939) directed by George Stevens, and then editor.4 The Second World War provided the opportunity to move into direction—45 shorts5 in Europe and Africa for the Army Signal Corps, a unit which included Frank Capra, Stevens and William Wyler. After the war, hired as a director (at $300 a week) by Columbia, one of the smallest majors, he was initially allocated to movies costing around $100,000 on 12- to 15-day schedules, before being entrusted with (comparatively) bigger budgets.6 His debut, The Man Who Dared, starring Leslie Brooks, was a thriller of the backfiring kind—a reporter wanting to show the flaws in the legal system plans his arrest and conviction for murder, but things go awry. Thereafter, he worked in a variety of fields—a comedy thriller about counterfeiting (Shadowed ), a con man caper (Alias Mr. Twilight), a series movie (For the Love of Rusty), the second remake of Keeper of the Bees, women’s pictures (Son of the Ram) and a film about father-son bonding (Best Man Wins). He relished the work. “I’d rather make three pictures a year. It makes your chance of making a good one better.”7 His last picture, the western The Walking Hills, was based on a treasure-hunting tale by Alan LeMay who wrote the novels The Searchers and The Unforgiven. William Holden was announced as the star, but after he dropped out, Randolph Scott took his place. Reviewing the movie, Variety (February 28, 1949, 3) called it a “sustained and somber melodrama…. John Sturges direction is solid throughout.” Released in L.A. in a double bill with A Song of India the same week as a reissue 42

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of John Ford’s Stagecoach, it turned into a hit, Sturges emerging from the experience with a name as a fast and efficient director. On exiting Columbia, he directed an episode of The Ford Theater Hour on television. His arrival at MGM in 1950 coincided with a period of upheaval. Studios were firing contract directors. MGM sacked 22 out of 35, replacing them with cheaper alternatives like Sturges.8 Production costs were slashed and Sturges was initially put to work on MGM’s version of B films, risk-free movies targeting specific markets with higher budgets ($500,000–$1 million) but often the same 15-day shoot. And again he worked where put—and fast. His efficiency was soon put to the test as he churned out four movies in 1950. Again, he worked his way This London newspaper advertisement heralded the opening through the genres. First up of The Old Man and the Sea (Warner Bros., 1958) at the was Lew Ayres in The Capture, Warner Cinema in the West End. In its opening week, it came a drama about a fugitive and a nowhere near Inn of the Sixth Happiness which almost broke the house record at the Odeon Leicester Square. Instead it was priest. Mystery Street was a on a par with the second week of The Two-Headed Spy and the police procedural starring Ri- 74th week of Around the World in Eighty Days. cardo Montalban who is as sisted by a Harvard professor in solving the murder of a pregnant prostitute—Richard Brooks received a screenplay credit. Holiday magazine named it best low-budget (under $500,000) film of the year. However, most of the credit was ascribed to writer-producer Frank Taylor. It was often sent out as the supporting feature to the likes of John Huston’s The Asphalt Jungle, The Underworld Story starring Dan Duryea and directed by Cy Endfield (Zulu) and William Wellman’s The Happy Years starring Dean Stockwell. Sturges was reunited with Montalban for the boxing drama Right Cross which had a top-notch cast including June Allyson and Dick Powell. (It was written by Charles Schnee who was also credited [as John Dennis] with By Love Possessed.) To add authenticity, Sturges hired ex-fighters and boxing managers for ringside sequences. It was the first MGM film where the trailer was shown on television. Marilyn Monroe, who had a small part in The

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Asphalt Jungle, had an uncredited role as Dusky Ledoux. Sturges was nominated for the New York Critics Circle Award, which went to four ballots before Billy Wilder was declared the winner for Sunset Boulevard. While none of these films broke any records, they solidified his position at MGM and the last film of the year was a big step up budget-wise. The Broadway adaptation of The Magnificent Yankee, the biography of Oliver Wendell Holmes starring Louis Calhern and Ann Harding, carried a $1.4 million budget. But it was a flop. Over the next three years he kept up the pace with six movies. He directed Ethel Barrymore in the movie version of The Kind Lady which had been the subject of his Ford Theater show. He was laid low by a virus and missed the start of shooting The People Against O’Hara starring Spencer Tracy as an alcoholic attorney. The medical biopic The Girl in White starred June Allyson. The thriller Jeopardy and the farce Fast Company were the others. Of all the big studios, MGM was least interested in westerns so Escape from Fort Bravo (1953) starring William Holden was an unusual project. For a start, it was originally going to be filmed in 3D. And at first it went by the title of Rope’s End. As the final title suggested, it was a prisonbreak drama that segued into an Indian film. For the first time Sturges came into his own, his staging of the desert battle highly impressive, and Death Valley provided inspiring scenery.9 Unfortunately, the opportunity to do something exciting turned the director’s head. Out went fast and efficient. Eight days over schedule and $700,000 over budget (nearly double the 10 The medical biopic The Girl in White (MGM, 1952) starring original estimate) meant the June Allyson was re- titled So Bright the Flame for British movie never made any money. release. Much of the promotional material in the pressbook Bad Day at Black Rock was based on “professional women” so cinema managers were began life as a 1946 short story urged to make contact with them (in Britain, this included female mayors) as well as target girls who worked in shops. called Bad Time at Honda. Don The head of MGM’s studio hospital, Dr. Helen Jones, had Siegel (Dirty Harry) wanted to come up against the same prejudices as the film’s heroine, Dr. make it with Joel McCrea for Emily Dunning Barrington. During her training, to ride the Allied Artists.11 Perceiving it ambulance shift, Dr. Jones signed the register as “H.B. Jones,” duping the hospital into thinking she was a man (Hannan Col- as a “message” picture, MGM lection). handed it to George Sidney and

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then Richard Brooks.12 The main character changed from a cop to a platoon leader and became older to accommodate Spencer Tracy. To avoid confusion with John Wayne western Hondo, the title was altered. It was shot a few miles from an internment camp. MGM saw it as a “modern western,” the budget a decent $1.3 million. When Tracy threatened to pull out, claiming he was too old for the role, the part was beefed up, this time the character losing an arm. Tracy still balked. MGM sent it to Alan Ladd whose positive response changed Tracy’s mind.13 Then Richard Brooks objected to the script.14 Exit Brooks. Enter Sturges. He had little input into the casting, a heady cocktail of established players and newcomers, vying with each other to make an impression. Given that most were bad guys, who traditionally chewed the scenery, there was competition among the supporting cast just to be noticed on screen. Head heavy Robert Ryan was a B movie star trying to break into bigger films. He was supported by Ernest Borgnine and Lee Marvin, both basking in memorable turns as vicious killers, the former as Frank Sinatra’s tormenter in From Here to Eternity, the latter as a thug whose weapon of choice in The Big Heat was scalding coffee. Anne Francis played the femme fatale. Delays meant the film was shot in the desert at the height of summer, at temperatures of over 100 degrees. Tracy nearly quit again just before shooting.15 Offscreen problems rose with the heat, Tracy’s irascibility exacerbated by being on the wagon, and that transferred onto the screen. Tracy refused to do more than one take. Sturges was in his element, a master at building up tension, excelling in the action scenes, the car chase, Tracy’s fight with Borgnine and the climactic showdown. What made the Borgnine fight work so well, explained Sturges, “was the five minutes of needling that Tracy endures.”16 Actually, what made it work was the speed of the action. Too many western fistfights degenerated into brawls, saloons wrecked, participants spilling out into the street, and often what began as dramatic ended as comedic. Instead, it was over swiftly, something that would become another Sturges signature. As well as confinement, Sturges proved himself a master of wide open spaces. It was “almost a test case for Cinemascope.” Sturges later recalled: At the time Cinemascope was considered to be desirable only for [filming] thousands in a huge spectacular production. I thought it ought to be the other way round…. I wish I’d had it a year or so sooner when I’d made Escape from Fort Bravo … the timing was perfect for it to be the first western in Scope.17

Directors had trouble using Cinemascope when the story concerned characters rather than scenery. Sturges was among the first to place human figures effectively in a landscape, forming patterns ideally suited to Cinemascope.18 The completed film tested badly and, as Sturges was away shooting another movie, a different director added a new credit sequence.19 The film was shown at Cannes (Tracy won Best Actor) and opened to terrific reviews. While the public was less responsive, Sturges was nominated for an Oscar alongside Elia Kazan (East of Eden), David Lean (Summertime), Joshua Logan (Picnic) and the ultimate shock winner Delbert Mann (Marty). It held out the prospect of becoming the film by which all his others would be judged. Good directors needed that kind of touchstone. In 1956 Sturges had the chance to make his mark. He was Oscar-nominated at a time when few outside a golden circle were. The MGM contract had ended at his request. He was officially a freelance, able to choose to do exactly what he wanted. What Sturges wanted most of all was to make a film about George Washington. He had been researching the

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president for five years, drawing on 260 letters and 12 volumes of his diaries. The movie would cover the period from 1775 when Washington took command of the Continental armies until he took the oath as president in 1789. No studio shared Sturges enthusiasm for the project. Without a studio contract and with the Washington movie dead, Sturges had to wait for offers. If offers did not materialize, one was almost back where he started, grateful for what he was given. He had not left MGM trailing a cloud of glory. His final film, the costume adventure The Scarlet Coat, a commercial dud, had wiped out the critical stock built up by Bad Day at Black Rock. So what came his way was what he was best known for—a western. This was one of the curiosities of Hollywood. Out of 21 films, Sturges had made only two traditional westerns. Suddenly, he was synonymous with the genre. In every sense Backlash was a backward step. The $1 million budget for the Universal picture was smaller than either Escape from Fort Bravo or Bad Day at Black Rock. Richard Widmark, who had developed the property20 and saw it as his ticket out of being typecast as a heavy, was not in the Holden/Tracy league. An adult western, it incurred the wrath of the censor (the Production Code) and the violence was toned down prior to release.21 The plot was on the complicated side—lost gold, Apaches, gunslingers and a range war. Sturges did not come out of this well. He was not “fast and efficient.” The movie took three days longer to shoot than planned. Reviews were indifferent. The public was not interested. About the only consolation for Sturges was the fee—he earned $56,800.22 In the summer Sturges moved across town to Warner Bros. where he took over The Old Man and the Sea. Adapted from the Ernest Hemingway Nobel Prize–winning novella, this was one of those projects half of Hollywood fought over. John Sturges’ western Backlash (Universal, 1956) was adapted Spencer Tracy beat Humphrey from Fort Starvation by Frank Gruber. Sixteen of his books Bogart for the lead, and Fred had been filmed. Others in production at the same time were Zinnemann headed off John Stampeded (based on his book Buffalo Grass) starring Alan Huston for the director’s chair.23 Ladd and Tension at Table Rock (based on Bitter Sage) starring Richard Egan. Borden Chase wrote the screenplay (Hannan Zinnemann failed to master Collection). the logistics of shooting at sea.

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However, the crux came when Zinnemann planned to shoot the arm wrestling scene without showing Tracy’s face.24 Exit Zinnemann. Producer Leland Hayward and Tracy sought out Sturges, a Hemingway enthusiast. Why him? Well, apart from working with Tracy before, prior to making Bad Day at Black Rock he had been loaned out to RKO for Underwater, a treasure-hunting picture about scuba-divers, at one time considered a shoo-in for the 3D treatment especially since it featured the curvaceous Jane Russell. Sturges was “enchanted” by the project and agreed to work for “as many months or years as it took.”25 Sturges categorized the mistakes made by Zinnemann as “easy to understand.” These included shooting in the wrong place. “The Gulf Stream in that area is very rough and there is no place to go out with barges and lights and try and photograph something in a little boat. The frustrations of making it were just physical ones. They just worked and worked and worked and got nothing.”26 Zinnemann had shot eight minutes of footage, of which four were usable. At first Sturges resisted the call, since he was friends with Zinnemann and “if he couldn’t do it, why could I?”27 On taking up the job, Sturges switched the location to the Hawaiian islands which were more conducive to filming in open water. “We didn’t have any problems.”28 He filmed from a cinematic barge that measured 120 feet by 80 feet. Other units were sent to Peru, Nassau and Colombia and the producers raided Walt Disney’s footage collection.29 The film cost an extraordinary $5.4 million (the Sturges part came to $1.7 million), pretty close to what they were spending on blockbusters, and for something that lasted less than 90 minutes. Still, the movie carried with it a whiff of Oscar glory. But the film had dragged on and would not surface until autumn 1958. As luck would have it, someone who saw Backlash was reminded of the previous, better, Bad Day at Black Rock. Hal B. Wallis was an old-style independent producer. He sourced his own projects, developed his own stars and was funded by Paramount. Initially a cinema manager with a flair for publicity, Wallis had joined Warner Bros. and quickly moved up the ranks to become production chief overseeing movies like Little Caesar (1931) and Casablanca (1942). He went out on his own in 1944, setting up Hal Wallis Productions at Paramount and turning out up to five movies a year. Early successes included Saratoga Trunk (1945) with Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman and The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (1946). He had nurtured the careers of Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas and artistically was flying high after The Rose Tattoo (1956) was nominated for Best Picture. Wallis had read “The Killer,” a magazine article which told the real story of how Wyatt Earp, his brother and Doc Holliday had taken on the Clantons and the McLowerys at the O.K. Corral. This tale had been told before, by John Ford in My Darling Clementine (1948). Hollywood was hardly averse to remakes, but improving on Ford seemed a risky undertaking. Wallis and Sturges took a different view. Both felt the true story had not been told. This was going to be a new kind of western, not the mythical version created by Ford. Wallis took an immediate liking to Sturges. “A tall, powerfully built man who could have been a Western hero himself, he was an expert on Western history and contributed a great deal to the success of the picture.”30 Humphrey Bogart turned it down, so too did Burt Lancaster and Barbara Stanwyck. Wallis called in a favor from Kirk Douglas. Lancaster was reminded he owed Wallis a picture.31 At times Sturges might have wished Wallis had looked further afield for stars. Spencer

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Tracy had nothing on this pair. Wallis said, “From the start, both stars asserted themselves.”32 That was an understatement. Lancaster, a director himself, with a habit of trying to rewrite his scenes, was more difficult to handle. The stars had opposing views on Sturges. Douglas, who had seen Bad Day at Black Rock, rated the director. Lancaster, who had not seen it, did not. Sturges toughed it out. But he did not have much energy left for female co-stars Jo van Fleet and Polly Bergen who were given little direction. Budgeted at $2 million, the movie was shot on location over 56 days in Arizona and the studio backlot and ranch. The original O.K. Corral, a tourist destination, was rejected as too small. The climactic gunfight sequence took three days to shoot and lasted seven minutes onscreen. Underlying the action was a relationship between Earp and Holliday that went beyond camaraderie. Wallis was a handson producer. “The look of bare, scorched, earth helped established the fact that people living here were at the mercy of the elements.33 The gunfight was choreographed like a ballet. John and I drew a map plotting every move Burt and Kirk and the Clanton boys made.”34 “The new standard for all big westerns of the future,” ran the headline for a trade ad intended to put the opposition in its place—in this case John Ford’s The Searchers and William Wyler’s Friendly Persuasion, both released the previous year. Four years ago, Paramount gave the western new box office stature with a picture called Shane. Since then it has been the criteria for all westerns to aim for—though up to now none has equaled its success. Now Hal Wallis … has made a western that takes a giant stride beyond Shane…. It’s the picture that creates a new box office yardstick against which all big westerns of the future will be measured.35

Gunfight at the O.K. Corral did not quite dislodge Shane. But it certainly hit the target with both critics and the public (it ranked 12th in the year’s box office chart). Sturges landed a Directors Guild nomination (not as prestigious as an Oscar nod because the number nominated each year was 24, not five). The only person dissatisfied was the director. He said, “I was a director, period. It was a Hal Wallis Production.”36 Variety devoted the first 150 words of its review to Wallis. “The producer has fashioned an absorbing yarn in action leading up to a gory gunfight.” The director merited one mention: “John Sturges has captured the stirring spirit of the period in his socko direction.”37 With a box office hit in the bag and The Old Man and the Sea due to open, 1958 looked like being a great year for Sturges. Wallis wanted him for another western, The Sons of Katie Elder, at this point to star Charlton Heston,38 and there was the prospect of The Wreck of the Mary Deare with Gary Cooper39 and Heston again. But Sturges had something different in mind—a all-star remake of Mutiny on the Bounty with Spencer Tracy as Captain Bligh, Burt Lancaster in the Fletcher Christian role and a juicy part for Montgomery Clift. The budget would touch $5 million. The project got the greenlight in 1958 but with Marlon Brando as Christian. Guess who had more clout? Sturges was in—then out.40 The Mirisch Corporation was exactly the kind of independent production company United Artists sought to nurture. It was set up by Harold Mirisch and his half-brothers Walter and Marvin, and each fulfilled a distinct role in the organization, Walter with the handle on producing. Harold and Walter had worked together in the 1940s for Monogram, a B picture specialist, Marvin joining when that company morphed at the beginning of the next decade into Allied Artists.41 In concept, Allied Artists was akin to United Artists, in that it attempted to build a home for creative talents such as John Huston, William Wyler

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and Billy Wilder. After its first two efforts—Wilder’s Love in the Afternoon costing $3 million and Wyler’s Friendly Persuasion costing $2.1 million and both starring Gary Cooper—made a loss, Allied Artists dropped the idea.42 So the brothers decided to go out on their own, signing a deal with United Artists in July 1957 for ten films (increased in September, when the contract went public, to 12 films) over three years.43 Harold proclaimed, “In launching our new operation, my brothers and I are expressing in the most concrete way possible our conviction that opportunities are still unlimited in the motion picture industry.”44 Included in the 31-page agreement were five films to which UA had already given approval. Thieves Market was to star Tony Curtis. The budget was set at $525,000. Curtis would receive half the profits with the remainder split between UA and Mirisch. The Audie Murphy picture Cast a Long Shadow had a bigger budget—$750,000. Move Over Darling, to be produced in England starring Esther Williams, cost between $500,000 and $550,000. Joel McCrea headed up Journey Downhill at $350,000. Blonde on the Boulevard featured Lana Turner. An integral part of the contract was the crosscollateralization of profits. UA agreed to cover Mirisch’s overhead, pay a production fee and split the profits. The overhead would amount to $105,000 for nine months of 1958, rising to $140,000 in the first full year (1959) and $175,000 for 1960.45 Production fees were set at $3,000 per week in 1958, increasing to $4,000.46 Other intriguing projects were Martin Luther King biopic The Montgomery Story starring Harry Belafonte and directed by Jeffrey Hayden47 and a remake of King Kong.48 The brothers assiduously wooed Billy Wilder,49 an Oscar-winner for the alcoholic drama The Lost Weekend (1945) and five-time nominee for Double Indemnity (1944), Sunset Boulevard (1950), Stalag 17 (1953), Sabrina (1954) and Witness for the Prosecution (1957). He had produced as well as directed Ace in the Hole (1951), Stalag 17, Sabrina, The Seven Year Itch (1955) and Love in the Afternoon (1957), the first trio for Paramount, the next for Fox, the last for Allied Artists. But Mirisch was not the only company trying to snare directors. This was a great time to be at the top of that particular tree. William Wyler would earn $1 million from Ben Hur. Independents like Mirisch were to discover that control was only relative to a top director. Money meant as much as creative autonomy. It was instructive to note how cleverly directors worked public perceptions. In the previous chapter, when Preminger was discussing his UA deal, the emphasis was on the level of independence he was given, not the astonishing 75 percent of profits. Autonomy, as Mirisch was to discover, was not something directors traded cheaply. Billy Wilder’s asking price was $200,000 per movie plus 17.5 percent of the gross after the film broke even, rising to 20 percent when it made another $1 million.50 Following the United Artists principle, once the director had signed on the dotted line, all Mirisch required was title, story and stars. The first Wilder movie was to be Fanfare of Love, based on a 1935 German production,51 but that quickly changed to the farce My Sister and I 52 starring Audrey Hepburn. Eva Marie Saint was lined up for The Dawn’s Early Light,53 Doris Day for Roar Like a Dove54 and a scifi film Gargantua55 was promised a million-dollar budget. Only three of these projects found their way into theaters. Journey Downhill became Fort Massacre. Cast a Long Shadow did not change its title but Fanfare for Love was released as Some Like It Hot. Ambitious ideas like the King biopic or Gargantua and films with Doris

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Day, Eve Marie Saint and Esther Williams went no further. There was a dichotomy, initially at least, between what Mirisch promised and what it delivered. While publicly promoting themselves as producers of top-tier films, the brothers had embarked on a different strategy, providing films for a niche audience—“marketable” pictures, mainly westerns, aimed at neighborhood theaters and drive-ins.56 Mirisch made its debut in May 1958 not with a prestigious Billy Wilder picture but low-budget western Fort Massacre. A few months later, several notches up the budget belt, Man of the West starred western icon Gary Cooper. These were the only movies Mirisch produced in its inaugural year, despite being contracted to United Artists for four films and, according to its press announcements, being on target to deliver twice that. The following year continuation of this policy saw three more in a similar vein, Joel McCrea in Gunfight at Dodge City, again directed by Newman, Alan Ladd in the crime drama The Man in the Net and the western Cast a Long Shadow starring Audie Murphy and directed by B-western stalwart Thomas Carr. By then Mirisch had worked out this plan was doomed because the cinemas at which these movies were aimed were closing down or being turned into garages, the shrinking market restricting profit. Unable to compete with bigger-budgeted movies, the films were being booked as second features on reduced rentals.57 Soon after Mirisch and Sturges concluded their deal, Some Like It Hot appeared. Mirisch set Hollywood rocking in a way that has become synonymous with little-known companies desperate to make their mark—they paid top dolThis trade ad from United Artists included the projected lar for big names. For the $4 milMirisch films Two for the Seesaw (Shirley MacLaine replaced lion western The Horse Soldiers, Elizabeth Taylor), My Sister and I (never made), By Love Posstars John Wayne and William sessed and Roar Like a Dove (never made). Brynner’s The Gladiators was mentioned but The Magnificent Seven was Holden would both receive omitted (Hannan Collection). $750,000, director John Ford

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$250,000 and each would be in line for 20 percent of the profits.58 Mirisch unveiled even more ambitious plans—a multi-million-dollar remake of Noah’s Ark after Michael Curtiz’s 1929 silent, written by Darryl F. Zanuck, had been reissued the year before to surprisingly good box office.59 Billy Wilder was working on One, Two, Three.60 South America was the background for one film about the revolutionary Simon Bolivar61 and another, Cortez and Montezuma, based on an H. Rider Haggard novel.62 Aeronautics were to the fore—The Proving Flight concerned jet pilots63 and 633 Squadron, from the Frederick E. Smith book, was about a suicidal attack during World War II on German bases in the Norwegian fjords.64 A remake of The Sheik of Araby65 was another possibility. Lena Horne was to star in The Night They Wailed.66 A film for Lana Turner67 and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen were also on the cards.68 For Sturges, the year did not turn out so well. The Old Man and the Sea failed to live up to expectations. Warner Bros., convinced it was ideal roadshow material,69 toyed with the idea of adding a 15-minute prologue and possibly a symphony orchestra and giving it a slow release, six cities in the first burst, letting critical acclaim and public appreciation do the trick. Preview cards were outstanding. Although reviews were mixed, box office was initially strong, $32,000 70 on opening week at the Criterion in New York, beating the musical South Pacific and the second week of William Wyler’s western The Big Country, but way behind the sophomore week of The Barbarian and the Geisha starring John Wayne and Elizabeth Taylor in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. Audiences did not rally, the planned ten-week Criterion run was soon curtailed, the roadshow idea dropped, and the movie fizzled out, filed under “flop.” The downside of being a freelance was the loss of guaranteed work. With nothing else materializing, Sturges returned to MGM to make the kind of western that the success of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral should have made redundant. The Law and Jake Wade lacked the budget of his previous best films and a marquee name of the caliber of Lancaster, Tracy or Douglas. Robert Taylor was a fading star and co-star Richard Widmark reverted to type as an outlaw. Taylor played a repentant robber whose wife was kidnapped by Widmark in a bid to get him to reveal where he had stashed stolen loot. Indians were again involved and there was a climactic shootout. Sturges excelled in the action scenes, but in little else. Widmark summed it up: “bad picture, good part.”71 Critics agreed and the public stayed away. Last Train from Gun Hill reunited Sturges with Hal Wallis and Kirk Douglas whose Bryna Productions was involved in the film’s development. Anthony Quinn played the heavy. Wallis called it “a powerful tale of revenge.”72 Sturges biographer Glenn Lovell hit the mark by referring to it as a “downbeat, overtly psychological companion to Gunfight at the O.K. Corral.”73 It was connected to the earlier film through use of the same locations. Douglas and Quinn were at odds and the opening rape scene incurred the wrath of the censor.74 A shootout confirmed Sturges’ eye for action. The critics praised the movie and it was an improvement at the box office on The Law and Jake Wade without reaching the heights of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. It was not his critical esteem that brought the $2 million MGM war film Never So Few Sturges’ way. What star Frank Sinatra, like Spencer Tracy, allergic to too many takes, admired most about the director was that he worked fast. Sturges accepted the job in 1958 on the condition he could shoot on location. He researched movies filmed in Ceylon (Sri Lanka)

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and Thailand before dispatching his production manager to scout locations in Ceylon and Burma.75 When the Burmese government proved obstructive, Sturges took a crew to Ceylon to film backdrops and scenes with extras.76 Sinatra’s Rat Pack buddies Peter Lawford and Sammy Davis, Jr., were signed up for supporting roles until Davis fell out with the star. His part went to Steve McQueen,77 with the role rewritten to match the new recruit. “When he walked into my office,” said Sturges, “he had the same thing you saw later in The Magnificent Seven and The Great Escape—brashness cut with insecurity.”78 But the screenplay was changed behind Sturges’ back and what began as a character study soon hinged on a romance with Gina Lollobrigida.79 (It was promoted as “Frank and Gina Together!”) When Sturges protested, he was on his own, Sinatra siding with the management.80 Most of the movie was made in the studio, Sinatra and chums never setting foot in Burma. There was friction between Sinatra and Lollobrigida, the Italian disinclined to bow to the actor’s ego, but Sinatra and McQueen hit it off, indulging in high jinks.81 A raid on an airfield at night, complete with explosions and burning oil drums, was the action highlight. But Sturges’ legendary speed was not in evidence, and the movie went over schedule and over budget by $1.6 million.82 The soaring cost forced the studio to rethink its advertising campaign and that delayed the film’s release until the end of 1960. For Sturges, freedom had come at a price—his $154,000 fee was less, pro rata, than he had earned for Backlash.83 Meanwhile, Walter Mirisch was waiting in the wings. “I’d seen John’s pictures before I met him. I was crazy about them,” he said. Jeopardy was “a marvelous job of picture-making” and Bad Day at Black Rock “suspenseful, action-packed.”84 Mirisch wanted him badly enough to hand over complete creative control. Mirisch agreed to pay his current rate and 33 percent of its share of profits.85 Sturges would become a fully-fledged hyphenate, a producer-director like Billy Wilder and John Ford. To achieve this, Sturges set up his own production outfit, Alpha Corporation. As participants have a tendency to rewrite history, it is always difficult to get a firm grip on the reality of a Hollywood situation. But it is worth putting into context at this point what exactly Mirisch was getting for its money. By now the director’s Oscar nomination was beginning to look like an anomaly, one of those moments when cast and story converged and Hollywood was in the mood to celebrate the underdog, as had occurred with that year’s winner Delbert Mann. What Sturges and Mann had in common was that they would never be nominated for an Oscar again. Wyler, Wilder and Zinnemann—names with whom Sturges would be bracketed at Mirisch—were already Oscar veterans with more recognition to come. Wilder would finish his career with two wins and six nominations (plus more for writing), Wyler with three wins and nine nominations and Zinnemann with two wins and seven nominations. Sturges’ editing colleagues from RKO, Robert Wise and Mark Robson, would remain in Oscar’s sights, the former with two wins and two nominations, the latter with two nominations. Glenn Lovell put the lack of further nominations down to the director’s inability or unwillingness to play the Hollywood game and do the glad-handing necessary come Oscar time. But that seems unlikely. So although Sturges was in good company at Mirisch, he was also something of the odd man out and would probably be the first to acknowledge it. While his work revealed thematic consistency, it was nonetheless erratic. The opening in New York of Bad Day at Black Rock, his best film, for example, was followed a month

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later by Underwater, one of his worst. And after that, The Old Man and the Sea apart, there was little sign of Oscar potential being fulfilled. The other element to consider, more influential in a director’s career than academics or fans care to admit, was his box office. Where Wilder, Zinnemann and Wyler could point to box office smashes, Sturges had directed a few films that had done better than expected and many that had done worse. The success of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral was attributed in the eyes of the public to the dual voltage of Lancaster and Douglas and in the eyes of Hollywood to Hal Wallis. As we have seen, he had not always been efficient, but he could handle stars. So rather than seeing Sturges as a man who could The film that excited Walter Mirisch so much, Jeopardy deliver either big hits or films with (MGM, 1953), was re-titled A Woman in Jeopardy for British release. Since Ralph Meeker changed a tire in the Oscar potential, it is more likely movie, publicists suggested exhibitors run a “fastest tire that Mirisch saw him as a relatively change” competition (Hannan Collection). safe pair of hands. When author Paul Brickhill refused to sell the rights to The Great Escape,86 Sturges was announced in December 1958 as producer-director of 633 Squadron to be filmed in Norway and England in late summer the following year.87 It was envisaged as a film with four male stars.88 Jack Lord89 and Peter Lawford90 signed up. William Holden was in, or at least tentatively.91 It was impossible to tell with Holden. A romantic moment between Frank Sinatra and Gina Lollobrigida in Never So Few (MGM, 1959). Lollobrigida was in heavy demand at the time from European and American producers. A trade magazine advertisement for Jovanka, to be directed by Martin Ritt, showed Lollobrigida with her head shaved. The film was made as Five Branded Women, but without her. She was also due to star in Lady L, directed by George Cukor (later filmed with Sophia Loren).

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Like Yul Brynner, he wanted out of the U.S. for tax purposes and was in the process of establishing residence in Switzerland, so perhaps the most agreeable feature of the film was the locations. Unfortunately, Holden was in massive demand. In 1959, he was linked with the following: The Guns of Navarone, Night Without End with Debbie Reynolds, John Wayne’s The Alamo, David O. Selznick’s production of Tender Is the Night, Robert Aldrich’s The Catalyst, Montego for William Perlberg and George Seaton, The Counterfeit Traitor and The World of Suzie Wong.92 Only the last two had him for sure. When Holden officially withdrew, it did not appear so critical at the time. Mirisch had upped its game and was on the verge of moving into the big time, so much so that by the end of the year, Variety would proclaim that it had taken on “the mantle of a major.”93 In just two years, its production budget had shot up from $10 million to $34 million. In April 1959 it announced the following production schedule—The Proving Flight ( July) to be directed by Richard Fleischer, 633 Squadron (August), Billy Wilder’s The Apartment (September), Elizabeth Taylor in the adaptation of the Broadway hit Two for the Seesaw (October), By Love Possessed (November) based on the James Gould Cozzens bestseller, Robert Wise’s Robert Capa biopic Battle (early 1960), The Ghetto based on the forthcoming Leon Uris book Mila 18 (early 1960) and A Rage to Live from the 1949 John O’Hara bestseller (early 1960).94 And Mirisch did not stop there. It was looking into a remake of The Golem,95 a Billy the Kid western,96 and was fighting producer Jerry Wald for the rights to Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio.97 In summer 1959 it had acquired the Broadway smash West Side Story for Robert Wise to direct and Elvis Presley penciled in as star.98 Lauren Bacall would star in Northwest Frontier,99 to be made in partnership with Associated British. Mirisch purchased Saddle and Ride100 written by Ernest Haycock and another Frederick E. Smith novel, Laws Be Their Enemy.101 Alan Pakula was signed up.102 A total of $300,000 went on a Sidney Sheldon play, Roman Candle, before it even premiered on Broadway, for William Wyler to direct.103 And then it topped everything by forking out, pre-publication, a record $600,000 for the James Michener novel Hawaii for director Fred Zinnemann.104 By acquiring important subject matter—Broadway hits and bestsellers—and peopling them with established stars, the Mirisch strategy had switched to making blockbusters. So when the call came from United Artists to rescue a troubled project called The Magnificent Seven it appeared an ideal fit. Walter Mirisch said: “I called him [ John Sturges] and told him the idea. I suggested we run the film (Seven Samurai) together…. One idea led to another and we became very excited about the possibilities of the project.”105

4 Battle of the Scriptwriters Six men, possibly seven, wrote The Magnificent Seven. Only one—William Roberts— received any credit. Walter Bernstein was the first to take a crack.1 Bernstein, later best known for the screenplays of the Cold War drama Fail Safe (1964), directed by Sidney Lumet, and The Molly Maguires (1970), starring Sean Connery, and The Front (1976), both directed by Martin Ritt, began as a writer for The New Yorker magazine. His first venture into scriptwriting was the first draft of the Burt Lancaster–Joan Fontaine film noir Kiss the Blood Off My Hands.2 He had been working in television on Danger when Yul Brynner was summoned to join The King and I. Due to his political leanings he had fallen foul of the blacklist3 and found work by using various “fronts” (the basis for The Front starring Woody Allen). In the mid–1950s he was running training courses for television writers.4 When Lumet broke into the movies, Bernstein got a job writing That Kind of Woman for Carlo Ponti.5 Through his friend the writer Irwin Shaw, author of bestseller The Young Lions, Bernstein had found an agent, Irving “Swifty” Lazar.6 In April 1958 he was paid $50,000 to write Stopover at El Paso for Ponti.7 “Originally,” Walter Bernstein told Pat McGilligan, “they had asked me to write The Magnificent Seven script but I had chosen Ponti instead.”8 But by August 1958 he had succumbed.9 In November Bernstein signed a two-year deal worth a total of $200,000 with Paramount10 and in February 1959 Ponti purchased his original World War II screenplay This Too I Saw, to be directed by Albert Lattuada,11 and the same month he was hired to help out on Heller in Pink Tights after Dudley Nichols (Stagecoach) fell ill.12 Bernstein said the job of writing The Magnificent Seven had passed to Robert Alan Aurthur,13 best known at the time for television work, but more recently the writer of Warlock. Anthony Quinn was in that western, so it may have been he who involved Aurthur in the new film. (Aurthur later wrote Grand Prix and All That Jazz.) It is unknown how far he got with a script. In any case, Aurthur backed out when Bernstein again became available. Bernstein’s participation was called into question when a subpoena was issued relating to the blacklist. At that time Ritt was involved in a production capacity. “Marty [Ritt] and Yul went to United Artists,” Bernstein said, “and took the position with [bosses] Krim and Benjamin that they didn’t know anything about any subpoena; all they knew was that I had finished a script with Paramount so I was employable. I was hired.”14 The subpoena never surfaced. The first draft screenplay of The Magnificent Seven was completed by early April 1959.15 55

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It was set in the post–Civil War period. A lot of westerns were set in that period, the kind of picture that starred Randolph Scott. The characters were not all gunslingers. They were a mixture, some veterans, some drifters and the leader Yul modeled on the character from Seven Samurai. We were all in Paris at the time. Yul was working on Once More with Feeling and I was under contract to Carlo Ponti. I’d met Yul when he was directing the television show Danger and Sidney Lumet was his assistant. I’d known Martin Ritt during the war. He was probably my closest friend.16

In terms of length, the film was intended to be one hour and forty minutes, the standard running time for a quality western. That meant cutting almost two hours from the original. To achieve this, Bernstein eliminated a lot of the early recruitment material and got the group together much quicker. Bernstein’s story stuck to the original with the bandits attacking several times and being repulsed with a final big battle.17 The lead character did something that they came to him for. The trouble was in the form of Mexican bandits crossing the border so the setting was Texas. I wrote a full shooting script, which was essentially a pastiche of Seven Samurai, a film I had seen in the full version and which I revered. Yul wanted Spencer Tracy for the lead and Tony Quinn was to play the Mifune part. The general idea of the screenplay was to recreate as faithfully as possible in American Western terms a marvelous Japanese film.18 The Mifune part [Rivers] was written with Tony in mind: a Mexican denying his origins until he doesn’t. I wrote a big scene in which he confesses, very emotional. I loved it. Tony hated it. It would have been very interesting if it had gone forward.19 Tony didn’t have any input into my script except that one scene we differed on. I have no idea about any discussions he may have had with Yul. Unfortunately, I can’t remember any discussions I may have had on the script with Yul, what ideas he had or how he saw the picture except that he generally agreed with the approach I was taking.20 I had a few script meetings with Yul, but I don’t remember doing much of a rewrite. When he left, I left. Or was fired, my memory is hazy on that.21 Yul would have been a good director. He had a good eye and was a very good photographer.”22

In fact, Brynner was instrumental in Bernstein being pushed off the project though it was true the initial objections had come from Quinn. On seeing the first draft screenplay Quinn complained it was “not satisfactory” and called for “substantial changes.” His agent said that “Mr. Quinn thought the script in its present form was bad.”23 In June 1959, just as Quinn was about to depart the project, Brynner and producer Paul Radin came to the same conclusion. “They agreed that the script was unsatisfactory” and resolved to hire a new writer.24 The initial solution reached by Brynner and Radin was for Brynner to resign the directorial role in favor of Anatole Litvak and rely on the new director to hire a new writer25 but that did not work out to United Artists’ satisfaction. When Mirisch entered the equation, the Bernstein script remained intact and was transferred to the Mirisch-Alpha partnership. Only later was the Bernstein script “completely scrapped.”26 Next on board was Walter Newman,27 Oscar-nominated for Billy Wilder’s acerbic Ace in the Hole (1951). He had adapted Nelson Algren’s The Man with the Golden Arm (1955)28 for Otto Preminger and been signed to write The Way West in 1955 (not filmed till 1967 and without his name on the credits) and in The True Story of Jesse James (1957) for Nicholas Ray. He had worked with Sturges before, on Underwater, and received $1,500 a week for The Magnificent Seven.29 He was also acquainted with Brynner, having written a draft of The Buccaneer.30 For creative and practical reasons, Walter Mirisch was keen for Sturges to become more involved in the screenplay process.31 The more caught up Sturges was with the

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movie from the start, the less likely he was to jump ship if a more attractive offer came along. The film took a new slant, shifting to Mexico (necessitated by Brynner’s tax problems) and set in the 1900s.32 As the script progressed, the latter idea was jettisoned. None of the material written by Bernstein was retained and the Mifune part was rewritten to accommodate Horst Buchholz.33 In an interview with Rui Nogueira (“Writing for the Movies,” Focus on Film 11 Au tumn 1972, 38–47), Walter New- Walter Newman co-wrote The Man with the Golden Arm Artists, 1955) directed by Otto Preminger. Being man explained that his approach (United forced to share the credit on this picture was behind Bernto the screenplay was roughly stein’s decision to remove his name from The Magnificent the same as Bernstein’s. He gave Seven. each of the gunslingers a back story and decided that one standout bandit chief was more convincing and threatening than an “anonymous mass” of bad guys. They read the finished screenplay together in Sturges’ office, playing out all the roles to work out the pace and the staging. However, during shooting Sturges made changes without consulting the writer. For example, they had agreed to follow the Kurosawa template and set the movie in a little village, where action was confined to a small area. Newman complained that the village square in the completed film was “the size of Times Square.” Newman had envisaged the Brynner–McQueen scene as taking place inside a livery stable to create the promise of confrontation with the townspeople, anticipating violence, clearing the streets, aiming thus to create an ominous contrast, whereas the director set the scene in an open corral. Also, for the first confrontation between Brynner and Wallach, which had taken four or five days to write, some of Brynner’s lines (“character lines”) ended up in the mouths of McQueen and Bronson. Sturges asked Newman to come on location. When Newman refused, Sturges turned to William Roberts who worked with the director on MGM horse-racing comedy Fast Company (1953) starring Howard Keel and Jane Greer. They had been friends since the 1940s, neighbors in Studio City in Los Angeles whose families enjoyed Sunday lunch together.34 Roberts had followed his first credit, the romantic comedy You and Me (1952) starring Peter Lawford, with the aquatic Easy to Love (1953) with Esther Williams, the school drama Her Twelve Men starring Greer Garson (1954) and The Private War of Major Benson (1955) with Charlton Heston. More relevant was the western The Sheepman (1958). Despite Newman’s input, Roberts received sole credit, one of the most puzzling—and controversial—aspects of The Magnificent Seven. Once the movie was complete, Roberts felt his contribution deserved official recognition and applied to the arbitration committee

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of the Writers Guild of America. This would not necessarily have resulted in any credit at all. A number of options were available including outright rejection of Roberts’ claims and awarding Newman sole credit. Several variations of a split credit existed. Newman could have received the main credit with Roberts given a subsidiary credit such as “additional dialogue by.” Or if the screenplay credit had to be split, then Newman could have been given an extra “story by” credit, which would have let the industry know he shouldered the bulk of the screenplay construction.35 But the committee agreed with Roberts. Newman reacted angrily and removed his name from the picture. No one has ever previously explained the source of this selfdestructive and apparently arbitrary act. However, Newman had had a previous row over screen credits with the Guild. He had fought the Guild’s award of a credit to Lewis Meltzer for The Man with the Golden Arm. Newman was so enraged he took the Guild to court, but lost.36 Following the ruling on The Magnificent Seven and Newman’s subsequent act, an embarrassed Roberts, acutely aware of how much Newman had written, was about to follow suit. For a time the screenwriting credit hung in limbo, with the possibility that it might be attributed to Allen Smithee, the all-purpose pseudonym adopted in these circumstances. 37 But Sturges was not having any of that since use of the Smithee name generally indicated a movie in trouble. So, in the end, as far as the general public was concerned, William Roberts was solely responsible for the screenplay of The Magnificent Seven. The outcome of the WGA deliberations created a curious anomaly. The script in the archives of the WGA Foundation was credited to William Roberts, even though it had Newman’s name on the title page. Mention has been made of Walter Roberts had written Fast Company (MGM, 1953) which Sturges had directed for MGM. Among the ideas sug- three (possibly four) of the writgested in the pressbook for publicizing the film was a “Horse ers involved in The Magnificent Song Contest,” inviting cinemagoers to nominate a song that could make a horse go faster, an idea that was part of the film’s Seven. Who were the others? The plot (Hannan Collection). sense of injustice that followed

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the revelations that Walter Newman was denied true recognition for his work on The Magnificent Seven did not extend to the trio of screenwriters who came up with the original idea. In the opening credits of the western, there was no mention of Akira Kurosawa, Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oquni. Underneath Lou Morheim’s credit as associate producer was “This picture is based on the Japanese film Seven Samurai, Toho Company Ltd.” The next credit to appear after this was “Screenplay by William Roberts.” The decision to make the mercenaries mostly American changed the nature of the movie, creating an inevitable, if unspoken, culture clash. Truncating the length altered the structure of the original, eliminating much of what was powerful about the Kurosawa film, the greater interaction of peasant and samurai. Turning the movie into a western also meant the battle scenes would be inevitably shorter. So The Magnificent Seven was both rigorously faithful and wildly unfaithful to the original. To answer the question of how much of the movie was written by Walter Newman and how much by Walter Roberts, we must ask how much of the original found its way into the western. In other words, how much did Newman and Roberts lift from Seven Samurai ? Chris (Yul Brynner) was almost a carbon copy of the samurai leader Kambei and the laconic knife-throwing Britt ( James Coburn) an easy match for master swordsman Kyuzo. Wood-chopping O’Reilly (Charles Bronson) stood in for the wood-chopping Heihachi, although in temperament they were polar opposites. Wannabe gunfighter Chico (Horst Buchholz) had his genesis in wannabe samurai Katsuchiro. For other characters the swap was less straightforward. Vin (Steve McQueen) evolved in essence from Gorobei, a stranger who clicked with Kambei, but otherwise they shared no obvious characteristics. The moneyobsessed Harry Luck (Brad Dexter) and the cowardly Lee (Robert Vaughn) had no direct samurai equivalent, although Luck had something in common with Schichiroji who was an old friend of Kambei in the same way Luck went way back with Chris. Harry was a scriptwriter’s clever trick—a device of comparison. His greed revealed the others as not greedy and, therefore, “good” in the most obvious sense. (The Dirty Dozen uses the same idea, the purpose of the Telly Savalas character to point up the essential “goodness” of the others.) Ironically, apart from O’Reilly, Harry worked hardest at trying to bond with the villagers, helping them build the wall and teaching them a game. But his friendliness was undercut by his motives. He represented the bad American, who came to Mexico with sweet talk and cheap trinkets and walked off with their treasure. Walter Newman expanded the characteristics of some characters and swapped others. Seven Samurai’s Gorobei was briefly seen with children, but there was no interaction, and children, except in passing, played no role in the film. Newman took this glimpse of a childloving samurai away from Gorobei’s equivalent Vin and used it to expand the role of O’Reilly. Katsushiro’s dalliance among the flowers was not transferred to his counterpart Chico in order to give greater prominence to Britt whose toying with a flower, based on a briefer moment enjoyed by Kyuzo, showed an unexpectedly tender side. Newman seized on another aspect of Kyuzo’s character for Britt. Although we only once saw the samurai in repose, this became Britt’s defining trait. The knife-throwing was Newman’s invention. Each gunfighter represented the various paths open to Chico. Chris was the worldweary mercenary who had taken his job as far as it could go, and, partly due to his selflessness, been rewarded with little. O’Reilly’s status lay in reward. Harry Luck would not let anything

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get in the way of a big score. Mentally, Lee had gone over to the dark side, tormented by loss of nerve, the worst affliction for a man in his profession. Vin had not achieved the maturity of Chris—and perhaps never would. His self-esteem was built on action. He was the most complicated of the characters. Unremittingly tough in a fight, he was on less sure ground in real life, variously depicted as a useless gambler, winsome in his attitude to women, lacking in stamina (he was the first to consider quitting), and given to bouts of crackerjack philosophy. Only Britt appeared content, seeking nothing except perfecting his skill. In between the zippy one-liners and slabs of maudlin observation, what Newman unerringly created, as the subtext to the upfront action, was a communal sense of loss. None of the mercenaries was fulfilled. They were all poor, reduced to chopping wood or jobs in grocery stores, overwhelmed by failure or greed, without the emotional compensations of life. Personality defects or the cumulative effect of the work prevented them settling down. They hankered after starting again but talk was as far as they got, and the film ended as it began, with men on the move. Newman’s most important alteration was the elimination of Kikuchiyo, the charismatic samurai played by Toshiro Mifune, the undeniable star of the Japanese version. This may have had a prosaic cause as once Quinn departed it may have been impossible to find an American actor capable of matching Mifune’s physical and vocal energy. The leaping, stomping, screaming and growling presented a considerable challenge. Which major actor could carry off such a part? Or be willing to play a buffoon? “Mifune is a great comedy actor,” explained Sturges, “and I didn’t know anyone who could play his part.”38 Sturges was also wary of direct imitation. “The Japanese film was set 400 years ago and there was a quality about swordsmen and samurai and a terrible need to be identified as someone important; but it would have kind of oafish undertones if you were going to tell it with gunfighters. A gun is a small thing, not like a sword, so it did not ring true to me.”39 Instead the screenwriter simply merged the Mifune part with that of wannabe Katsushiro to create Chico. In the original, Katsushiro was accepted at the start as an apprentice, while Kikuchiyo was the rebuffed hanger-on only embraced by the group after rousing the hiding villagers. Lacking Mifune’s screen presence, manic energy and comic timing, Buchholz struggled with the various dimensions of the character. The biggest problem for Walter Newman was how to accommodate the underlying theme of Seven Samurai, namely that it was set in a time of transition. The period of the Japanese film was specific whereas that of The Magnificent Seven was vague. Newman came up with two ways of replicating the idea of transition—placing the action at the end of an (undefined) era and using the symbol of the border. In a more minor key, Newman addressed the element of community central to Seven Samurai. The bonding of villagers and samurai proved the power of the group over the individual. Various considerations prevented Newman going down this route, but, from a different perspective, a community was formed, a community of gunmen. Although a couple of the gunfighters had worked together in the past, mostly they plowed a lonely path. In working as a group, they found solace in each other. Newman retained much of the original structure—villagers, fed up with bandits, sought help from freelance killers who nonetheless operated within a code of honor. The mercenary leader recruited a diverse band who helped train the villagers to defend themselves, one

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mercenary falling in love, the survivors acknowledging that the farmers always win. But the writer made considerable changes, most importantly in relation to the bandit leader and the battle scenes. The bandit chief in Seven Samurai was not central to the action. Calvera, the outlaw leader in The Magnificent Seven, had a more charismatic personality. The Seven Samurai bandits turned away from the village without entering it, their intention to return overheard by a villager, prompting the decision to recruit samurai. Newman sent the bandits into the village. The Kurosawa film drew parallels between samurai and bandits, the villagers believing there was not much to choose between them. Newman came to much the same conclusion—that bandits and gunfighters worked outside the law. Calvera was so convinced they shared a common code that he offered the gunfighters a share of the spoils and later set them free. Newman turned Calvera into one of the most attractive bad guys in movie history—charming, vain and boastful. Paternal instinct, not greed, drove Calvera. He was the antithesis of the weak villagers. He was Mexican, but strong, willing to take by force what he was denied by law. There were four battles in Seven Samurai. Without a three-hour running time to play with, Newman halved these. In the original the battles took place in the last third while the western positioned one at the halfway mark and one at the climax. Midway through, the Japanese film included a full-blown raid on the enemy camp. Although the gunfighters made an abortive assault on the enemy camp late in the film, an earlier attempt was impossible because of a previous Newman alteration. In The Magnificent Seven, all three bandit scouts were killed, in the Japanese version only two, the third man’s capture the crucial difference between the movies. The Japanese villagers bayed for the prisoner’s blood while the samurai, recognizing him as one their own (a disenfranchised samurai turning to banditry to survive), wished to spare him death. The mercenaries would have reprieved him except for an old woman who insisted on revenge. Such savage justice was not mirrored in The Magnificent Seven. The captive’s betrayal of the location of the enemy camp led to the first skirmish. This was not just uplifting, attack rather than defense, but at its core was heart-rending emotion as Rikichi found his kidnapped wife. Such was her shame that, freed, she walked back into the burning building. The Magnificent Seven offered no equivalent. By having Britt shoot the third scout, Newman chose to forego the opportunity to examine the complex relationship between the oppressed and their oppressors and also between the villagers and their rescuers. Newman also eliminated two other scenes vital to the completeness of the Kurosawa film. The romance between Chico and Petra was standard stuff but in Seven Samurai, the father, fearing the attraction of a samurai for a peasant girl, cut off his daughter’s hair to disguise her. When she resisted, it turned into another scene of horror, underlining the idea that samurai, whether good or bad, could destroy a village. Newman also left out the hidden cache of armor and weaponry acquired by villagers killing wounded or wandering samurai. The other element missing was the idea of solidarity. In The Magnificent Seven, outsiders and villagers bonded in superficial fashion. In both films, the farmers were presented as duplicitous, but only in the western do they betray their rescuers (perhaps Newman’s way of encompassing the emotional depths of the scenes left out). Brief rebellion in Seven Samurai was crushed. One of the iconic images of Seven Samurai was the raising of a banner

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symbolizing both samurai and villagers. Necessity rather than ideology forced them to work together. Kambei described it as a “rule of war—collective defense protects the individual, individual defense destroys the individual.” But it went both ways. Villagers became soldiers, samurai became farmers. “From now on we are going to work as a group,” said Gorobei. “We’ll harvest together. No one will work alone.” The scale of Newman’s invention was less than you might think. Ideas were translated wholesale from the Kurosawa film. The old man instigating action was a feature of both. In the original his first words were “We’ll fight” and in the remake “Fight. You must fight.” While he had an ongoing role in the first version, he was not so dominant the second time around. The entire Japanese village marched to the old man’s house, in the Sturges film just three villagers. Four farmers were sent out on the recruitment drive in the first film, three in the second. Rikichi, the counterpart of Hilario, lived in greater emotional turmoil. The samurai leader Kambei was introduced to the audience after rescuing a child held hostage. Newman’s version improved upon this idea with Chris and Vin volunteering to drive the hearse of the dead Indian to Boot Hill. “We wanted the same combination of courage and humanity,” said Sturges. Kambei initially rejected the villagers’ proposal, as did Chris, both accepting the job after realizing the villagers had offered everything they owned. In the Kurosawa film, the leader also tested applicants, although Newman’s development of this—the clapping scene—was inspired. Harry Luck’s refusal to enter the hotel room came from Gorobei’s refusal to cross the threshold of the samurai house. Britt being goaded into action by a blowhard copied Kyuzo being challenged by a fool, but Kurosawa used the scene to examine Walter Newman was an uncredited writer on Josef von Stern- the wannabe samurai’s reaction berg’s Macao (RKO, 1952) starring Robert Mitchum and Jane to sudden death. In each case, Russell. Mitchum wore “Finesse” ties in the film and the pressthe decision to join up took book encouraged cinema managers to cooperate with local suppliers to promote the movie. Brad Dexter, who had a small place offscreen. Except that Heirole, won an RKO contract as a result (Hannan Collection). hachi was self-deprecating and

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humorous and O’Reilly gloomy and boastful, the wood-chopping scene was essentially a duplicate. After initially declining to join the group, Kyuzo and Britt both indicated their change of mind by silent re-appearance. Both Kikuchiyo and Chico drunkenly challenged the leader. The famous scene where the gunfighters explained to Chico the hopelessness of their lives (“Home: none. Wife: none”) had its origins in a much shorter scene in the Japanese film where Kambei alone, in denying the wannabe permission to join, dismissed all notions of his profession being glorious. “I’ve got nothing out of fighting. I’m alone in the world.” In Seven Samurai this took place early, whereas in the western it occurred after the first battle. While none of the samurai added to their leader’s words, the look on their faces was enough. Despite being rejected, Chico followed the group just like Kikuchiyo. Newman simply appropriated dialogue (“Now he’s gone, I rather miss him”) and ideas such as the unwanted man catching fish barehanded. When the samurai reached the village it was deserted, just as in the western, the old man on hand each time to explain why, until the villagers were roused by the sounding of the alarm, by Kikuchiyo in the original and Chico in the remake. “Now we are seven,” said Kambei, the exact line used by Chris. Preparations for defense were cursory in The Magnificent Seven compared to the detailed strategy employed in Seven Samurai. One of the seminal scenes in the western was Chico blaming the gunfighters for the behavior of the farmers. This occurred toward the end of the movie, after the mercenaries had been tricked by Calvera and sent packing. In Seven Samurai it took place after the hidden armor had been found. “But who made animals of them?” screamed Kikuchiyo. “You did. You damned samurai.” The samurai gave their meal to an old woman whose family has been killed by bandits, while the Seven handed theirs to children with Kikuchiyo delivering the line “Haven’t you got a pretty sister?” spoken in the remake by Vin. Newman turned the romance between the young samurai and the villager on its head. In the original, the girl feared she was not good enough for him, whereas in the western it was the man who insisted he was superior, a subtle distinction. The scene with the scouts embodied one other significant change. Kambei despatched Kyuzo (the Britt equivalent) and Kikuchiyo but also sent Katsushiro along with the admonition “Watch but don’t fight.” In the western Chico joined them unasked. Newman expanded on Kyuzo’s sensitivity and where the swordsman barely stroked the flowers Britt was absorbed. In the second half of The Magnificent Seven, Newman departed from the structure of the original. While a few starting points were the same, Newman used them for another purpose. For example, the sniper in Seven Samurai provoked Kikuchiyo (disguised in clothes stolen from a deserter) to steal a musket from the enemy. When Chico (disguised in a bandit’s hat) undertook a similar mission it was with another idea in mind and with a devastatingly different outcome—Chico’s return prompting the farmers’ rebellion against the gunfighters, and the subsequent mini-revolt of Vin and Harry against Chris, which in turn gave Chris the idea of a pre-emptive strike on the enemy camp, resulting in them being outwitted and then trapped and finally sent on their way before honor forced them to return. Newman used the sniper scene to develop theme and character. The bullets, even though they only smashed wine vessels and nobody was killed, distorted the mood. Triumph was replaced by fear. In technical terms it was important for all the mercenaries to take part in the subsequent pursuit, their absence allowing the villagers, offscreen, time to conspire. The

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gunfighters moved as a cohesive team. They operated as a unit, moving into position to counter the threat. But this was deceptive; from the superhuman heights of war, Newman brought the heroes back to earth with a bump, revealing how human some were. Chico was the same willful idiot as before, almost getting his head blown off. Not all had the skills they believed; for example, Vin challenged Britt’s assertion that there were three snipers, only to be proved wrong. In the ensuing chase, the forbidding O’Reilly became the protector of a group of children, his newfound vulnerability contrasting with the innocence of boys (embryo Chicos) excited by battle. Chico’s romantic underbelly was exposed by Petra. Vin grew wistful remembering a time when fighting was not a job, but a vibrant emotion. There was more to it than that. Story arcs had to be developed. The paternal aspects of O’Reilly’s character, only hinted at earlier, were fully established. The romance kicked into high gear. Hilario changed from fearful peasant to village leader, in the eyes of the gunfighters, effectively, the face of the future, the peasant who would stand up against oppression. Kurosawa had over three hours to explore themes barely touched upon in the western. Newman, however much he plundered the original, had the task of not just fitting the original tale into two-thirds of the time, but fleshing out the characters. His dialogue crackled. He worked in detail. The script instructed Chris to light up a Long Nine and wear a black Kossuth hat. In even the simplest exchanges Newman looked to create something new. Asked his name, Vin did not give the obvious reply. Instead he said, “Make it Vin.” Setting aside what was not original about Newman’s work—and bearing in mind that this was, after all, an adaptation—the screenwriter had managed to convert a long, involved movie with cultural overtones that were foreign to the average cinemagoer into a shorter movie in the American idiom that, while fulfilling the requirements of an action picture, still packed an emotional punch. So if Newman was so good, why on earth did William Roberts deserve any credit?

5 Walter Newman vs. William Roberts Walter Newman’s screenplay begins with women at the stream being startled by the sudden flight of birds. Then Newman cuts to the bandits “in casual column formation” who “jog slowly” out of the forest, past the burial grounds and into the fields. He draws attention to the men’s faces and in particular to the leader Calvera. The bandits ride slowly enough for Santos, the second-in-command, to pluck an ear of corn and hand it to Calvera who nibbles a kernel. Calvera says, “Beautiful, beautiful corn.” Villagers Enrique and Hilario are stripping corn. Enrique says Hilario’s name to draw attention to the approaching men. Calvera waves as he passes and, indicating the corn, says, “Beunos dias, Hilario. Wonderful—best crop we ever had, wonderful.” As Calvera moves away, Newman focuses on Hilario who “rises, hate and anger in his face.” There is then a brief montage of women preparing food, grinding corn, slapping tortillas, with children at their sides or in their laps, and men squatting against walls or lounging at the fountain. None of this is seen in the final film. The Newman script continues with Sotero, the store owner and village leader, on seeing the bandits approach, motioning his wife and child away. Two boys, filling water jugs at the fountain, stop and stare. Some bandits halt at the fountain, others at the store. Calvera, Santos and another bandit continue down the street to a house where young girls weave cloth. Calvera says, “Buenos dias. Work, work, everything is ripened well.” He eyes a girl. “Everything.” Turning back, they pass Miguel, a boy called Jaime, and Concepcion, and again he addresses all by name and points to his belly and says, “Six months ago—now—ha ha!” None of this appears in the film either. Brynner, watching the rushes, complained that Wallach was too benevolent. “The Magnificent Seven cost $3 million,” commented Walter Mirisch. “That was our budget, and it rose because he [Sturges] reshot the opening and he reshot it because of Yul and Yul was his star and in the old days when you had a star that’s who you played to. John was always very loyal to that. Yul got what he wanted.”1 The opening was rewritten by William Roberts. The movie starts with more urgency, the battering of hooves, and none of the bandits distinctly seen. There is no plucking of corn, no assessment of the crop, no banter with Hilario, and the faces of the villagers are impassive rather than enraged, just the incessant horde sweeping into the village. Also gone 65

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is the dilatory exchange with the villagers. Sotero’s wife has been replaced by his daughter. The pace is faster. The bandits thunder into the village. Calvera dismounts at the store. The rest of the scene that follows, Calvera’s monologue and bits of business, is primarily Newman’s work. But that, too, has been adapted, a few elements added but in the main words subtracted. The changes are in some cases minor, the dialogue trimmed, the sequence of words changed, or words missed so that the speech has a staccato, breathless quality. It is Roberts who makes Calvera hug Sotero to make up for the scenes in the original script in which the bandit chief hailed everyone by name. Twice Calvera orders Sotero to sit down rather than once and the store owner is more obsequious, offering cigars without being asked, as well as wine. In Newman’s script, there is no sign of the bandits taking any plunder, but shots of them walking off with loot are inserted here. Newman’s dialogue suggests that Santos is more involved in the scene, outside to begin with to catch the furs, but then closer to collect the cigars. Newman has Sotero’s wife and child in the store, and addressed by Calvera in a familiar, polite tone. It is all polite, almost like long-standing acquaintances doing business with each other. The biggest change is that halfway through the monologue Sotero makes a sarcastic comment, as if at the end of his tether with this blatant, hypocritical thief. In Newman’s version, the scene ends as it began, in relative good humor, with Calvera acknowledging life is difficult all around. In the Roberts rewrite, the tension is ratcheted up, Calvera’s mask slips, he is quick to violence and slaps Sotero, but he is as quick to calm down, on his horse once more talking benevolently. This scene ends with the villager Rafael charging Calvera. Newman’s original script calls for Calvera to shoot him from the porch of the store, whereas Roberts has him on his horse. Newman allows Rafael to recover after being hit by the first bullet, stumbling but recovering and going on before being shot again. In the rewrite he is shot twice in quick succession and dies instantly. In the opening sequence Roberts cut 20 lines and rewrote another eight. Where Newman used 356 words, Roberts used 212. And that was how William Roberts earned his keep. Hilario and others now question their passivity in the face of Calvera. The dialogue is exactly as written by Newman. Even so, there are four specific changes. Newman has the villagers congregate in a direct copy of the Japanese farmers. The villagers gather in a circular mass around Rafael and his wife…. They all squat on their hams, heads down in despair. In the center of this mass are the headmen and elders. They speak with deliberation and there is a little gap of silence after each man voices his thoughts while the next man weighs his words. All of them more or less address themselves to Sotero.

Roberts rewrites the scene so that, firstly, the men come in from the fields and cross the plaza to confront Sotero. Secondly, there is no respectful silence; they speak over each other. Thirdly, it is an angry debate. These three elements create a greater sense of urgency and allow Sturges to move his camera. The final difference is something that is missing. When Hilario is introduced, Newman gives him a “young wife, Trinita, pregnant with their first child” who “tugs at his sleeve to caution prudence.” In the completed film, Hilario has no wife, although this is never explained, and when later in the film Sotero accuses the mercenaries of having nothing to lose because they have no wives or children, he includes Hilario in this, as if Hilario is somehow equally deficient.

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When the villagers begin their quest, Newman inserts a shot of them riding across the country to the border town, but this has also been eliminated. Newman also has something particular in mind when they arrive at their destination: “Anxiously, timidly, they swivel their heads from side to side…. They nudge one another and point, shoot covert glances, growing more uncertain and apprehensive by the moment.” But that is not how it appears in the final film. We do see the townsmen from the villagers’ point of view, but they exhibit no uncertainty or fear. The hearse scene is primarily Newman’s work, with minor tweaking. Curiously, in the first fourteen exchanges between the travelling salesmen and the funeral director only two words are altered. In the second part of this scene, amounting to 13 further exchanges, every single one is altered, even if only by one word. “What? In Boot Hill?” asks one of the salesman, where originally there is no “What?” The Newman line “Why, there’s nobody up there except murderers, horse-thieves and bankrupt old barflies” becomes “Why, there’s nothing up there but murderers, cut-throats and derelict old barflies.” Additions are exclamations or expressions of feeling—“Well, I’ll be damned!” by one of the salesman or the undertaker muttering, “I don’t like it, no sir.” The only change of note is thematic. When one of the salesmen asks how long the refusal to bury Indians has been going on, Newman has the funeral director reply, “That seems to be about a half hour ago.” Roberts amends this to “Since the town got civilized.” This ties in with the idea of the end of an era, of out-of-work gunfighters swept aside by civilization. Originally, Vin is introduced as volunteering with the line “If you hold on there, I’ll ride along with you.” Roberts alters it to Vin asking to borrow the shotgun. Nor does Newman’s vision of Chris quite make it into the finished film. Newman describes him as “a man in a dark suit of good cloth cut well but going threadbare, white shirt with a bow-tie tucked under the collar, boots with the trousers outside and a gorgeous old bum of a black Kossuth hat with a floppy brim and a high flat-topped crumpled crown.” Vin is described with less flourish, “about thirty and of enormously competent appearance.” In Newman’s version both Chris and Vin emerge, when required, from the watching crowd. In the finished film, they are glimpsed before they enter the action. Chris lighting a cigar on the hearse is Newman’s idea. The ensuing dialogue is sparse and although virtually all Newman’s, 13 lines are altered in minor ways. Vin’s line “Getting there’s not bothering me—it’s staying there I mind.… [after a pause] On the left—behind us” is changed to “It’s not getting up there that’s bothering me, it’s staying up there I mind.… [after a pause] Coming by us on the left!” What’s the difference between the two lines? It comes down to the balance of words, the colloquialisms, making sentences run more easily off the tongue. Occasionally, alterations add extra beats such as when Roberts inserts the line, offscreen, of someone shouting, “Hey, boys, why don’t you turn around right now and save yourselves a lot of trouble?” At the showdown, Roberts adds Chico’s “Yahoo!” suggesting the youngster is not as cautious as he first appears. One Newman moment is omitted. When the stage coach driver says, “Hey thanks for the free show,” he holds up a fistful of money. There follows a five-second scene of Vin disappearing on horseback up the street and

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Chris walking across the street being watched by Chico. This is part of a longer scene. Newman’s screenplay includes the explanation that Chris “notices Chico, who has been standing there noticing Chris. He seems to wish to speak to Chris, or, at least, have Chris take notice of him.” On reaching the hotel, Chris sizes it up. It looks a little expensive. He turns around and stares at Chico who is still staring at him. Chico turns away and moves down the street. Chris crosses to the edge of the porch and looks off, across the street. He sees a sign— Rooms—and an arrow pointing. Chris walks across the street toward the arrow, walks out of sight behind a building. Chico stops and reacts to Chris walking away. Disgusted with himself for not doing whatever it is he wanted to do, Chico takes off his hat, and watches Chris disappear. It’s a curious scene, and a redundant one, given that we will soon find out all we need to know about Chico and Chris’s attitude towards him. It serves to underline, as if that is required, Chris’s parlous financial state. But there is a parallel in Seven Samurai. In fact, the idea is culled from two separate scenes in that film. Prior to the samurai leader embarking on the rescue of the child being held hostage he locks eyes with Kikuchiyo (Mifune) whom he has never seen before. After the rescue, Kikuchiyo follows him and dances around him without being able to blurt out what he wants. A couple of pieces of business are eliminated from the scene in Chris’s room. Originally, Newman has him easing the saddle bag to the floor, sitting down and removing his boots, then prior to getting ready to wash staring at himself in the mirror. At the knock on the door, “he lifts the saddle bag to the cot, flips open the flap and poises his hand near the protruding gun butt.” In the filmed version, Chris does not take off his boots (which would leave him at something of a disadvantage), nor examine himself in the mirror (movie shorthand for vanity or self-doubt), and it is his gun belt he drops on the bed, rearranging the weapon in case he needs it. Here is the curious thing about Newman’s dialogue—or the curious thing from the point of view of Roberts. The first half of each scene is virtually untouched and then the second half has Roberts’ fingerprints all over it, as if having set the tone for the scene, somehow Newman lets things drift. In the scene between Chris and the villagers, for example, the first 14 exchanges are left intact. The next 14 pieces of dialogue have five alterations and the final 12 contain three. The changes are interesting. Roberts changes “Nowadays gunmen are cheaper than guns” to “Gunmen nowadays are cheaper than guns.” He changes “Will you come?” to “Will you go?” He changes “It would be a blessing if you helped us” to “It will be a blessing if you came to help us.” The line where Tomas, having opened the pouch containing the watch, says, “We can sell this for gold,” is not in the original. The other notable change is that Chris’s biting lines “Do you understand what it means to start something like this?” and “Once you begin, you have to be prepared for killing and more killing until the reason for it is gone” are written by Newman as one continuous speech but in the film are split. In the film the first potential recruit is Chico. In the Newman script there is an earlier candidate, Turner, who appears in two successive scenes. First, in a cantina, he asks a bartender, “Who’s looking for men here?” The scene switches to Chris and the Mexicans in a back room. On hearing a knock, Chris stands behind the door (as he will do later when Harry comes) and when Turner enters, Chris seizes the man’s gun from his holster. In “one smooth, blinding-fast series of linked movements,” Turner shoots his cuff to produce a

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Publicity photograph for The Magnificent Seven (United Artists, 1960). It was unusual for a studio to attempt to promote so many actors at the same time since the public would be unfamiliar with most.

derringer and whips a knife from his boot. After the man calms down, he rejects the deal on offer. This idea, too, comes from Seven Samurai. The only anomaly of the Chico scene is thus explained. Cinemagoers must have wondered, on viewing the Harry Luck sequence that followed, why Chico is not tested in the same way as Harry. The reason is that, in the Newman script, Chico appears so hard on the heels of Turner there is no time to set up the trick. Some ideas are so good it is impossible to think how they can be improved. But movies have their own rhythm and, as mentioned previously, certain elements need to be accentuated to carry a scene to its conclusion. That is the case here. The device Newman has invented that allows Chris to test Chico is rightly famous. But in the Newman version, Chris does not clap his hands. Chico tries to clap his and before he can Chris’s gun is out. When Chris invites him to try, Newman simply finishes the scene by having Chico grow more and more tense before fleeing the room. Roberts added the final touch, of the clap of Chris’s hands reverberating like gunshots. The recruitment of Harry Luck is augmented by one alteration and a couple of extra lines. Newman has Harry say, “What are you doing in this dump? I heard you’ve got a contract

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open.” But in the completed film this speech is split, the first sentence given to Chris, the second to Harry. Roberts invents this line for Harry: “A dollar bill always looks to me as a big as a bedspread.” And he inserts another line, “Now, Harry,” as Chris tries to dampen his friend’s expectations. A great deal of what Roberts is called upon to deliver is the punching up of underwritten scenes. When Vin loses his money gambling, the original script leaves the croupier with nothing to say. Roberts fill that in and also shows the croupier tucking away Vin’s money in case he might try and snatch it back, as if the croupier has recognized Vin’s type. Perhaps to compensate for these additions, there is subtraction, six lines of dialogue as Tomas scours the saloon for potential recruits and Chris dismisses each suggestion. When Chris joins them at the table, out of 16 exchanges between the two gunmen, Roberts makes amendments to seven. The idea that some of the best ideas in the film are improvised is erroneous. Newman’s shooting script disputes the well-worn myth that holding up the fingers is a McQueen invention. In the O’Reilly scene, the only change is the ending. In the original, O’Reilly makes his decision right away. In the film, he waits until Vin and Chris have turned to leave. The most famous of the recruitment scenes is Britt, the knife-thrower. This is filmed virtually exactly as written. Britt is described as a “tall, tall puncher … dozing with his back against a fence and his hat pulled down over his face.” Newman invents every detail of what we see on screen, down to Britt pushing his hat up and then down and the mocking laughter. When Britt gets up it is in “one smooth, flowing motion.” One line Newman gives Chris, “It’s ridiculous—and so obvious!” (a virtual replica of that spoken by the samurai leader anticipating wasteful death), does not appear in the final movie. Chico’s drunken appearance in the cantina remains virtually intact. A few lines are altered here and there. “Others for their own reasons enjoy the danger” becomes “Others for reasons of their own enjoy the danger.” There is some repetition, for emphasis. One significant detail is eliminated, and one added. When Chico fires, Newman writes that he deliberately misses Chris by an inch and shoots again and again, smashing both glasses on Chris’s table. But that idea is dropped, presumably because it demonstrates those very skills which Chico had previously been shown to lack. When Britt appears at the scene’s conclusion, it is Roberts who reprises Newman’s earlier idea and has Vin hold up four fingers. (It is possible McQueen improvised this gesture at this point, but, as mentioned before, the original idea was in the Newman script.) It is generally assumed that Lee is the one character who is underwritten and that one of Roberts’ specific duties was to beef up his character. But Newman’s script shows just how much of a misconception this is. Apart from Calvera, Lee is accorded the longest description. The door opens revealing a youthful face in which there is no trace of expression. Not the kind of face you’d care to meet in the dark. Nor in the daylight for that matter. The face of a man utterly devoid of feeling…. Lee dresses well, with here and there a touch of elegance—his fine boots and hat, a pair of gloves looped in his belt. His manner has more than a touch of arrogance. His voice, strangely soft, is slurred with a Southern accent.

Robert Vaughn could hardly go wrong with that depth of characterization. Not a single word of the scene is changed; just one is deleted. A gesture is added—Vin holding up six fingers at the end.

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Newman embellishes The Magnificent Seven with heroic imagery. As they travel to Mexico the camera is supposed to show the sun as it “flames just above the horizon” with the group riding slowly in single file across a plain. Instead Sturges has them riding across the screen in silhouette with the jagged branches of trees in the foreground, which reflects the opening of Seven Samurai. Newman also uses the ride to present snapshots. Chris … a man born to authority … with no need to assert it; Vin, with that slouch of his, taking things as they come; Britt, hat pulled down … complete in himself; Harry, with his … expectation of good things to come; O’Reilly … disenchanted with everything, himself in particular; Lee … disdainful of this whole ridiculous enterprise.

It is asking a lot of a director to capture all this in a couple of shots, and of an audience to assimilate it. In any case, the dialogue does not match the descriptions, revealing Harry as easily niggled, Chris as wry, O’Reilly as understanding and Vin as a bit dumb. And it is a curious journey. In westerns it is traditional for journeys to be visually recorded (nobody just turns up at a destination), in this instance, across hills and plains and over the Rio Grande (crossing the river is not in Newman’s script). Nobody mentions the mission though Newman sets up this possibility. In the scene around the campfire, he places the group around Hilario “who has made a mock-up of the village and its terrain with pebbles and twigs.” But Sturges does not take this on board, instead the conversation still revolves around Chico. There is a punch line to the Chico discussion, of course, the first sign that there might be more to the youngster than meets the eye, and also that his resourcefulness in catching fish barehanded is not that of an ordinary cowboy. The stamp of Roberts is seen only once in this scene, and again, it is at the end. Newman’s original idea has the gunfighters spotting “attached to a tree … a fine string of fish, an eloquent invitation to dinner.” Chris waves Chico to come and join them. Chico “gets up, not hurrying … as if to say Maybe I will, maybe I won’t.” To give Chico more authority (after all, it is his country, as O’Reilly has pointed out), Roberts has Chico responding to Chris’s invitation with one of his own, cheekily gesturing for the group to join him. If you ever wondered at this point how the villagers knew the gunfighters were near enough to go and hide, the answer lies in Newman’s script where he has an earlier version of the device of children acting as look-outs signaling back to the village. Newman has the group entering the village the same way as the bandits, through the fields, but in the film they come from the other route, the path that is later blocked off by a net. Sotero belongs to the welcoming party in Newman’s original, pouring drinks for the visitors while the old man offers apologies. When the church bell starts ringing, Newman has villagers running around shouting, but in the final film the only person who shouts is Sotero, who appears as suddenly as the others. Newman has grander ideas for the fiesta sequence. He envisages crude figures of conquistadores and Aztecs, “monstrous in size … depicting in mimic battle the legendary origin of Ixcatlan.” His procession works itself into a frenzy. The film skips this part, although some villagers wear colorful masks, and concentrates on the Deer Dance. Newman mentions the Deer Dance, but only as in “the Deer Dance is frozen in its tracks” whereas much of this dance is seen in the film. Before the boy arrives to announce the sighting of bandits, Newman has Chris and Hilario sitting together (indicating the rise in Hilario’s status in the village) and Vin and Harry at a table. Roberts augments Vin’s speech.

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This is the beginning of Newman’s deviation from the samurai film. The bones of the sequence announcing the sighting of the bandits is Newman, the boy racing across the plaza, whispering to Hilario, Chris hearing the news, going to Britt, Lee joining him, Chico sneaking after them, Chris returning to the plaza and whispering to O’Reilly with Vin and Harry alerted. But it is not Newman’s intention that we do not hear what the boy whispers to Hilario or what Hilario says to Chris or his reply. Although we can tell from the reactions what is going on, and Chris later explains it, Newman includes five lines of dialogue that have Chris restraining Hilario from sounding the alarm. Roberts fleshes this scene out. When Chris rises, Newman allows Chico a brief reaction. As the boy runs past and off the screen the camera holds Chico for five seconds as he absorbs the boy’s sudden appearance. In the middle of Hilario talking to Chris, we break off to see Chico again. Newman has Chico going down from the tree, following Chris through the crowd and into the house, but instead Roberts picks him up sneaking around the side of the house overhearing Chris outline his plan. As Chris goes through the house, Newman’s script goes straight to Britt, but Roberts settles on Lee on the porch (Newman has him in the background of the Britt scene). “Britt is stretched out on the ground, hat over his eyes, much as we first saw him,” elaborates Newman. He has Britt not get up until Chris has finished speaking. But Roberts has him more alert than that, springing to his feet the minute Chris appears. Vin and Harry are also involved earlier than Newman calls for. He brings them into play when Chris re-enters the plaza and the final version dispenses with the stage direction “Vin lifts a questioning eyebrow. Chris shakes his head and gestures to them to stay where they are.” In fact, Roberts has them on their feet as soon as Chris makes his way through the crowd, taking up positions against tree trunks. And instead of them staying put, as Newman indicates, we see Harry striding away from Vin to a different position. While containing all the essential elements, Newman’s pursuit of the scouts is shorter and less involved than what is shot. For a start he has Britt and Lee come across the bandits’ horses by accident (they hear a sound). Instead, Roberts has the horses clearly visible at the top of a ridge as the two men climb the hill (so confrontation is inevitable). As Britt settles down in his favorite position, Newman has Chico already in place, prone behind a bush. But Roberts shows the younger man’s arrival, gun in hand. Newman has Britt’s examination of the flower as one complete sequence, but in the film this is broken up. As Britt picks up the flower, we cut to the rapt Chico. After Britt has completed his examination of the flower, Newman cuts to the Deer Dance in the village, but in the Roberts version, this shift takes place earlier. Roberts also adds three shots of the gunfighters in the village, Chris watching the dance then glancing upwards, O’Reilly in the tower staring out at the hills, and Vin and Harry (whose fingers brush his pistol) standing with the villagers. Then Roberts returns to Britt and the flower and Chico shaking his head in amazement. And now Roberts earns his fee. Bear in mind that all we know about Lee at this point is that he is on the run. Roberts adds a simple shot that renders him much more interesting. Lee is seen glancing down at his gun and undoing the catch on his holster, but it is his look that gives the game away. He is not cool and distant like the others. He is apprehensive. There is more of the Deer Dance then we are back with Chico, still marveling at Britt, and behind him we can see shapes moving through the undergrowth. Chico kills one. Newman

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has armed them with machetes and Britt shoots just as a blade is “about to split Chico’s head.” But that idea is removed as is the notion that “Britt rises … starts walking gun in hand to a position several yards away.” Instead, Roberts has Britt already in position when the apologetic Chico appears. Everyone remembers the scene as ending with Britt’s famous quip “I was aiming for the horse.” (Newman has written, “I meant to get the horse.”) But, in fact, it ends with Lee, realizing that his gun is still in its holster. He has not fired, and we are left to wonder why. Down in the village, responding to the sound of gunfire, and remembering the literal shorthand from earlier scenes, Roberts adds the idea of O’Reilly giving a signal to Chris of three fingers then the thumbs down. There are minor amendments to the two training scenes that follow, words here and there snipped or substituted. But one scene is cut, Hilario asking Chris how long it would take for the villagers to get ready. In Chico’s scene with Petra, Roberts adds her slapping him. When Chico returns with the girl, the villagers are digging a ditch. It’s hot work. So hot that Chris has removed his hat, O’Reilly his shirt. Even the cool Vin has unbuttoned his shirt. Harry is in this scene too, but unseen apart from at the start. Newman uses this scene to raise the stakes between villagers and visitors, with Chico particularly disdainful of the ploy of hiding the women. The scene survives intact except for three lines at the end when Chris congratulates Hilario on the idea, the only time a villager initiative is acted upon in the entire film. Given the content of the scene—the heated reaction to the absence of women—nobody has commented on what is false about it. It is a big ditch, virtually everyone is involved, it’s hot work, Chris takes off his hat. But what is it for? Why are the villagers digging a ditch? We never find out. The ditch originates from the original where part of the samurai’s defense is to flood the fields. This scene and a couple of others are an attempt to adopt the same tactics, but scripted scenes showing further work on the ditch and of bandits being trapped in flooded fields do not survive. Scenes of the group being fed owe everything to Seven Samurai, but Newman adds the touching episode of Chico in a sulk with Petra and her reaction. The next practice scene has four exchanges and three are altered. Aware how much Steve McQueen battled to get a bigger part in the picture, it is surprising to learn that one of his few solo scenes—practicing his quick draw to the astonishment of onlookers—is eliminated. Also deleted is a scene of the villagers completing a dam. Occasionally, The Magnificent Seven so slavishly emulates its predecessor that it ties itself up in knots. The ditch digging/dam building is one such example. Trying to persuade the old man to move into the village is another. In Seven Samurai, this sequence serves a wider purpose of dramatizing the theme of individual versus community. The old man refusing to move provides an opportunity to learn more, in the most dramatic fashion, about the maverick Kikuchiyo. But here it is just a dead end. To announce the return of the bandits, Newman proposes repeating the effect of the frightened birds. He wants to echo the bandits’ previous arrival, exhibiting the same patronizing friendliness. Once the bandits have ridden past, Newman has the villagers rush to the dam and break it open. Instead, with the birds and the ditch/dam idea abandoned, Roberts has the bandits ride straight into a confrontation. Now Newman is on a roll. Hardly anything is touched by Roberts. The three pages of

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script mapping out the standoff between Calvera and Chris remain largely unchanged. A few aspects of the first battle fight are altered, but the core remains, including Lee’s cowardice. Needless to say, a scene of bandits trapped in flooded fields does not see the light of day. Roberts is brought in to give Chico more to do and the villagers less. From here until Chico’s mission into the enemy camp, virtually everything Walter Newman writes—the heart of the picture, with deep feelings expressed, even if in gruff or monosyllabic manner—is filmed. The scene in the enemy camp, with bandits talking about cooking their favorite meals, is altered. Six words are changed as Lee wakes from his nightmare, a couple from Bernard’s scene with the children, and a few in Harry’s scene. Newman does not mention the presence of Chris, Vin and Britt while Harry teaches the villagers the game, but when Chico appears suddenly they are present, so implicitly he must have intended them to be there, but it is Roberts who gives them little things to do. When Chris withdraws into the back room after the altercation with the visitors, Newman delivers a strange stage direction. “His hand [holding a drink] is trembling with fury and the effort to control it.” But that does not sound like Chris and is not used. Newman set the Chico/Petra scene to follow the Chris/Hilario scene but in the film these are swapped. Roberts gives Chico one grandiose line at the start of his long speech and an abrupt one toward the end. “We discussed a few things, you know,” replaces Newman’s “I talked to them,” while “Forget it!” becomes “I want you to understand that.” The first section of Newman’s Chris/Hilario scene is excised, including the following lines said by Chris: “I can’t remember how many times I’ve been hired to fight. This is the first time I ever felt I was fighting for something more than money.” The riding out to the enemy camp remains intact but Newman has split their return in two, a short scene outside and a much longer scene inside Sotero’s store where we can see Hilario and the others tied up, some wounded. Roberts cuts about 20 words from the scene between Chris and Vin and adds about the same number to O’Reilly’s speech. As mentioned before, one of William Roberts’ key tasks is to beef up the role of Lee and so after this scene is added Lee is thinking of life without a holster. Courtesy of Newman, Calvera has an extra scene, watching the mercenaries depart, murmuring: “There’s no sauce like hunger—while we were up there in the hills, every time my stomach rumbled—I hated you—now I almost love you.” Once more Newman is in his element, sure-footed from now to the end. Roberts alters a few words at the beginning of the scene where Chico rants about the farmers and the mercenaries, but thereafter, not a line, not a word, is altered. There are a few extras in the battle scene, but that is to be expected, ensuring everyone is involved in the action. Men die in westerns all the time and the trick for a screenwriter is to find a new twist. Generally, a dying man requires reassurance that he has done the right thing. In the case of Harry, his absolution could not be more ironic. The only other alteration is at the end of the film. Newman has Chris and Vin, as they leave, stopping to look at the four freshly-marked graves. And Newman provides one final twist to the genre. Generally, men hang up their guns at the end of their lives, not, as with Chico, at the beginning. The pleasures of reading the screenplay are not just the tight construction and imagining the choices open to the director but, in Newman’s work, his incredible ear for dialogue, the ability to find the correct word and to use, or invent, colloquialisms. The dead Indian

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awaiting burial is described as “defunct.” Minor characters are built up, the undertaker complaining that his hearse cost $840 in Denver. The cost is important but less so than where the hearse came from. Denver, in Colorado, is a heck of a way from the American border. Instead of “Let’s go,” Newman writes, “Let ’er buck.” The gunfighters will be paid “a gold eagle” rather than “$20.” And there are wordless answers. In response to questions about where he is going and where he has come from, Chris merely points forward and backward. Of course, the question that is left unanswered in all of this is whether Roberts or Newman deserved as much credit as the screenwriters of Seven Samurai, who basically, as we have seen, wrote the bulk of the film.

6 Masquerade, Strike, Lawsuits, Censor On the back of stupendous growth and a willingness to break the bank for both stars and properties, Mirisch was never out of the headlines in 1960. The company looked set for a banner year. In a business known for big deals, the $600,000 paid pre-publication for James Michener’s Hawaii still took the industry’s breath away. Hardly a month went by without Mirisch splashing the cash. It signed up Elizabeth Taylor for another film—Irma La Douce1 opposite Charles Laughton—to bookend the earlier pact for Two for the Seesaw with Paul Newman, her total fee rounded up to $1 million.2 She had fast emerged as the company’s “go-to” star. Mirisch had bought A Rage to Live with her in mind and she was a shoo-in for a $2.5 million remake of Anna Karenina, the pet project of husband Eddie Fisher.3 Frank Sinatra was on board for the adaptation of the Elmer Rice play Counsellor-at-Law.4 His Rat Pack buddy Dean Martin was down for three pictures including 633 Squadron.5 Negotiations were underway to film The Adolf Eichmann Story on the back of the news of his capture.6 As it boasted in a trade ad in January, Mirisch had the next pictures of current Oscarnominated directors Billy Wilder, Fred Zinnemann and William Wyler.7 Oscar-winning writer Budd Schulberg (On the Waterfront) was signed up to script The Bridge at Remagen.8 Elvis Presley was being paid $500,000 and a percentage once profits hit the $3 million mark for Pioneer, Go Home.9 Marcia Davenport’s bestseller The Constant Image was added to the pot.10 Envisioning itself as a star-maker, in addition to Horst Buchholz on a five-picture contract, the company inked deals in rapid succession with other young talents like Ingrid Thulin, Martha Hyer, Constance Towers, Rita Moreno and George Chakiris.11 The release of The Magnificent Seven in the autumn would occur a few months after the company’s third anniversary and Mirisch was in the mood to celebrate. It would announce a $45 million production slate of 14 movies to be made over the next 18 months. It had gone from spending $10 million in its first year to $34 million in the second and with this last huge leap in projected investment surely it was entitled to wear the “mantle of a major.” The average cost of its films would rocket from $1.5 million to $3.5 million. Of its first nine films, the company boasted that there were only “two losers.”12 The headlines masked the reality of how little of what had been promised had reached the screen. Too many of the movies announced in its $50 million slate were the exact same movies as had been included in its $34 million program the previous year—and had still not been made. Nothing was 76

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getting made. In 1958 Mirisch had released two films and in 1959 five including Some Like It Hot and The Horse Soldiers. The former was a huge success, the latter the most ambitious John Ford picture to date, but the others were largely nondescript programmers. The bold advertisements, proclaiming a forthcoming wide range of top quality productions, now had all the trappings of a masquerade. Of the schedule announced in April 1959, all of which Mirisch claimed would be in production within a year, only one film, Billy Wilder’s The Apartment, had gone before the cameras. There was no sign yet of The Proving Flight, 633 Squadron, Two for the Seesaw, By Love Possessed, Battle or A Rage to Live. Other shelved projects included Noah’s Ark, The Golem, Roman Candle, The Sheik, The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Winesburg, Ohio, Bolivar and Manuela and Montezuma’s Daughter. Of course, delay was a fact of life in Hollywood. Productions were thwarted for any number of reasons, stars changing their mind or receiving a better offer, a problematic script or a director getting cold feet. But it appeared extraordinary that so many Mirisch movies existed only on paper. What was odder was that despite the lack of actual product, the company was still regarded as a major player in the industry. No one pointed out the obvious. Never had promise been so well finessed. To a large extent, its media buoyancy depended on publicity. Every new project added in 1960 had the desired effect of inflating the company’s status. Part of the problem was that without a string of hits it was not exactly swimming in cash. Putting a film into production cost a lot more than buying the rights to a novel or play or doing a deal with a director. Despite being financially backed by United Artists, Mirisch still had to generate profit to maintain its momentum. Some Like It Hot had been a runaway hit, the third-best film of the year at the box office. Out of the, by now, dozens of projects on the drawing board, by the start of 1960 Mirisch had precisely two films entering production—The Apartment and The Magnificent Seven. Perhaps insiders were aware of the true state of the company’s affairs. Perhaps the company was relying on Wilder striking again. Perhaps the executives genuinely expected that cameras would roll in the spring or summer on any one of the many projects lined up for the year. Perhaps nobody cared—a fat bird in the bush like Hawaii considered more advantageous than a lesser bird in the hand. But the truth was more prosaic. Of its first seven films only Some Like It Hot had turned a profit. Mirisch gave the impression it was the opposite, that a couple of pictures had struggled and the others had done well. Journalists at the time tended did not contest this. Later writers (including Walter Mirisch in his autobiography) glossed over the high failure rate. The facts made grim reading. The company’s first film Fort Massacre cost just $367,175 and brought in domestic rentals of $485,000 and somewhat more abroad, $613,000, but on that total of $1.08 million Mirisch incurred a loss of $34,600.13 The Gary Cooper western Man of the West was a more substantial undertaking, its negative cost hitting $1.48 million. Domestic rentals of $1.45 million were disappointing to say the least and although foreign chipped in with $1.68 million for a total income of $3.13 million that again was not enough to keep the movie out of the red. Mirisch took a hammering on this one—a loss of $561,900.14 It looked as if the company had turned the corner with Some Like It Hot. Originally budgeted at $2 million, the cost soared to $2.88 million. But the public loved it to the tune of $7.65 million in rentals in the U.S. and a further $5.25 million overseas. In normal circumstances, a total of $12.9 million would have solved any company’s financial

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problems.15 But because of the way it had structured its business, tilted too generously in the direction of profit participation, Mirisch had not done as well as one might expect. With its hefty distribution fee, United Artists did best with the film. According to Tino Balio, Billy Wilder walked away with $1.2 million, Marilyn Monroe $800,000 and Tony Curtis $500,000.16 However, the actual figures showed some variance.17 Once the pie had been divided up, Mirisch was left with just $487,500.18 That was not enough to wipe out the previous losses. The next four movies combined caution with audacity, two low-budgeters, one in the medium range and The Horse Soldiers. Budgeted at just over $1 million, the Alan Ladd thriller Man in the Net should have been a banker. Instead it was a stinker. Its $510,000 in domestic rentals was augmented by slightly more abroad but from the total of $1.03 million Mirisch was left with a whopping loss of $789,100.19 The western Gunfight at Dodge City, costing only $400,000, made a small loss of $29,000 on overall revenues of $1.14 million.20 Cast a Long Shadow, costing less (just $348,000), earned less ($714,000 in total) and posted a higher loss of $98,700.21 Mirisch gambled a fortune on The Horse Soldiers. Payments to the principals alone hit $1.75 million, pushing the budget up to $3.77 million. Initial reports suggested the film had done better in the U.S. and for a while Variety assigned it $4 million in rentals (the minimum required to qualify for a spot in the magazine’s coveted all-time chart), but the reality was it had taken only $3.6 million. Countries outside America were even less impressed, rentals amounting to just $2.69 million. The end result was a loss of $1.87 million.22 By the time Mirisch came to plan its 1960 production schedule, it was staring at an overall production deficit of $2.89 million.23 And that was before considering the monies invested in projects that never came to fruition. The studio spent $144,000 on William Wyler’s Roman Candle before it was abandoned, and another $43,000 on The Proving Flight and $117,000 on Battle.24 The reason Mirisch only released two films in 1960—The Magnificent Seven and The Apartment—lay in its accounts. Facing a massive shortfall, the company needed hits. In one sense, its strategy appeared sound. The Apartment reteamed Billy Wilder and Jack Lemmon from Some Like It Hot. But The Magnificent Seven came with no such built-in guarantee. In fact, one would have to question why Mirisch had such faith in this genre when a quick glance at the balance sheet revealed that all five previous westerns had been flops. Assuming for a moment that the brothers Mirisch were only too aware that this would be the extent of their 1960 release schedule, then it made sense to imagine they would be fervently hoping and praying that nothing would go wrong. While production on The Apartment was relatively plain sailing, The Magnificent Seven was another story. By the time John Sturges and Walter Mirisch were putting the final touches to pre-production, finance was the least of their worries. There was every likelihood the film would not get made. The industry was gearing up for an actors’ strike.25 At issue was the share of residuals from the sale of movies to television.26 At the moment the actors’ slice of that particular pie was zero. It was a complex and vexed issue. Movie actors not only felt swindled out of extra income, but were angry that old movies were being sold to television, the medium responsible in the first place for putting so many of them out of work. If actors could not stop the sale of these old movies, then at least they wanted a share of the proceeds. The industry, as hard hit as actors by the arrival of television, and in a state of financial crisis, naturally saw things differently. Just to survive,

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studios needed every cent they could get, from whatever source. And they, too, were incensed. As noted previously, the demise of the studio system had worked to the benefit of the biggest stars. Production costs were increasing because studios, competing with each other over this tiny pool of recognized marquee names, had been forced to pay top actors more. In fact, stars had never been better paid. It seemed insane to give them more. Both sides were entrenched. Spyros Skouras, president of Twentieth Century–Fox, predicted it would be “a struggle to the death.”27 If a strike went ahead actors would lose some current earnings, but the future loss, and a long-term one, would all be on the studios’ side. They would be giving away part of something they had considered theirs to keep. The strike had its genesis in another ongoing action—over exactly the same issue—by the Writers Guild of America which had withdrawn its services from 56 independent production companies distributing through United Artists or, like UA, were non-producing distributors.28 Now the WGA was poised to escalate its action against the majors. This was not some diabolical plot, an infernal collaboration between the two unions, but simply that the existing standard contract between the respective guilds and the major studios came to an end within just under 12 weeks of each other. The current SAG agreement was set to conclude on January 31, 1960. Despite murmurings of strike action, it was such an irrevocable step studios believed it would be thwarted. By the time it became evident that action was inevitable, the January deadline was just weeks away. Brynner would be paid whether he acted in The Magnificent Seven or not. And since he had sold his major interest in the movie, there was nothing forcing him to stay. The producers would be hard pressed to find another star at short notice, especially since those with the requisite marquee clout were in short supply. Despite ideas to the contrary, fed by a few high profile disasters, movies, once they got this far down the production route, were rarely abandoned. Strike action was the only circumstance that could bring the Hollywood machine grinding to halt. Stopping The Magnificent Seven would be a calamity for all concerned, none of whom had the pay-or-play deal which insulated Brynner. When the strike did go ahead, the results were devastating. A total of 3,400 studio workers were laid off, 2,000 alone at Twentieth Century–Fox.29 Of the 22 films in production in the run-up to the strike, only two would escape the consequences, being wrapped before the actors withdrew their services. Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s John Brown’s Body was canceled because it was to be released in 1961 to coincide with the centenary of the start of the Civil War.30 Apart from that, the most high profile was a half-completed Butterfield 8 starring Elizabeth Taylor and Marilyn Monroe’s eagerly awaited follow-up to Some Like It Hot, the film ironically originally earmarked for Yul Brynner, Let’s Make Love, which was two-thirds in the can. Production was also halted on the Jerry Lewis comedy The Bellboy, the crime drama Murder Inc., the Delbert Mann thriller The Dark at the Top of the Stairs, Irwin Allen’s The Lost World, the Fred Astaire–Debbie Reynolds comedy The Pleasure of His Company, The Wackiest Ship in the Army starring Jack Lemmon, High Time with Bing Crosby and pop star Fabian, Go Naked in the World starring Gina Lollobrigida, College Confidential and the Alan Ladd western One Foot in Hell.31 With six movies in the mix, Twentieth Century–Fox was worst affected, aggravating its already precarious financial position. MGM, Warner Bros. and Paramount had two, and Universal and Columbia one apiece. The Doris Day–Rex Harrison mystery Midnight Lace,

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Sam Fuller’s Underworld USA, Day of the Gun, The Plunderers, Konga, Desire in the Dust, starring Raymond Burr, and Rich, Young and Deadly (aka Platinum High School aka Trouble at Sixteen), starring Mickey Rooney, were postponed.32 Films further down the line were affected, as were careers. Sidney Poitier lost out on his biggest role to date opposite Spencer Tracy in The Devil at Four O’Clock. When the elements were later reassembled, Poitier’s part went to Frank Sinatra.33 The three-quarters-finished Ocean’s 11 should have been closed down, but Sinatra, as an independent producer, thrashed out terms with the SAG over the objections of Warner Bros.34 Movies being made outside the U.S. were not exempt. But, in the main, they were outside the reach of the SAG because contracts for big stars would have been signed some time before and the union had no power over the foreign actors who might be in line for bit parts. Intent on closing that loophole, the SAG had ordered its members to add a rider to existing contracts that would permit them, without fear of penalty, to walk off the sets of movies in foreign locations.35 Since the movie was shooting in Mexico, it was classed as a foreign production and the only way American actors could take part was if they had signed contracts with Mirisch before a different deadline of January 13. Getting actors to sign on the dotted line as quickly as possible might have seemed like the obvious solution. But that came with its own pitfalls. Were the film to encounter delay, as was possible given the stance of the Mexican government (see below), production costs would increase. It also forced Mirisch to fill all the parts quicker than would have been normal in the circumstances. Brynner, McQueen, Buchholz and Wallach were already on board. For some of the others the producers handed out blank contracts to be signed, The actors’ strike halted production on Butterfield 8 (MGM, their parts to be filled in after1960). Stars were not paid. Co-star Laurence Harvey had to wards,36 and made it with hours return to Britain because he could not afford to remain in to spare. The production was on America since the British government had limited the amount of sterling an individual could take out of the country. Notice a knife edge. Had Coburn or Vaughn, for example, turned the “X” certificate in this British newspaper advert.

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down their offers, the producers would have been scrambling around at, literally, the last moment for replacements. Of all the films in production, The Magnificent Seven had the most actors signed up in this way and so was an object of considerable hostility from the union. No sooner had one calamity been averted than another sprung up. Less than a week after the SAG deadline ended, potential shutdown came from two other sources, the common denominator of which was bitterness. On February 3, 1960, Anthony Quinn, livid about losing a leading role (and a $150,000 salary) and being squeezed out of a movie he considered his idea, launched two lawsuits. He wanted damages of $500,000 and a percentage of the profits from Brynner and $150,000 for loss of earnings from United Artists.37 Since becoming involved in the property, Quinn had failed to make the leap into genuine stardom and remained on the periphery. He was a perennial co-star. In the bulk of his films, the female had the leading role and first billing. Playing second fiddle to Kirk Douglas (a genuine marquee name after Lust for Life, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and The Vikings) in Last Train from Gun Hill was acceptable, but it must have been galling to be reduced to third billing in Warlock because, after star Henry Fonda, Richard Widmark took precedence. He had third billing in The Guns of Navarone. Quinn appeared stuck in a time warp. Antone Productions had been no less successful than Alciona in getting any of its projects to the starting grid. A couple of quite astonishing television projects came close. He was offered the unprecedented sum of $3 million to star in a British-made series, for which he would receive 75 percent of the profits, but balked at the threeyear commitment. For a proposed American series The Gallery, each one-hour episode telling the story behind a famous painting, he had Federico Fel lini, Martin Ritt and Carol Reed lined up to direct segments.38 Stardom, too, came achingly Rarely-seen studio shot of Anthony Quinn and co-star close. He had the leading role in Dolores Michaels in the western Warlock (Twentieth Century–Fox, 1959). Some exhibitors blamed the title for the a $3 million production Taras movie’s poor showing. In Omaha grosses increased when it Bulba to be directed in Europe was changed to Gun Duel at Warlock.

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by Robert Aldrich.39 He was first choice was Hugo Fregenese’s Don Quixote.40 He was in demand to star in two French productions, Rasputin and Marcel Carne’s The Beasts.41 For Man of Blood he would be a triple-hyphenate—director, producer and star.42 A couple of older projects were revived—Gregory Peck was in talks for The Miraculous Fish43 and another film about Gauguin, the painter he had played in Lust for Life, was being prepped for veteran Irving Rapper (Now, Voyager, 1942).44 He was rumored to be heading back to Italy, for The Gothic Line with Anita Ekberg. None came to fruition.45 In terms of The Magnificent Seven he felt defrauded, duped by Brynner out of a salary, a potential share in profits, and, more importantly, a career-making role. If he could create anything like the impact of Toshiro Mifune in the original, he would steal the picture. Quinn claimed he and Brynner jointly owned the rights and that some of his suggestions had been incorporated in the final screenplay and also that he had an agreement to star in the film and share the profits.46 Brynner replied that Quinn had been promised neither a role nor a percentage and that Quinn had walked away from the movie when the two sides could not agree on terms.47 Not to be outdone, and perhaps in some measure of collaboration, the same month Lou Morheim also sued Mirisch and Sturges for $600,000, claiming the screenplay was based on his “concept and approach.” He also demanded that Mirisch-Alpha fulfill an obligation to permit him to participate in the movie either as producer or co-producer.48 This was more important than the money, for a producer credit on a significant picture would further his own new career. He was trying to make a film about Mussolini49 and association with The Magnificent Seven would go a long way toward reassuring potential backers. As far as writing went, he, too, was stuck in the past, not rising beyond assignments for minor films, his only recent credits being The Last Blitzkrieg (1959) starring Van Johnson and Juke Box Rhythm (1959). Morheim’s demand for recognition as a producer was impossible to reconcile with Sturges’ ambitions. Sturges did not want his debut as a producer-director to be compromised by sharing the credit. Morheim charged Sturges with inducing a breach of contract. In addition, Morheim said he had rescinded his agreement with Alciona and therefore all rights belonged to him. The possibility of adding the $1.25 million that could result from these claims (plus legal fees) to the bottom line was a serious concern for the producers because it would push the film’s budget towards $4 million, a figure that would seriously hinder the film’s ability to register a profit. A few weeks later, Morheim detonated another legal bomb. He sought an injunction to prevent the release of the film.50 That could prove a lethal blow. Any postponement could cripple the production. How could any company consider investing in a film that might not see the light of day for a long time? In those days of high demand, few films were shelved. With Mirisch’s release cupboard stripped bare, the last thing it could afford was not to move forward on this one. Mirisch-Alpha retaliated that Morheim’s original script had been scrapped and a new screenplay commissioned that bore no relation to the work Morheim had done. The producers also argued that he had already been paid enough ($28,000).51 The system came to the rescue. The cases could not be heard immediately and at long last a delay in the legal process worked to the film’s benefit. The last obstacle, potentially bigger than the others, was the Mexican government which objected to the way the existing script required the peasants to ask for help from

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Americans. Normally, such concerns might have been settled long before the production got underway. However, The Magnificent Seven was on a very tight deadline. Pre-production was accelerated to slip under the SAG wire, fit in with Brynner’s schedule, and ensure Mirisch had more to show for an entire year than just The Apartment. A start date was set for February 2252 and could not commence without government approval. Mirisch had less than a month to placate the Mexicans or face being shut down. What was extraordinary about the Mexican stance was that the local industry was desperate for the jobs—the minor parts, extras, crew and all attendant labor—a big-budget Hollywood production would bring. The $5.5 million spent that year on The Magnificent Seven and Robert Aldrich’s The Last Sunset was nearly as much as the entire Mexican domestic output.53 The Mexican film industry was falling apart. In 1958 a total of 138 films—an all-time high—including serials, had been made. In the first six months of 1960 that would plummet to just 33, down one-third on the same period the previous year.54 In summer Churubusco Studios would be taken over entirely by the government.55 By 1961 production would have more than halved, a far cry from the post-war “golden age.” The trend in the mid–1950s for “spectacular” films in color, to counteract the onset of television and make domestic product more competitive on the international scene, had resulted in over-reliance on formula pictures, completed in just two or three weeks.56 Production had increased but quality dropped and the result was crisis. Federico Hauer, in 1958 the incoming chief of the Banco Cinematografico, founded in 1942, commented that “had the Banco … not existed the result would have been that all Mexican cinematographic production would have fallen into the hands of foreign investors.”57 Apart from fees to director, star, top crew and supporting actors, the bulk of the film’s near–$3 million budget would be disbursed to Mexicans. And yet that was not enough to sway the government because, in the eyes of the Mexicans, there was more at stake than just money. By and large the Mexicans have been viewed as the unreasonable party in this row. But this was an unfair perspective. Jorge Ferretis, head of the film bureau and responsible for raising the objections, was dubbed a “Mex bureaucrat” and seen by and large by American journalists as the worst kind of interfering pen-pusher.58 But Ferretis was nothing of the sort. He was an accomplished author, having written six novels, beginning in 1937 with The Hot Earth. The 1938 film Mayor Lagos, directed by Gilberto Martinez Solares, was based on his short story. He wrote the treatment for The Black Beast (1938), directed by Gabriel, and the screenplay for The Golden Boat (1947), directed by Joaquin Pardave. In addition, he had been elected to the Mexican House of Deputies, representing his home state from 1952 to 1957. He was not, as generally represented, some kind of administrative vandal. Part of the problem was unfortunate timing—the John Wayne epic The Alamo59 was due for release later in the year and the Mexicans were already up in arms that the battle, considered a great victory in Mexico, had been hijacked by the Americans as a patriotic triumph. The prospect of being viewed internationally as the whipping dogs of the United States was not a welcome prospect. Relationships with Hollywood had deteriorated over the last decade, the government incensed by constant depiction of Mexicans as heavies. The Gary Cooper–Burt Lancaster movie Vera Cruz (1954) had been bad enough. Mexicans were fed up with films “damaging to their national honor.”60 The idea of always playing the bad guys to the American good guys was proving too hard to swallow and Ferretis was determined

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to crack down. He had banned the showing in Mexico of another Gary Cooper picture, They Came to Cordura, and George Sherman’s low-budget Ten Days to Tulara starring Sterling Haydn.61 But the row was not just about Mexican identity. It went much deeper than that. Mexico was not the first country to complain about Hollywood distorting its history and culture. U.S. moviemakers had ridden roughshod over more foreign countries than it made sense for any industry, especially one dependent on global revenue, to do. Virtually every nationality had at one time or another felt insulted by the American movie industry’s indifference to its treasured history. But what made the Mexicans so sore was that, at one point in its recent past, Hollywood could not get enough of Mexico. During the Second World War, when most foreign markets (from 1939) were closed to American product, the movie industry assiduously wooed the whole of Central and South America in a bid to make up the income lost from the countries involved in the international conflict.62 Top Hollywood stars toured Mexico, greeted by hundreds of thousands of fans. Films with Mexican or South American themes went into production. Lupe Velez became a star on the back of the Mexican Spitfire series. 63 Plucked from the chorus line and offered a role in Gaucho (1927), she had affairs with Gary Cooper and Ronald Colman before marrying Johnny Weismuller (Tar zan) in 1933 (they divorced in 1938). “Her exuberant sexuality dwarfed all Latin competitors.” Dolores del Rio,6 4 Cesar Romero, Desi Arnaz, Estalita and Ricardo Montalban achieved varying degrees of fame. More importantly, Hollywood adopted a healthier outlook to the portrayal of Mexicans in motion pictures. “The greaser,” the vile Mexican bandit, dated back to the earliest The Mexican censor banned They Came to Cordura (Colum- silent films, a cliché turned into bia, 1959) after becoming incensed by the storyline. The film brutal reality in 1913 when Barwas based on a novel by Glendon Swarthout who also wrote barous Mexico (aka War in Mexthe novel The Shootist (1973). The screenplay for the John Wayne film was written by Swarthout’s son (Hannan Collec- ico) depicted the exploits of the tion). revolutionary Pancho Villa who

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had paid $25,000 for cameras to follow his campaign, and in subsequent titles like Broncho Billy and the Greaser (1914).65 The First World War, instigating the arrival of “the [German] Hun” as the universal bad guy, brought the Mexicans a brief respite. But by 1922 the situation had deteriorated so badly the Mexican government banned all films that treated the country unfavorably. Theoretically, the arrival of the Latin lover, as epitomized by Mexican Ramon Novarro,66 should have changed attitudes but his swooning female fans associated him with cosmopolitan roles. He was an Austrian in The Prisoner of Zenda (1922) and The Student Prince (1927), a Frenchman in Scaramouche (1923), a Spaniard in Thy Name Is Woman (1924), an Arab in The Arab (1924) and Ricardo Montalban, the best-known Mexican actor in Holthe title role in Ben Hur (1925). lywood, starred in a number of films including Sombrero (MGM, 1953), based on a novel, The Mexican Village. The The government blanket movie was shot at Tepotzlan and Cuernavaca (Hannan Colembargo on all disrespectful lection). films had the strongest effect. Hollywood even ventured into Mexico to shoot films, the first being Night of Sin in 1933,67 although that did little to prevent the growth of the unsavory cliché. In 1935 Viva Villa starring Wallace Beery was banned. 68 In 1938 for the showing in Mexico of the Nelson Eddy–Jeanette MacDonald movie The Girl of the Golden West MGM was forced to delete all scenes depicting bandits.69 For most of the 1930s, Latin America was depicted as a “cultural backwater populated by evil bandits and dancing maidens.”70 When the Second World War made befriending its neighbor vital to the Hollywood economy, suddenly the bandits vanished. Mexicans heroes became Hollywood legends. When Oscar-winning Paul Muni portrayed revolutionary Juarez (1939), directed by William Dieterle, only one line was censored.71 Fox spent $40,000 reshooting offensive scenes in Down Argentine Way.72 Tyrone Power had a big hit with The Mark of Zorro (1940) whose main character, while ostensibly a Californian nobleman, had Mexican ancestry, the fictional persona based on the real-life exploits of Joaquin Murrieta, the “Mexican Robin Hood.” Hollywood clutched Central and Latin America to its bosom, “talent scouts brought planeloads of Latin American talent to Hollywood”73 and Latin rhythms swamped the U.S. Emerging

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stars included “Brazilian Bombshell” Carmen Miranda. Ordinary Americans were also able to alter their own perceptions of the country and discover for themselves the real Mexico. “Since war had closed off overseas travel, American tourists discovered Mexico … free of ration books and wartime exigencies.”74 But when the war ended, and overseas markets, desperate for the backlog of films made during the war, re-opened, Hollywood lost interest. There were still films with a Mexican background or characters. Another Mexican hero took center stage in Elia Kazan’s Viva Zapata (1952) starring Marlon Brando and with Anthony Quinn in an Oscar-winning supporting role. Henry Fonda essayed a Mexican priest in John Ford’s The Fugitive (1947), John Payne and Rhonda Fleming were in The Eagle and the Hawk (1950), in which the character Juarez was again central. A host of films featured bullfighters—Mel Ferrer played one in Robert Rossen’s The Brave Bulls (1951), Quinn another opposite Maureen O’Hara in Budd Boetticher’s The Magnificent Matador (1955), aka The Brave and the Beautiful, and Ricardo Montalban a matador who wanted to become a composer in Fiesta (1947) opposite Esther Williams. Mexico also provided the setting for Orson Welles’ A Touch of Evil (1958) and the Henry King western The Bravados (1958). But the old Hollywood stereotypes returned. InDespite her Cuban origins, Estelita was often cast as a Mexi- creasingly, Mexico had become can in films such as Mexicana (1945) and Belle of Old Mexico frustrated at the onscreen depic(1950). One of the few Central American actresses to make tion of its countrymen, either as an impact in Hollywood, she starred in Cuban Fireball (1951) villains or as helpless. The govand Tropical Heat Wave (1952). She was promoted as “the Toast of Pan America.” In the musical comedy Havana Rose ernment reacted, seizing foot(Republic, 1951) she starred as a politician’s daughter. The age of The Treasure of the Sierra pressbook explained that during filming she had a Havana Madre.75 American mercenaries Rose dedicated to her by the National Florists Association, coming to the aid of Mexicans the blood-red flower was exhibited at the International Flower Show in Los Angeles. Her last film was Rio Bravo (1959) (Han- had been the reason for the ban nan Collection). on They Came to Cordura (its

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portrayal of Pershing’s expedition into Mexico denounced as “historically false”), a similar plotline in Vera Cruz having sparked controversy.76 Mexico was habitually used as a metaphor for identity, a common theme of westerns, featuring, as they so often did, displaced persons and exiles and arguments about land ownership—but that was viewed as harmless by comparison. Anthony Quinn in The Man from Del Rio played a sheriff shunned in an American town because he was Mexican. Robert Parrish’s Wonderful Country (1959) revolved around whether Robert Mitchum preferred Texas to Mexico and ended with him standing on the border with one foot in both. There was also anger at the way Hollywood poached the best young talent Bullfighters were a common feature of films set in Mexico. In from Mexico and spat them back Robert Rossen’s The Brave Bulls (Columbia, 1951), Mel Ferrer out when they failed to make the played a bullfighter unhinged by the death of manager grade. Sometimes the actors did Anthony Quinn and lover Miroslava. Technically, Quinn received second billing but Miroslava’s name was in bigger not even play Mexicans. Elsa type in the credits. The Czech-born actress had been taken Cardenes (For the Love of Mike) to Mexico at a young age. She had appeared in 11 Mexican was mostly cast as an Indian. films before starring in La Muerte enamorado (1951). The Bulls was her Hollywood debut. According to the pressSylvia Pinal (later famed for her Brave book, the bullfighting scenes were filmed using a freewheeling collaborations with Luis Bu- steel cage, its “centre of gravity low enough to resist all but ñuel) received the big Holly- the most ferocious charges” (Hannan Collection). wood build-up but without success.77 Apart from Lupe Velez (who committed suicide, five months pregnant, in 1943) and Dolores del Rio, the country had not produced a Hollywood star in decades. But Mexico still exerted a financial lure. Unions were not organized on a craft basis as in Hollywood. That meant carpenters could help the electricians and everyone worked a longer week.78 The Magnificent Seven was one spark too many for the tinderbox of Mexican hostility toward Hollywood. Considering the sums that would spill into local coffers, logic and financial necessity dictated the Mexicans should have made no objections. Instead, they held firm to their principles. Ferretis complained that “the script places Mexicans in conditions of inferiority.” He hated the central storyline. More specifically, he demanded the gunfighters

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The Gregory Peck western The Bravados (Twentieth Century–Fox, 1958) was set in Mexico. The fifth out of six collaborations between Gregory Peck and director Henry King, it fared poorly at the box office. Their last film together, Beloved Infidel, did even worse.

be Mexican. He suggested that if Hollywood wanted American heroes then it should film in Texas with Texas badmen.79 He was backed by the country’s acting union ANDA and two film labor unions which refused to provide personnel until the situation was resolved. Ferretis rejected the alternative of cutting objectionable scenes from Mexican prints.80 Things turned uglier when an unnamed person working for the production company was accused of trying to bribe Ferretis.81 As noted previously, original screenwriter Walter Newman refused to go to Mexico and Sturges called on William Roberts. There is some confusion as to the timing of this. Walter Mirisch, in his autobiography, contended that it was his idea to ask Newman to go on location to help “field the requests and ideas coming from our actors,” suggesting, by omission, that his arrival was nothing to do with the censor.82 Glenn Lovell hinted that Newman’s reluctance had to do with family concerns and also the writer’s strike. Noted Mexican director Emilio Fernandez intervened on behalf of the moviemakers, but that may have had a detrimental effect given his controversial status.83 In the end, the Americans climbed down.84 They had no choice. Many commentators insisted that only minor changes were made to the script, but, in fact, the changes were major. For a start, the script now stated that the Mexicans did not set out to hire mercenaries. They planned to buy guns to defend themselves against bandits. It was now pure accident that brought them into the orbit of the gunslinger Chris. Crucially, the suggestion to hire gunmen originated not from the villagers but from Chris. That left Chris to claim, illogically, that men were cheaper than guns. The script was also changed to remove more of the clichés

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invented by Hollywood. Throughout, the clothes of the villagers were a spotless white, despite all the dust churned up in the battle scenes, to avoid the Mexicans looking too poor.85 This demand inspired derision from American commentators without anyone seeming to notice the double standards at play. Never once in the film does the contingent of gunslingers acquire a speck of dust. Even after the first battle, the gunfighters emerge as if they have just come out of the shower. The screenplay was further toned down where it “affects the dignity of Mexico.”86 How close to the wire the film came was shown when on February 26, three days before the film (rescheduled because of the controversy) was due to begin, it was reported that the producers had agreed to alter the script.87 For obvious reasons, Sturges had to bite his tongue during filming, but when the film finished, he blasted Ferretis. An autocrat who lives in a dream world. The regulations laid down by the Mexican government are practical and workable. But he operates on the basis of whimsy. He is confused, petulant, and goes on the theory that anything debatable should be stricken out. The censor just picked on anything that might be objected to by some member of the lunatic fringe.

The director also claimed that Ferretis had not read the script, and continually refused to read it on the grounds of being too busy, and that his objections were based on a synopsis that later could not be found.88 The producers won some battles. The censor wanted eliminated the line where the old man advises the villagers to hire “hungry men” on the grounds that it suggested Mexicans could not afford high-priced gunmen. That request was denied. And there was clearly some subtle maneuvering. The censor wanted the gunmen to be seen actually asking the villagers for work, and while, in one sense, this is what transpired, in another, the recruitment was not so directly stated. Had the gunfighters been hired hands in the ordinary sense, they would have been seen as inferior to even their impoverished employers. Agreement was reached in principle. The government granted “provisional” agreement on the condition a censor was attached to the set and could watch every scene being filmed. If the official observer reported “objectionable” scenes, the permit could be revoked immediately and the production forced to leave the country.89 If this occurred halfway through shooting, it would place the producers in the position of not only suspending production but of finding locales to match the scenery already shot. The Americans had little ground to maneuver, newspapers reporting that the producers were forced to “toe the line.”90 The further into production the movie went, the higher the stakes.

7 Casting: The Truth Went Thataway! The casting of The Magnificent Seven is the stuff of legend and sometimes it is hard to know who to believe. Certainly with McQueen’s later superstardom he has hijacked much of the subsequent interest in the movie. The most important aspect of the casting, however, was that Sturges and Mirisch put so much effort into bolstering the other parts. Despite the title, there was no great obligation to pay more than lip service to the supporting actors, especially considering the problems a director would encounter attempting to accommodate so many. Director Edward Dymtryk (The Caine Mutiny, The Young Lions) put it best in his book On Filmmaking. In most productions the top two or three players are of interest not only to the director but to the producer or producing company, to the distributor, and to the exhibitor. Consequently, each seeks an input into their selection. In many instances a film can’t be sold to an exhibitor unless, as he frequently puts it, he has some names to place on his marquee. The director may feel that a certain as-yet undiscovered actor could play the leading role to perfection, but the producer, with the exhibitor in mind, will object that the actor has no drawing power. Nine times out of ten he will be right. It takes a lot of time and money to sell a new actor to the public, both in terms of career and in terms of one film. The audience rarely cottons on to a newcomer unless he or she has an especially winning part in an especially powerful story.1

Although, as previously mentioned, stars of the caliber of Gable and Cooper had been considered, other less high-profile actors in the running included Anthony Franciosca2 for Chico and, since the original script called for an older man, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral alumni Sterling Hayden3 and John Ireland4 for Britt. Lloyd Nolan had also been considered.5 Dean Jones,6 who had appeared in Never So Few, Hugh O’Brian7 (television’s Wyatt Earp) and George Peppard8 were contenders for Vin. McQueen’s name was not bandied about until summer 1959 after he had appeared in the John Sturges war picture Never So Few starring Frank Sinatra.9 He was born Terrence Steven McQueen in Indianapolis on March 24, 1930, and his early life could have been a work of fiction—circus boy, reform school, the Marines, card-sharp, gigolo—ideal qualifications for a worldly actor. Encouraged by his girlfriend, he took acting lessons, finding work off–Broadway and in television, making guest appearances on Goodyear Playhouse (1955), Armstrong Circle Theatre (1955), United States Steel Hour (1956), West Point (1957), 20th Century–Fox Hour (1957), The Big Story (1957), Climax (1958) and Tales of Wells Fargo 90

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(1958). Replacing Ben Gazzara in A Hatful of Rain on Broadway gave his career a timely boost.10 He made an impact in a two- part Defender television program, but with conflicting reports. In the first episode, he was judged as “overacting with the frenzy of a doomed man,” but for the second he was “powerful in his inscrutability and repulsiveness.”11 He owed his rise to relative prominence to the television western series Wanted: Dead or Alive. The show had an unusual genesis and these days would be called a “spin-off.” Josh Randall, the character he played in the series, had first appeared in another series called Trackdown, starring Robert Culp, in Episode 21, “The Bounty Hunter,” which was broadcast on March 7, 1958. Later, the producers referred to this as a “pilot,” but it was not a When it came to selling Never So Few (MGM, 1959) to the “pilot” in the modern sense.12 In public, the studio dropped the action elements in favor of fact, McQueen would make romance. McQueen was billed fourth. At a time when Hitchcock, Ford and Preminger were billed above the title, John another guest appearance in Sturges was billed below the title in smaller letters than any Trackdown (Episode 31—“The of the cast. Brothers”) in May, essaying an entirely different character (in fact two, the aforementioned brothers) before his own series took to the air. Contrary to popular perception, television westerns were not guaranteed hits. Shortly before Wanted: Dead or Alive began its run in September 1958, Variety reported: “The trade is pondering the future of the outdoor adventure type, broadly called westerns.”13 This was in response to the news that three new shows, Rawhide, Cimarron City and Men of Tallahassee, had failed to find sponsors. “One of the trio was offered for half the production cost. Still no takers.” That Rawhide, one of the most famous western series of all time, lacked credibility at the outset was indicative of a wider malaise afflicting the industry. In fact, Rawhide was dropped from the forthcoming season’s schedule after it failed to find a sponsor. CBS had high hopes for the McQueen series, sponsored by the Brown & Williamson tobacco company, scheduling it for the prestigious 8:30–9:00 p.m. Saturday slot, shifting The Texan out of the way to do so.14 Wanted: Dead or Alive did not get off to a flyer. It was perceived

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as cliché-ridden—McQueen’s carbine all that differentiated it from other shows. One critic said McQueen was “like carbonated water gone flat.”15 Despite a shaky start, ratings crept up. Movie-wise, his career launched in undistinguished fashion, an uncredited part in the Robert Wise boxing drama Somebody Up There Likes Me (1957), more famous as Paul Newman’s comeback after the calamitous The Silver Chalice (1954). He was billed fourth in the adaptation of the Harold Robbins bestseller Never Love a Stranger before starring in two very different propositions, The Blob (1958) and The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery (1959). Although both were cheaply made, The Blob exceeded its B film limitations, at least at the box office, courtesy of Paramount which spent $300,000 buying it and the same again on promotion16 —including a dance devised by Fred Astaire, a competition to find “Miss Blob,” and a record written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David and performed by The Five Blobs.17 To meet initial demand, Paramount doubled the print order. Paired with I Married a Monster from Outer Space, it took $112,000 in 16 theaters in Los Angeles.18 The movie went on to gross about $2 million in the U.S. and a similar amount worldwide.19 It did not do much for McQueen, who was furious at not opting for a percentage. The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery was the first feature film of Charles Guggenheim and co-director John Stix. The 33-day location shoot began on October 8, 1957. Based on a 1954 robbery, it purported to present “authentic criminal thinking.”20 Released with “nary a decibel of fanfare,” it was dismissed as “an inept programmer”21 attracting poor attendances. McQueen was in the right place at the right time. Alert to the fact that they were short of new stars, studios initiated the type of program that Paramount had created at the start of the decade. “At no time in recent history,” wrote Hy Hallinger in Variety in November 1959, “have such efforts been made to discover new thespian talent than is currently taking place.” Long-term contracts for actors “once down to nothingness” had been revived, but for unknowns. Warner Bros., Columbia and Fox were at the forefront of the new movement, but every studio welcomed the opportunity to create cheaper stars. The old seven-year deal was still commonplace but many studios were now also offering multiple-picture nonexclusive pacts. Nearly 100 actors had been recruited. Fox, investing $1 million in the process, had the most, 43, including Stephen Boyd, Stuart Whitman and Luciana Paluzzi. Among the 28-strong Warner roster were Angie Dickinson, Clint Walker and Roger Moore. Out of 16, Columbia had Gia Scala and Jean Seberg, out of MGM’s ten Yvette Mimieux would become the best known. Paramount and Universal kept their investment to the minimum, the former developing Stella Stevens and Bobby Darin, the latter Sandra Dee.22 Studios made it plain what they were looking for, even though this appeared at odds with a system that had developed legends like Spencer Tracy, James Stewart and Humphrey Bogart. Producer William Perlberg pointed out that movies were “a personality medium and not an acting medium” and thus, citing Kim Novak, expected to turn personalities into competent actors.23 In addition, hoping to emulate the success of Elvis Presley, Hollywood attempted to transplant pop stars such as Frankie Avalon (The Guns of Timberland starring Alan Ladd), Fabian (High Time and North to Alaska), James Darren (The Guns of Navarone) and Jimmie Rodgers (The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come).24 Whereas at the start of the 1950s studios sought to build careers on the back of movies, now television was crucial. McQueen concurred with this idea, claiming his program had

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become “a kind of actor’s workshop.”25 Warner Bros. was so confident actors could replicate television success on the bigger screen it packaged Clint Walker (Cheyenne), John Russell (Lawman) and Edd Byrnes (77 Sunset Strip) in the western Yellowstone Kelly. Talent appraisers were not convinced, believing the public would not accept a performer it could see every week for free.26 Associated Press columnist Bob Thomas agreed. In an interview with McQueen before filming commenced on The Magnificent Seven the journalist doubted whether a television star could become top movie draw. “So far” it had never happened, McQueen begged to differ. “I think it’s ridiculous to say that somebody from tv can’t make it in pictures. The movies have been at a standstill for the past two years. They’ve got to start moving or else.”27 If McQueen made the leap from small screen to big screen he would be the first television actor to successfully do so. Nobody so far had made the step up. Television companies resisted the overtures of movie companies. They did not want their stars, for whom they had done the hard work of grooming, poached by the movie industry. The bulk of the successful series was built around one star and if that person was seduced by Hollywood it could kill a series. So it was not in the interest of the television companies to give studios the opportunity. In any case, availability was a problem, popular television performers tied down to long-term contracts and committed for most of the year to their shows. Wanted: Dead or Alive was ranked the ninth most popular show—and the fourth top western—in the 1959–1960 season. The top three shows, all westerns, were Gunsmoke, Wagon Train and Have Gun—Will Travel.28 The first two, along with Tales of Wyatt Earp and Cheyenne, had debuted in 1955, the last in 1957, but none of their stars had made any impact on the big screen. James Arness, star of Gunsmoke, had played a small part in war film The Sea Chase (1955) starring John Wayne, the casino drama Flame of the Islands (1955) starring Yvonne De Carlo and the comedy western The First Traveling Saleslady (1956) with Ginger Rogers. Top billing came in the B western Gun the Man Down, directed by Andrew V. McLaglen in 1956, with Angie Dickinson in a bit part. The film did nothing at the box office and that was the end of Arness’s big screen career. Ward Bond shared top billing in Wagon Train with Robert Horton. Having been a member of the John Ford stock company, Bond had a substantial movie career behind him, without becoming a major name, before switching to television. He featured in Ford’s The Searchers in 1956 and Howard Hawks’ Rio Bravo in 1959, but the best, and only, other role generated by his television fame was third billing in China Doll directed by Oscar-winning veteran Frank Borzage. Horton never made a movie. In 1957, the year Have Gun—Will Travel first appeared, its craggy-faced leading man Richard Boone received second billing behind Randolph Scott in the Budd Boetticher western The Tall T and was billed fourth in drama The Garment Jungle, but both movies came out before the television series was first aired so owed nothing to it. Top billing the following year in the horror picture I Bury the Living did not rocket him to stardom and he only had a cameo as Sam Houston in The Alamo (1960). Jack Kelly and James Garner played the eponymous brothers in Maverick. Kelly had been second billed in the horror film She Devil the same year, 1957, as the television show made its debut, but again that predated the series as was third billing in B movie Taming Sutton’s Gal (“Seventeen and Lonesome”) the month the program appeared, so neither role resulted from his fame. In 1958 he was third-billed in the mystery The Hong Kong Affair.

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James Garner did better, winning top billing in the William Wellman war picture Darby’s Rangers (1958), Up Periscope (1959) directed by Gordon Douglas and Cash McCall (1960) opposite Natalie Wood. Hugh O’Brian had won two leading roles since achieving fame as Wyatt Earp in westerns The Brass Legend (1956) and The Fiend Who Walked the West (1958), a remake of Henry Hathaway’s 1947 Kiss of Death. Neither set the box office alight. Cheyenne, on the screens since 1955 and ranked 19th in the 1959–1960 season, had made Clint Walker a household name and his first starring role in The Travelers in 1957 was a bit of a cheat since it was simply two episodes of Cheyenne strung together. He starred in Fort Dobbs, directed by Gordon Douglas, in 1958. The following year came Yellowstone Kelly. But public response to all three movies indicated Walker was better off sticking to television. Other candidates for fame were Chuck Connors from Rifleman, which made its debut in 1958 and was rated 14th in 1959–60, and Dale Robertson whose Tales of Wells Fargo had appeared the previous year. Connors had a small part in The Big Country (1958). Robertson received third billing in the low-budget Fast and Sexy (1958). The other top western of the season was Lawman (ranked 16th) and star John Russell would only manage fourth billing in Fort Massacre (1958), third in Yellowstone Kelly and seventh in Rio Bravo. The cop drama 77 Sunset Strip was rated seventh in 1959–60 but the only other movie role Edd Byrnes received was a bit part in Up Periscope. Raymond Burr, star of drama Perry Mason (tenth in 1959–60), had second billing in the potboiler Affair in Havana in 1957 whose opening coincided with the debut of the legal drama. In 1960 he won the lead role in Desire in the Dust. Robert Young of Father Knows Best (ranked sixth) made no movies after the show started on television in 1954. Seven westerns made the annual Top 20 of the Nielsen television rankings for 1958– 59 and a total of 11 in the top twenty with Wanted: Dead or Alive making its debut in sixteenth position.29 The top show for three years running had been Gunsmoke.30 The programs drew massive audiences, the stars had a massive fan base, yet none of this translated into movie success. Out of a dozen stars only James Garner, in minor fashion, had achieved movie success and even then would not anchor a movie for another five years. Studios had not forgotten how arduous a task star-making was, the streets of Hollywood littered with hot prospects. But nobody—studios, television companies and actors alike—had expected the pickings to prove so slim. So the chances of Steve McQueen turning on its head a halfdecade of hard-won casting experience were remote in the extreme. McQueen was not on the cusp of stardom. Opportunity would be more accurate. Fame would only follow if he could build on the parts coming his way. The first step was a threepicture contract with MGM31 and his development depended on how he came across in Never So Few.32 Billed fourth, the young actor generated buzz where it mattered most—with director Sturges and star Sinatra. Both felt they had the inside track on an emerging talent and competed with each other to land him.33 Sturges was hoping to give him a starring role in The Great Escape, but Mirisch could not persuade author Paul Brickhill to part with the film rights and the movie went into in cold storage.34 (Since the film did not go ahead at this point, the impression left was that McQueen would be the star. That was never going to be the case. UA doubted his ability to carry a picture alone and the expected cost decreed that it would require bigger stars. Brickhill

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did not sell until January 1960 for £5,000 and small percentage of various grosses outside America.35) That left the door open for Sinatra and by mid–August he was a rival for McQueen’s services. McQueen faced a straightforward choice between The Magnificent Seven and “Rat Pack” crime caper Oceans 11, in which Sinatra would double as star and producer.36 Oceans 11 would be a good role for McQueen. He would be playing the villain and, therefore, not swamped by Rat Pack shenanigans onscreen and in confrontations with the star he would be given a chance to shine.37 Sinatra had more faith in McQueen than Sturges and demonstrated it by offering him the leading role in The Execution of Private Slovik, which would mark Sinatra’s directorial debut in summer 1960.38 Glenn Lovell claimed that Sinatra and Sturges were battling over McQueen’s signature and that, on the advice of gossip columnist Hedda Hopper, McQueen turned down the role of Private Slovik.39 The Slovik offer was still on the table in February 1961.40 (Screenwriter Albert Matz, who had served time for contempt during the HUAC hearings, was fired shortly after and a year later Sinatra sold the rights.41) A movie based on McQueen’s involvement in The Magnificent Seven would justify the tagline: “He was so big they had to come up with two myths.” McQueen had asked his television employers for time off, but they were reluctant to comply. In his autobiography, Walter Mirisch explained that four weeks before filming was due to begin in Mexico in February 1960 the McQueen situation had not been resolved. On a Friday night, at about nine o’clock, he was called at home by Tom McDermott (the boss of Four Star) who said they needed to finish a show that evening but Steve would not come out of his dressing room, complaining he was unhappy with his lines and angry that Four Star had not worked out a way to do the film. Asked to intervene, Mirisch declined. “Later I heard the situation continued for a couple of hours until McDermott agreed that Steve McQueen (left) and Yul Brynner wait to shoot a scene in Steve could do The MagnifiThe Magnificent Seven (United Artists, 1960). Given Brynner’s 42 identification with cigars in the film, it is surprising to see him cent Seven.” smoking a cigarette. Christopher Sandford’s

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two-fisted biography of McQueen offered a more robust alternative. According to this version, when asked to release McQueen for the film, McDermott refused, saying, “We own McQueen, we made him and we can break him.” Hearing this, McQueen promptly rammed his car into the side of a building, narrowly missing a cop apparently (and, strangely enough, avoiding arrest) and returned to work wearing a neck brace, which did the trick.43 Note that the bad guys in both tales were the television producers. This was unfair for a number of reasons. For a start, Four Star could not make its programs in McQueen’s absence and it would not be the first television company reluctant to release its star for a movie as Tom Selleck (the Magnum P.I. lead who was Steven Spielberg’s first choice for Raiders of the Lost Ark) and Pierce Brosnan (the Remington Steele star up for James Bond) later found to their cost (although Brosnan did finally snag Bond). In the second place, the company had already played fair with McQueen. In April 1959 to permit McQueen to sign up for Never So Few, Four Star had been quick to help, agreeing in May to shoot six episodes of the television series back to back.44 Four months later, McQueen was knocking on Four Star’s door again, asking for another break, this time to make a movie in January the following year.45 After extensive discussions, in October 1959 “permission to accelerate the schedule” of Wanted: Dead or Alive was given by McDermott to free McQueen. To accommodate this request, the company agreed to shoot five shows back to back. But the film in question was not The Magnificent Seven but Ocean’s 11.46 To make matters worse, McQueen was already talking about needing time off for a second movie in 1960. This was not The Magnificent Seven either, but Le Mans, to be produced by his own newly-formed company Scuderio Condor, a picture he had put on the blocks in August.47 So when later in the year McQueen eventually opted—according to Sandford and Mirisch—for the western over Ocean’s 11, it was hardly surprising that the television producers fought against changing their tight agendas for the fourth time in less than nine months. It is hard to underestimate McQueen’s audacity—can you imagine a company giving its employee such leeway? Allowing an employee to dictate the schedules of the entire crew, and so often? Bear in mind, too, Four Star had no idea whether this project would work out any more than the previous ones, for which they had upset their schedules. Filming a television show was hectic and intense and McQueen was the first to moan about what a difficult life it was. He had to get out of bed at 4:40 a.m. to be at the studios for 6am and study his script and the next 12 hours would be spent “jumping on and off horses, rolling in the dust with heavies and slugging sessions.”48 Whatever device employed, whatever story you believe more probable (you may even think neither really rings true), McQueen got his way. The final announcement did not come until January 22 (“McQueen Firm for Seven”) with Four Star agreeing to shoot eight segments back to back in time for the actor to join the film in mid–February. The last of the 30-minute shows before McQueen flew down to Mexico was “Payoff at Pinto,” which boasted an all-male cast. In fact, newspaper reports cast severe doubts on the various versions in current circulation. Variety reported on December 7, 1959, that McQueen was being released by Four Star for The Magnificent Seven. He “was unable to be sprung for Oceans 11 but was okay for The Magnificent Seven.”49 That suggested the Sinatra film was still his first choice. Ocean’s 11 was being shot in January whereas the western had been re-scheduled for late February. It might have been too short notice for Four Star to let him go for Ocean’s 11, but they could

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accommodate The Magnificent Seven. So his decision to join the western may have been dictated by circumstance rather than choice. (Another area of confusion should also be clarified. It is generally assumed that the deadline the producers were trying to beat was January 31, when the current SAG contract expired. But, in fact, the deadline in question was January 13, after which actors working outside the U.S. had to add riders to their contracts which would ensure they could not work in the event of a strike. On January 20, Variety reported that Brynner, McQueen, Buchholz, Coburn, Bronson, Dexter and Vaughn had all signed up.50) There was a bigger obstacle in the way of McQueen’s ambition. He was not expected to be the break-out star of the movie. That honor went to Horst Buchholz, the romantic lead. The “European sensation” had been recommended to Mirisch by director Billy Wilder who had given Buchholz the starring role in his next Mirisch film, One, Two, Three. “The Mirisch-men … have flipped over The Magnificent Seven’s rushes in which Horst Buchholz comes across like James Dean.”51 Despite what looked in retrospect like superb casting, neither McQueen, Coburn, Bronson, Vaughn or Dexter was considered a likely candidate for stardom. The smart money was on Buchholz. A cursory glance at the script proved the point— Chico had more screen time, got the girl and had easily the flashiest role. Born in Berlin in 1933, forced at the age of ten to join the Hitler Youth, he had reached the top in Germany much faster than McQueen did in the U.S., his movie debut coming in 1955 in Marianne, meine Jugenliebe. Two years later he was the country’s number one star, winning the annual “Bambi” poll, on the back of movies like Teenage Wolf Pack (“Think of a law, they’ve broken it”). By the time of Tiger Bay (1959), his first English-language film, he had a dozen films to his credit. For the German-Mexican co-production Ship of the Dead (1959), he had script and co-star approval.52 Mirisch enthusiastically responded to Billy Wilder’s suggestion and stepped in with a five-picture contract, proposing he follow the western and One, Two, Three with West Side Story.53 Despite indifferent reviews for his U.S. stage debut opposite Kim Stanley in Cheri (“the audience thought he was overacting and laughed in the wrong places”54), the media was on red alert. Buchholz was excited at the prospect. “The whole thing knocks me out. I love westerns,” he said.55 Joshua Logan’s Fanny should have been his American debut, but he happened to mention at a press conference that he had not done either a musical or a western. “For me as a German to get into a western was impossible. Then Mirisch asked me to do it.”56 On set, James Coburn claimed to have been astonished that Sturges was banking so much on Buchholz. “He [Sturges] thought Horst Buchholz was great and couldn’t understand what’s wrong with Horst. He loved the way he came across. He told me … [he] thought that Horst Buchholz was the guy that was going to do it.”57 McQueen missed out on second billing—that went to Eli Wallach, an unusual choice for the role of bandit leader Calvera. Well-known in theatrical circles for Tennessee Williams plays, he had made only Elia Kazan’s controversial Baby Doll (1956), Don Siegel’s film noir The Lineup (1958) and Henry Hathaway’s crime caper Seven Thieves (1960).58 Although Sturges was given credit for choosing him, it may have been more than coincidence that Wallach’s wife Anne Jackson had appeared in The Journey with Brynner. Wallach also knew Brynner from television in New York. Wallach had been the original choice for Private Maggio in From Here to Eternity. “I did a test and was to do that role but…. I was in love with a

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play that had been tailored for me by Tennessee Williams to be directed by Elia Kazan— Camino Real.”59 So Wallach turned down the part that won Sinatra an Oscar. Keen on the Mifune role, he was aghast to be offered the bandit leader, almost invisible in the original. Wallach complained the bandit only appeared for a few minutes at the beginning. “Mostly you only see horses’ hooves. And the head bandit has an eye patch.”60 On re-reading the script, Wallach realized that, even though he was only onscreen at the start, he was the source of the film’s tension, with everyone anticipating his return. Wallach jumped at the chance to play a villain described in the script as “his self-assurance … is overwhelming and from it he derives a certain bravura in manner and dress, expansive gestures, slightly exaggerated facial expressions, broadly striped pants, enormous rowels to his spurs.” Wallach never saw him as a villain, just a guy trying to make a living.61 Robert Vaughn had as much a claim to being the “next big thing” as McQueen after an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor for The Young Philadelphians (1959) opposite Paul Newman. He was also known to Walter Mirisch, having been in the company’s television western Wichita Town. He was also up for Boston Terrier, a series being prepped by Blake Edwards.62 Supposedly, Vaughn, born in 1932, had drifted into acting. At the time of filming, he told columnist Erskine Johnston how he had, by chance, made his movie debut as an extra in The Ten Commandments, earning $100 a day for two weeks. The call had gone out for handsome, brown-eyed young men with SAG cards. He had raced over to Hollywood and stood in line while an assistant director picked the men he wanted. Vaughn was chosen, but he was not a member of the Screen Actors Guild. Thinking fast, Vaughn told the assistant director that his agent would sort things out. He did not have an agent but mentioned the name of one he had once contacted. When called by the assistant director, the agent’s office denied all knowledge of Vaughn. Finally, Vaughn managed to get through to the agent and told him he had a role that paid $100 a day. “He suddenly remembered me.”63 As good a story as this was, it was untrue. In his autobiography, Vaughn revealed he already had a union card, thanks a stage role in Sean O’Casey’s play Shadow of a Gunman.64 Nor was the move into acting accidental. He had caught the acting bug when he was four or five and recalled being taught a Hamlet soliloquy by his actress mother.65 (Both parents were actors.) His first job was in television, as a page boy for KHJ-TV in Los Angeles, where colleagues included future talk show host Johnny Carson and future head of CBS Jim Aubrey. A role in a revival of Calder Willingham’s play End as a Man in 1956 (a decade after the play’s first night) led to a non-exclusive two-picture deal with Burt Lancaster at $15,000 a film.66 Unfortunately, the draft intervened. On his return from the Army, he became a television regular, with parts in comedy Father Knows Best, westerns Gunsmoke, The Rifleman and Bronco as well as Zorro. This led to leading roles in B movies, the western Hell’s Crossroads (1957) and No Time to Be Young (1957) (“Too Old to Be Teen-Agers…. Too Young to Be Adults!”). He starred in Roger Corman’s Teenage Caveman (1958) but, like McQueen, found that B movies led nowhere and he slipped to second billing in Unwed Mother (1958) and to third in the western A Good Day for a Hanging (1959). The role in The Young Philadelphians could not have been more timely. His suggestion by casting director Lynn Stalmaster was welcomed by Walter Mirisch. “We chose Robert Vaughn because he provided an entirely different personality

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from any of the other men who comprised our seven. We felt he would stand out by virtue of that personality. He enhanced that personality in his wardrobe, in the gloves, in the general way he disported himself.”67 Just before he set off for Mexico, he shot the pilot for The Boston Terrier but it was not picked up.68 Mirisch also claimed credit for suggesting James Coburn,69 another Wichita County alumni with three episodes of Wanted: Dead or Alive under his belt. From 1957 onward, Coburn, born in 1928, had enjoyed a drip-feed of television appearances in Wagon Train, Bronco, Have Gun—Will Travel, M Squad starring Lee Marvin and Alfred Hitchcock Presents. His only films roles were small parts in Budd Boetticher’s western Ride Lonesome (1959) starring Randolph Scott and Face of a Fugitive (1959). Coburn had a different take on his casting. He recalled coming out of a studio where he was shooting a television quickie (three films in two days, he remembered, although these would be 30-minute features) and bumping into Robert Vaughn. The pair had been students in L.A. City College’s drama department together and Coburn had gone to New York to study under Stella Adler. After Vaughn explained he had been cast in The Magnificent Seven, Coburn contacted his agent to set up a meeting with Sturges. Coburn remembered, “He said if the picture is not cast by three o’clock this afternoon you’ve got it. At two-thirty he called and said come on over and pick up your knives.”70 The only stipulation Sturges made in terms of the character Coburn was to play was a shot of him pushing his hat up with one finger. The rest of the time Coburn absorbed what he could from the Japanese film. “I fell in love with that character.”71 He took lessons from stuntmen and discovered that, in reality, it was impossible to throw a switchblade with accuracy more than about nine feet. He practiced at home on his door.72 Robert Vaughn offered yet a different account of the hiring of Coburn. After being given his role, Sturges asked if he knew of a tall, tough, quiet Gary Cooper–type actor. Vaughn mentioned going to college with Coburn, describing him as a “big lanky fellow with a great voice.” But they had lost touch and not spoken in five years. The last Vaughn knew, Coburn was living in New York, in Greenwich Village. It took half a dozen phone calls to track him down. Coburn had to borrow money for his flight to Los Angeles to meet with Sturges.73 There was a fourth version, courtesy of Boetticher. “Randolph Scott said who was that guy in the red underwear?” recalled the director. “Let’s write him some more lyrics.” So Boetticher and writing partner Burt Kennedy, later a director himself, wrote him another scene but it was edited out of the movie. “I sent it off to John Sturges and that’s how Sturges came to cast Coburn in The Magnificent Seven.”74 Of all the supporting actors, former coal miner Charles Bronson, born Charles Buchinsky in Pennsylvania in 1921, had the most experience. He had worked twice with Sturges, in The People vs. O’Hara and Never So Few. His television career stretched back to 1949, in Fireside Theatre. The 3D craze brought him to prominence as Vincent Price’s evil assistant in André de Toth’s House of Wax (1953) and he won supporting roles in Miss Sadie Thompson (1953), the Burt Lancaster starrers Apache and Vera Cruz (1954), Drum Beat (1954) with Alan Ladd and Jubal with Glenn Ford (1956) and Run of the Arrow (1957) before starring in four B features in 1958 thanks to a five-year deal made with American International Pictures in 1956.75 The western Showdown at Boot Hill, the gangster duo Machine Gun Kelly and Gang War and the war film When Hell Broke Loose did not lead to the similar status in larger-budgeted films and neither did the leading role in the television series Man with a

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Camera which premiered on Channel 7 a few weeks after Wanted: Dead or Alive. “Does as well as any of this season’s crop of two-fisted dour heart-of-gold busybodies,” was the New York Times’ verdict.76 It ran for 29 episodes from 1958 to 1960. Despite appearing 81 times on television and with 30 films behind him, Bronson remained a character actor, described by John Huston as “a hand grenade with the pin pulled out.” Walter Mirisch claimed credit for suggesting Bronson, whom he had met on the set of House of Wax and whose career he had followed ever since.77 It is just as likely that, having used him twice before, Sturges was more instrumental in his casting. Nobody claimed credit for Brad Dexter. He was born in 1917 as Boris Milanovich and he was American. Or so everyone believed for half a century after the film’s release until it was revealed his date of birth was 1920 and his real name Boris Michel Soso. At the time of his casting he was better known to the American public as the ex-husband of singer Peggy Lee. The marriage, in 1953, lasted ten months. Again, the general impression is that, in movie terms, Dexter struggled to gain recognition, but had Anthony Quinn’s ambitious production plans worked out Dexter might have been too big a name for this job. Quinn had signed Dexter to a three-picture deal in 1958, kicking off with the leading role in Black Sunday to be directed by Budd Boetticher.78 Dexter supposedly got the role in The Magnificent Seven on the nod from Frank Sinatra who had befriended Sturges. (It was not a reward for saving Sinatra from drowning. That occurred a few years later.) But Sturges had cast Dexter before, in Last Train from Gun Hill. Although nearly as old as Brynner, he had few film credits, The Asphalt Jungle (1953) and Run Silent, Run Deep (1958) the best known, and guest roles in Wagon Train, Have Gun—Will Travel and 77 Sunset Strip. Assistant director Robert Relyea, who would go on to form a production partnership with McQueen, commented: “John would say a star is easy. What I’m interested in is the next five or six roles.”79 In Mexico City, they cast thirty actors, including some of the country’s finest character actors, with roles to be determined later. As Chico’s love interest, Rosenda Monteros, born in 1935,80 had appeared in 15 films, mostly made in her native Mexico. A small part in the American-made White Orchid (1954), directed by Reginald Le Borg, led to fourth billing in A Woman’s Devotion (1956), whose director, Paul Henreid, believing she was star material, planned to build her up in Two Worlds with Bette Davis, but the project foundered.81 She never quite made the grade in Mexico, receiving third billing in María la Voz (1955), directed by husband Julio Bracho, and fourth billing in Sabado Negro (1959), directed by Miguel Delgado, and a small part in Luis Buñuel’s Nazarin (1959), the best she had managed prior to the western. She was reputed to have had an affair with Sturges on the set.82 The pivotal role of Hilario was handed to Jorge Martínez de Hoyos, who had debuted in 1948 in ¡Esquina, bajón!, directed by Miguel Delgado. He was a rising star, after 36 films, including top billing in Sabado Negro and a role in the American-financed B picture Beyond All Limits (1959) starring Jack Palance and directed by Roberto Geraldon. One of the most memorable parts went to someone who was not Mexican at all. Vladimir Sokoloff was born in Moscow. Primarily a character actor, he had played Cezanne in The Life of Emile Zola (1937) directed by William Dieterle and had a small role in the Humphrey Bogart film Passage to Marseilles (1944), helmed by Michael Curtiz. In the 1950s television had been his bread and butter with appearances in Have Gun—Will Travel, The Alaskans and Peter Gunn.

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He was the janitor in I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1957) and in 1960 he won key roles in movies made by Hollywood mavericks, receiving third billing as “The Supreme” in Edward G. Ulmer’s futuristic Beyond the Time Barrier and in André de Toth’s spy drama Man on a String with Ernest Borgnine in the lead. Sotero, the village leader, was played by Rico Alaniz, a veteran of 30 movies, the first being in 1950. Most of his career had been spent in America, including a part in the Stewart Granger– Grace Kelly Green Fire (1954), directed by Andrew Martin. Of all the Mexicans, he was most familiar to American audiences, following a running role as Mr. Cousin in 19 episodes of The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp. Other television roles included Sugarfoot, Maverick, The photograph that launched a thousand misconceptions, Border Patrol, Laramie, Bo- this still of Yul Brynner and Rosenda Monteros from The Magnificent Seven (United Artists, 1960) gave rise to the idea nanza, Have Gun—Will Travel she was his love interest. Further adding to the confusion, it and Man with a Camera. Pepe was incorporated into many posters. Hern, who essayed the role of Tomas, was actually born in Texas. His movie debut in 1948 led to only a dozen small film roles and series such as Rawhide and The Restless Gun. Nor did the part of Miguel go to a Mexican. John A. Alonzo was born in Texas and made his acting debut in 1958 in television, picking up parts in Dragnet, Border Patrol and Perry Mason. He would achieve greater fame as cinematographer John A. Alonzo, Oscar-nominated for Roman Polanski’s Chinatown (1974). Sturges filled out his cast with actors he had used before. Backlash had featured Robert Wilke, who played Wallace; Last Train from Gun Hill Val Avery (Henry) and Bing Russell (Robert); Gunfight at the O.K. Corral Avery and Whit Bissell (Chamlee); and Never So Few Bissell. There were other connections. Wilke had been in Man of the West and Wichita Town and Russell in The Horse Soldiers and both had appeared in Wanted: Dead or Alive. The most famous Mexican on set was not there in an acting capacity. Born in 1903, Emilio Fernandez was jailed for 20 years as a revolutionary. After escaping from prison he lived in exile in Los Angeles until reprieved in 1935. He made his acting debut in 1928 and directed his first movie, La Isla de la pasión, in 1942. His 1944 picture María Candelaria

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starring Dolores del Rio won the Grand Prix at Cannes in 1946, the same year as he made The Pearl, based on the John Steinbeck novella. Director of over 20 more movies, he had not made one in three years at the time of The Magnificent Seven. The year before, he had failed in an attempt to set up The Female Soldier to star Anthony Quinn on a salary of $100,000 plus 15 percent of the gross.83 While artistic successes, his most recent movies had flopped. He was an outrageous character, having shot a reporter, cast Fidel Castro in one of his films and been deported from the U.S. As with John Huston’s The Unforgiven, his involvement with The Magnificent Seven was as assistant director. He, too, would achieve later Hollywood fame, ironically as one of the worst “greasers” of all time, Mapache in Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch.

8 Egos Unleashed Sturges knew exactly what he was doing. “Three things are essential to every western,” he wrote in an article for Films and Filming magazine. The first was isolation, “an absolute must.” In High Noon, the first question the townspeople asked was why did the Gary Cooper character not just call the marshal. But Cooper could not reach him. In Bad Day at Bad Rock, the Spencer Tracy character was also asked why he did not reach out for help. That was impossible since the lines were cut. “So the first thing you have to do is isolate people from any help, they can’t go to the government and they can’t go to the next town.” The next requirement was that issues were solved by violence. The third was that a man or a group took the law, right or wrong, into their own hands. This would be regardless of whether they wanted to and also in the knowledge that such action could result in their death. “Now those things have nothing to do with the West, but they’re three of the most powerful things you can find to make a story.”1 The Magnificent Seven, needless to say, had all three. Sturges was also aware of the artifice, the distortion of reality and the suspension of disbelief that went into making a western. In reality the West was filled with young people, since the endeavor required the fittest; a man of 30 was regarded as an oddity. The West was populated in the main by foreigners, with large contingents of Swedes and French. Since the West was in the process of being built it followed that the towns were brand new. Dodge City, for example, was put up in three months. But a new town did not look so good on the camera. “So the first thing you do in the western street,” Sturges explained, “is go round filing the boards, bleaching and aging them.” Cinemagoers expected a formula to be followed. The good guys and the bad guys clashed over clearly defined issues and there would be possibly a chase and inevitably a gunfight. The formula required careful handling. “Most people who try to do something ‘different’ fall right into the fire. The answer is to do the same western better and in a different way.”2 There was one way, however, in which Sturges departed from the formula. In the 1950s, westerns began near the climax. The Magnificent Seven would start a trend for a slower-paced film with room for more character development.3 A few days after appeasing the censor, filming began, on February 29, 1960. The main locations were Tepotztlan, Oacalco and Durango with interiors at the Churubusco Studios in Cuernavaca. Tepotzlan and Churubusco were south of Mexico City, the state of Durango to the north. Sturges was familiar with the country from fishing and other trips.4 Mexico was a favored Hollywood location for practical reasons, the most important being that it 103

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was close. In the case of a western that meant a lack of vapor trails from jets and no telegraph poles.5 From a cost perspective it helped that crews worked a six-day week6 (the actors did the same), although government regulations extracted a financial penalty for Hollywood productions bringing in their own crew.7 The locations were far from remote, Churubusco 54 miles (an hour’s drive) from the capital, the main location Tepoztlan 16 miles east of Churubusco and Oacalco six miles south of Tepoztlan. The name Tepoztlan meant “place of abundant copper and broken rocks,” which summed up the terrain. It was believed to be the birthplace of the ancient serpent-god Quetzacoatl and temple remains could be found in the Tepozteco Mountain. Zapata had fought a battle here. Cuernavaca, a popular holiday resort, had a bloody history. Spanish conquistador Cortez had razed the city to the ground. At the Battle of Churubusco in 1847, in the wake of The Alamo, the American army defeated the forces of Santa Anna. On the other hand, artist Diego Rivera had painted the murals at the Palace of Cortez. The sets were nothing that had not been seen in a dozen dusty westerns, adobe walls, plain dwellings, a fountain in the plaza, although the village’s papier-mâché chapel looked so realistic, with dummy pigeons stuck on top to attract real ones, that, according to one newspaper report, locals blessed themselves as they passed.8 How they reacted when the building was tilted, at Sturges’ request, 15 degrees in another direction was anybody’s guess. As set designer Eduardo Fitzgerald had worked in a similar capacity for Luis Buñuel on Los Olvidos and Nazarin, he would have incurred few problems giving directions to the Mexican laborers and crew. Technical tasks proved more difficult. Production sound mixer Jack Solomon, who had worked on The Horse Soldiers and The Alamo, explained that when a crew member did not know how to boom a shot, he did the job himself, showed why he was doing it until the necessary competence was achieved. Sturges did not have to look far for extras, simply enrolling most of the local population.9 The look of the film was also dictated by the costumes. Sturges had a trick of going to Western Costumes and trying on outfits for all the cast, shirts, holsters, hats, until he got everything in the picture right.10 Exteriors and action sequences were shot first. Last to be filmed were the interiors, the scenes in the hotel and cantina. Unexpectedly poor weather afflicted the start, lack of sunshine throwing the schedule awry.11 Filming began with the ride up to Boot Hill plus the introduction of Bronson, Eli Wallach’s entrance and establishing scenes of the mountains. The second week included the festivities—the deer was actually killed and the locals refused to undertake the Deer Dance unless the fireworks were real. The first battle was shot in mid– March virtually back to back with the second in the middle of the fourth week.12 According to Sturges, he was operating at his peak, later boasting to Michael Caine on the set of The Eagle Has Landed that virtually every shot had been done in one take.13 (Not everyone was as convinced by his efficiency—Oscar Danzigers commented that Sturges was “not the fastest director I know”14 and Marvin Mirisch claimed Sturges had “a penchant for over-shooting.”15) He achieved this by not spending much time with the actors. He worked on an old school idea of hierarchy, allocating time to the performers in relation to their status.16 For Eli Wallach’s death scene he gave more specific instructions, telling the actor to “let the light go out of his eyes.” In his autobiography, Wallach confessed he relied on the simple technique of stopping focusing and staring ahead and allowing his head to roll to one side. Sturges had hired veteran cinematographer Charles Lang. They had worked together

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on Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Last Train from Gun Hill. Now aged 58, Lang had first headed up the camera unit in 1926 on Night Patrol. An Oscarwinner for A Farewell to Arms (1932), he had another dozen nominations to his name including The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1946), Sabrina (1954), Separate Tables (1958) and Some Like It Hot (1959). He would go on to become, along with Leon Shamroy, the most nominated man in his profession. Sturges concentrated on the logistics of placing and moving the camera and, of course, storyboarding the action sequences. Lang did “most of his shooting from ground level,” the Teaser advertisements like this one were used to build up public anticipation in advance of a movie opening. Cinemas camera at that angle not just tak- were advised to use this at least 10 days in advance (Wisconing advantage of the imposing sin Center for Film and Theater Research). mountainous background but also having the effect of rendering “the heroic gunmen more heroic looking.”17 Lang was a self-styled woman’s cinematographer. His background in romance and drama is evident in the film’s atmospheric night exteriors and many contemplative scenes. He is capable both of imparting mood and texture through expressive lighting and creating depth of field for the action sequences.18 In reading a printed story we are offended when the writer falls back on mechanical tricks…. If an actor employs obvious mannerism or vocal tricks … we are again irritated … the same is doubly true of dramatic cinematography.19

With key personnel, Sturges never threw his weight around. “It is foolish to try to mould cameramen … or dictate style to them.” He realized that trying to compose a scene for the camera tended to get one into trouble when the cameraman did not agree. I don’t do that. I compose them [scenes] so that they [cameramen] can look at a scene from any angle. I don’t care as long as there’s a general pattern of film that will cut together. Some very bad things can happen to you if you become pre-occupied with the composition of film as [only] composition. The idea is, what’s the shot for? I also try very hard not to get arty, it’s absurd.20

Assistant director Robert Relyea observed how they communicated, noting that Sturges would simply indicate where he wanted a shot to begin. If the director asked for a crane shot, the cameraman would immediately begin imagining what was above his head. “That kind of understanding between a cameraman and a director is kinda rare.”21 According to Sturges, “Staging is the first function of direction. It’s a great weapon.”22 Sturges aimed to arrange his groupings on screen in relation to their importance to the scene.

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He worked on establishing the on-screen relationship between the characters so that the camera could drift around without having to cut back and forth. Studying a location was paramount. The more one worked at that, the more familiar the location became and from that one could establish patterns in one’s mind. He was looking for progression that would make it work come shooting.23 George Stevens advised him to develop compositional ideas in advance and then just let things happen until he learned how to stage scenes most effectively. Diagrams or mechanical arrangements did not work.24 John Ford once advised him to shoot “the most interesting and exciting thing in the world, a human face.”25 Sturges was always baffled when people complained he never moved the camera. “It moves all the time,” was his stock reply. He aimed for a kaleidoscopic effect. He tried to avoid intermediate distance. For long shots, the camera was moved as far back as possible. For close-ups he went right in on the face. If the camera moved, he wanted that action noticeable on screen. He hated fussy camera movement.26 “Editing is the other remaining chance. If you shoot enough film then you have material with which to change; control the timing, build it up or slow it down.”27 Even so, he left himself room to maneuver, trying not to commit himself completely at the time of shooting. Film was shot with editing in mind and editing was the creating of the illusion. “The way you put a lot of pieces together is the whole story.” Sturges used landscape in a different way than Ford; in Bad Day at Black Rock space showed the isolation of one man in the desert.28 Wide screen had its drawbacks. “There are times when you just want to see a person’s face and the rest is extraneous.”29 When it came to weaponry on The Magnificent Seven, authenticity was not always the order of the day. The lever-action repeating 1892 rifle, a smaller and lighter version of previous models, was an anachronism. The Winchester rifles took their model numbers from the dates of production so the 1892 was only introduced after the period in which the film was set. McQueen used an 1892 in Wanted: Dead or Alive. The 1892 was used extensively by Hollywood because it was easily available (over 1 million were made) compared to the older 1866 and 1873 models, more representative of the “Wild West” era, which were valuable antiques. The most popular type of revolver in the film was the Colt .45 single action army. Chico had one. For his long range shot Britt used the artillery model, which had a 5½inch barrel with a wooden grip. Chris sported one. Vin did, too, as well as a cavalry model, boasting a 7½-inch version, as a sidearm and on the hearse he carried a Colt model 1878 twelve-gauge shotgun. One of the gunmen waiting at Boot Hill had a J. Stevens and Company side by side twelve-gauge shotgun with exposed hammers and designed to fire black powder shotgun shells. Calvera employed a quickdraw (aka civilian) model which had a 4¾-inch barrel and was case colored and blued. Calvera’s men used Winchester model 1892 rifles and these were the weapons taken from the dead scouts and given to the villagers to train with as well as a Winchester model 1866 transition rifle. The villagers also trained with a Smith and Wesson Schofield model 3.45 and in the final showdown Chris, Chico, O’Reilly and Harry fired Winchesters and the others SAAs. Hilario shot with a Springfield model 1873 trapdoor carbine. In real life cowboys preferred carrying a rifle and pistol that used the same ammunition and this was replicated because the five-in-one blank cartridge was common to both the 1892 and SAA.30

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There were other inaccuracies. The gunfighters wore low-slung Buscadero-style holsters which were not fashionable till the 1900s. In the Wild West era the favored position for pistols was higher up the body, around the normal belt line in cross-draw holsters, not just for comfort but, crucially, because they were easier to draw on horseback.31 The train in the backdrop to the Britt knife-throwing scene was not from the correct period either. The letters “FCI” on the side of the locomotive stood for “Ferrocarril Interoceanico” (the Mexican Interoceanic Railway), a company which was not incorporated until 1888. That said, it was the correct type of train, possibly a C-19 running on a narrow (3 foot) gauge, although it would have been way off its normal route which ran from Mexico City to Vera Cruz.32 Apart from the constant battle with the censor, the movie soon found itself embroiled in a media storm on both sides of the border. Although the censor’s victory had made headlines in Mexico and the U.S. it was of little global interest. But there was a story within the reach of local journalists which would reverberate around the world. International demand for news about the personal life of stars was insatiable and Brynner’s arrival represented a potential financial bonanza for local reporters. The rumor was that Yul Brynner was going to take advantage of being in Mexico to divorce Virginia Gilmore and marry Doris Kleiner, the director of a top Parisian fashion house. A wedding would be a huge scoop and a helpful publicity coup if only Brynner would oblige. There was nothing like wedding photographs to erase the stain of divorce. Cuernavaca was a destination for celebrity weddings. Ernest Borgnine, the Oscar-winning star of Marty, had wed Mexican actress Katy Jurado there on New Year’s Day and ingénue Jill St. John was considering getting hitched. Brynner refused to play ball. Prior to filming he told columnist Bob Thomas: “Reports I am seeking a Mexican divorce are certainly untrue.” He had also denied rumors of a divorce to columnist Hedda Hopper.33 Accustomed to toying with the press, Brynner kept the Mexican journalists on the back foot. Finally, he let slip to friends that he was getting married on the first weekend in April.34 This turned out to be a ruse. He caught the press on the hop by jumping the gun by a couple of days, driving in “secret motorcade”35 to have the wedding performed in the office of his attorney by Judge Luis Soto. Deprived of a huge payday, local journalists were incensed. They were accustomed to better access.36 American journalists did not go easy on Brynner either. In the normal course of events publicists might have struggled to attract columnists to Mexico given the number of higher profile pictures competing for media attention. But the actors’ strike left film journalists short of stories and to alleviate the drought they homed in on one of the few films within easy reach of Los Angeles. After discovering Brynner was not in the mood to talk to them either, U.S. reporters took to baiting Brynner in print, calling him “the first bald-headed western hero.”37 Erskine Johnson said he was “as wordless as he is hairless,” adding that Brynner was “the first pre-scalped cowboy in all western film history.”38 He was belittled for his pomp. What some saw as extravagance was in Hollywood terms his due. Stardom brought perks—the entourage, the trailer, the generous per diem. Brynner’s indulgence was not on the Elizabeth Taylor scale. Brynner’s long silver trailer, walled off by a high fence, was described as looking like a palace with a carpeted patio containing a Mexican bell, a live parrot on a perch and pool stocked with goldfish.39 His retinue and the “movie star treatment” that this appeared to be incurred unparalleled resentment. It grew so virulent

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it was almost a campaign to deride him. Yet there were no reports of him creating ructions on set, or coming to blows with fellow performers, or demanding, as Sinatra had done on Never So Few, the removal from the cast of someone who had offended him.40 Apart from enjoying the good life, his behavior on set was impeccable. Erskine Johnson was responsible for publicizing the idea of an over-extravagant Brynner. But, in fact, Johnson had purloined much of his information from another Brynner picture and from a different source. The “facts” about his “prima donna” behavior originated in The Memoirs of a Cad by Solomon and Sheba co-star George Sanders. The quintessential Englishman, Sanders, best known as the big screen The Saint (and later the voice of Shere Khan the tiger in Disney’s The Jungle Book), had scorned Brynner in his book. Brynner had a seven-person entourage. “The function of one of these consisted entirely of placing alreadylighted cigarettes between Brynner’s outstretched fingers. Another was permanently occupied in shaving Brynner’s skull with an electric razor.”41 Johnson merged what he was told on the set of The Magnificent Seven with juicy extracts from the Sanders book to create an unflattering portrait. Hardly Earth-shattering in moviestar terms, Brynner’s cigarette demands were easily explained in the context of a full-blown costume epic like Solomon and Sheba. An actor in heavy make-up and Biblical clothing was scarcely going to fiddle about with a packet of cigarettes—and where, exactly, in such an outfit would he hide the lighter or matches? Equally, it was likely that Brynner’s bald pate was afforded no more attention than the visage of the average glamour queen. Preventing light shining off a bald head would have been one of the cameraman’s ongoing problems. His current contract did not entitle him to a seven-strong entourage. 42 And where did George Sanders come into all this? Well, Sanders was big news in Mexico because he was planning to set up a production unit there 43 and, contrary to the overall experience of the crew of the western, foreign filmmakers of any description were enthusiastically welcomed at least at first for the obvious reason that they were pumping money into the economy. Sanders comments on Brynner helped keep himself in the news in Mexico and no doubt shifted a few copies. Other U.S. columnists were quick to embellish. Mike ConA second teaser advertisement was aimed at projecting a film nolly reported that Brynner was thundering with excitement. Teaser ads often contained no star names, since they were meant to simply arouse interest provided with a limo and chauf(Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research). feur as well as a $1,200-a-month

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house, as if these, too, were somehow outrageous.44 (A couple of years later McQueen collected over $3,000 a month expenses for The Great Escape.45) The fact that Buchholz and Wallach were also put up in houses rather than hotels passed unremarked. James Bacon was astonished that Brynner had 50 black hats, 40 pairs of black boots, three dozen dark brown shirts and three dozen black trousers and a black holster46 without stopping to consider how relevant that amount of clothing might be on a dusty outdoor set. He could hardly be halted between shots for dusty clothing to be returned from the laundry. It later emerged that Brynner had not demanded such an ostentatious trailer, but that it had been the idea of an overenthusiastic art decorator who had wanted to surprise the big Hollywood star.47 In reality what annoyed the American journalists more than anything was that Brynner was living outside the U.S. in order to avoid paying taxes. If there was anything over-elaborate about Brynner it was his explanation. I went into this part with a clear head. I realize my looks limit the roles I can play but I felt this part was safe since the story is set in Mexico and I am again a “foreigner.” You see my problem in U.S. pictures is that I’m not a typical clean-cut American boy. That’s why I live abroad. Most of my pictures have foreign settings and the trend today is to shoot movies where they actually take place…. No one in their right mind leaves a country because of taxes alone. I moved because my jobs made it necessary. Because of the parts I get I rarely found myself using my house in Hollywood.48

And there was someone else itching to do Brynner damage in print—Steve McQueen. Brynner was bracketed with Paul Newman in Somebody Up There Likes Me in provoking McQueen’s competitive instincts. Brynner ended up in a “feud” with McQueen.49 How the local press got hold of the idea of a “feud” has never been ascertained. What role the publicity-seeking McQueen played has never been determined either. Clearly, McQueen was never going to enjoy the high jinks on this picture that marked his relationship with Sinatra. To the press, Sinatra had proclaimed McQueen as the next big star, although his comments conveniently coincided with the announcement of McQueen’s role as Private Slovik. Where the singer encouraged, and as likely spoiled, the newcomer, Brynner was more reserved. The row was reported in a Mexico City newspaper and then fed to the wire services across the border. Columnist Erskine Johnson interpreted for American readers. It’s hardly a feud but as a setsider I’ve already seen that Steve’s flair with a gun and on horseback has made Yul rather nervous. Steve, I’m told, shrugged off the feud reports, but Yul confronted him. Steve’s reply was “ridiculous.” Yul agreed, “Yes, it is. I fight with studios, I fight with agencies, I do not fight with individuals.”50

Brynner remained tight-lipped about the “feud.” In a quote circulated by news agency NEA on April 10, he commented, “It’s amazing some people will go that far for a joke.” Johnson’s seemingly offhand remark about McQueen’s superior gunplay had all the hallmarks of an insidious PR campaign.51 It is worth examining these claims in light of the fact that nobody, McQueen apart, did any riding in the film worth a damn. The journey from the border town to the village was achieved at a canter. For 99 percent of the picture the gunfighters were not on horseback. Equally, there was no quick draw. McQueen contended, “I knew horses. I knew guns. I was in my element and he wasn’t.”52 But McQueen was deluding himself. There was one sure way of settling which of the tough guys was toughest. The script called for McQueen to leap onto a moving horse. Watch that scene closely and notice

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that Sturges cuts away, proof that a stuntman and not McQueen executed the move.53 In any case, those more qualified cast doubts on McQueen’s pistol skills, describing him as “a soft touch.”54 The McQueen persona was more fluid at this time than it would appear in retrospect. Erskine Johnson in his “Wanting to Win” article described McQueen as “a oneman army” in reference to his role in Never So Few. Johnson did much to develop the McQueen myth, writing about his souped-up Jag and racing a Lotus Mk II. Perhaps that was in reaction to the initial assessment of McQueen by Vernon Scott of UPI, who, five months before, had described the actor as “a sort of beatnik without portfolio.” And, as we have seen, Bob Thomas doubted McQueen’s credentials for stardom. McQueen was not in favor long with the locals. At his birthday party at the Jacarandas Hotel in Cuernavaca, he tossed firecrackers into someone’s room. Later, he liberated a stop sign from a street corner and stuck it in the back of his car on the drive back to the hotel. “I returned the sign but the police wanted me too.”55 It was not the theft that caused outrage but the firecrackers—just a few months earlier a three-year-old child had been killed and 24 others injured in a similar prank and such insensitivity was viewed as callous.56 It could easily be argued that McQueen was the more stand-offish, bedding as many women as he could,57 wanting scenes rehearsed his way.58 McQueen had grasped, as did all the great screen actors from Bogart and Tracy to Wayne and Stewart, that the essence of good acting was reacting, but when you were not the star it was difficult to be given the chance to react. Whether or not the Brynner-McQueen spat reached the level of a feud, the tension between the two men on the set was palpable, although it was mostly generated by McQueen who reveled in goading the star. One of the most often-reported stories was of McQueen kicking away the mounds of earth that Brynner stood on to make himself taller.59 This would have made sense if Brynner had been smaller than McQueen. The Internet Movie Database has them the same height, although other reports give Brynner a half-inch advantage. The idea scarcely stands up to scrutiny. For a start, they were together outside on only a couple of occasions and how, exactly, would Brynner achieve that kind of consistency for interiors? How was it achieved without Brynner noticing? If Brynner did create such little mounds he would have needed to take care where he positioned his feet and surely on looking down would have noticed they were gone. Yet there are no reports of Brynner blowing his stack at such behavior. In any case, the judicious placing of the camera would have achieved the same effect had Sturges wished to protect his leading man. McQueen tried to rile the star over supposed scene-stealing by other actors. Walter Mirisch told the story of Brynner and McQueen viewing the dailies of Buchholz’s mock bullfight with a disinterested cow. According to Mirisch, McQueen told Brynner, “The kid’s trying to steal the picture.” Brynner calmly refuted this, pointing out this was in the script.60 Eli Wallach called it “total mutual paranoia.”61 “It was a big rivalry,” Sturges told Glenn Lovell. “They were at it day and night. Steve felt under pressure to assert himself.” He added, “Yul was like a rock while Steve was volatile.”62 Egged on by McQueen, others joined in the fun, referring to Brynner as “the pig.”63 McQueen also disliked Buchholz and liked it when Bronson mispronounced his name as “Hoss.”64 McQueen took to calling on Vaughn early in the morning to moan about the latest Brynner “outrage,” complaining about his nemesis having a gun with a pearl handle or that his horse was bigger.65 In retaliation against what he saw as upstaging, Brynner had an assistant report

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all unscripted moves, eventually confronting Sturges, who reserved the right to let the actors experiment, knowing he could edit out what did not work.66 Michelangelo Capua claimed that the scene in which Brynner removed his hat, revealing his bald head, was a result of his exasperation with McQueen’s scene-stealing antics.67 (Variety had reported on January 14 that Brynner was only going to “don a sombrero when the sun beat down.”) McQueen refused to attend Brynner’s wedding and tried to sustain the feud later with snippy remarks like “Yul Brynner’s nice. He’s short but he’s nice.”68 Vaughn put the McQueen saga into perspective. “Obviously I was too naïve to comprehend the depth and villainy of the conspiracy against him…. In later years, Steve’s paranoia continued to expand even when he was the highestpaid actor in the world.”69 How much annoyance Brynner created at the time and how much was churned up in retrospect was hard to decipher. Mirisch said Brynner never let the others forget he was a very big star.70 James Coburn complained that it was not possible to just walk up to Brynner for a chat; one had to request “an audience.”71 Reality dictated that neophyte actors would not want to upset a star in case he vetoed their casting on a future picture. But it was one thing trying to take down a big star a peg or two and another to try and bully a newcomer. Horst Buchholz always referred to the experience as “fun”72 but McQueen constantly badgered him.73 The idea of continuous friction between all the actors is another myth. Coburn was to a large extent responsible for encouraging this idea, often quoted as saying something along the lines of “Sturges encouraged off-screen tension in the belief that if we hated each other off-screen that feeling would carry over and make our on-screen work more exciting.” That was in 1964. But in 1978 he said the opposite. “I didn’t feel as if I were competing with the others.”74 The earlier quote was the one that stuck and in later years what Coburn was apt to repeat. But there was a difference between genuine friction on set and the actors doing their jobs and it is clear sometimes that commentators could not tell the difference. Coburn’s comments have been misunderstood. In the context of the movie, there was no reason for the gunfighters to hate each other. They were meant to be colleagues and the idea that any one would be a threat to another could risk their lives. Sturges needed to ensure that this inexperienced group of actors did not phone in their roles or froze on the big occasion, that they were alive to the possibilities and, most important of all, that the screen sizzled with their presence. Many moments tagged as scene-stealing or improvising were nothing of the sort. An actor was expected to turn up on set with a character’s mannerisms intact. Coburn’s distinctive lope fell into this category as would Bronson’s merciless stare. Nor can one steal a scene— Wallach licking his fingers—in which one was the main character. A good director listened to good ideas. Similarly, actors lived for death scenes and Robert Vaughn’s improvisation provided a memorable hook for an underwritten character—he had only had 16 lines. “They’re supposed to dream up things,” explained Sturges.75 Cinema was a visual medium and what one did in a scene might prove more memorable than what one said. The myth of the scene-stealing young bucks was created by Erskine Johnson reporting from the set. “Who lives and who dies is always in the script,” he wrote, “but the name of the actor or actors destined to steal the film is not.” He saw the movie as “an acting and personality duel.” The curious thing was that he did not write this in relation to the supporting

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actors stealing the film from Brynner. He saw Eli Wallach as the main danger to the other members of the cast. He was convinced Wallach would walk away with the film and that everyone except Brynner would have their work cut out to stop him.76 It is true that Sturges encouraged actors to come up with their own ideas—that was the way he worked. Just as he did not set out to dictate to his cameraman, so he held back with actors. Director George Stevens had told him, “Always let actors do what they want to do first, you’re in control and if you don’t like it you can change it.”77 Sturges trusted actors. He believed in their innate intelligence. “They make a contribution of their own taste and talent within the concept of a scene and how it should be staged. It might be very good and if it isn’t there’s no harm.”78 Eli Wallach concurred with this approach. “What I like about John Sturges was he never imposed his choice on the actor. If he liked what you’d done we moved on to the next scene. If he didn’t he’d say let’s try it again.”79 Coburn explained that the film was storyboarded and the director shot the film according to this conception. But within the staging of the scene as laid down, actors were free to do what they liked. Rather than objecting to improvisation, Sturges counted on actors coming up with ideas. He more or less turned you loose. As far as your performance was concerned, he would just give you a little indication of what he would like to happen. I don’t think I had a conversation with him that was directly on to the character. He gave you the stage. The camera was where he wanted and the lines and action had to be right. But the interpretation of it was yours.80

However, it has to be said there was nothing unusual in Sturges’ approach. Most directors hired actors for what they could bring to a picture. An actor’s personality was a shortcut to achieving a director’s ambitions. Very few directors dictated every aspect of what an actor did on screen—it would have been exhausting with everything else a director had to contend with. Sturges preferred giving actors freedom. “I don’t like newcomers to be ‘Yes’ actors either. I’ve had wonderful new ideas from these young fellows who keep pitching all the time. They can use any method they want as long as they play the scene.”81 It has been suggested that Sturges backed down from confronting McQueen and putting him in his place or damping down on the over-enthusiastic supporting cast who each sensed an opportunity to make their name. Directors pick actors for looks or character and contrasting styles so, in essence, want to present their personas in the best possible light. Apart from Brynner, none of the other actors had been given a chance to stamp their authority on the screen and the Sturges realized that this film might create the screen personas for a group of actors. To put in perspective the size of McQueen’s original role, he was only down for seven lines, although they included the classic “Never rode shotgun on a hearse before.” He, for one, would not be happy until his role increased, and the others, eager to make their mark, would chip in with ideas and requests. The impression is given that McQueen built up his part with endless nagging, but Sturges liked to see more bits of business than other directors. Compare this film to The Guns of Navarone, for example, being made around the same time, and with a similar large cast to accommodate, and it is evident that director J. Lee Thompson, despite dealing with bigger stars, largely eliminated scene-stealing. Nor was Sturges unable to handle testosterone on set. He had worked with tougher hombres, the incendiary Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Spencer Tracy and Frank Sinatra, who liked to wrap things in one

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take. But his directing style encouraged the actors to try harder. He did not spend much time with the actors, coaxing them through their lines, preferring to concentrate on individual scenes or the action sequences. The presence of a screenwriter on set for the whole shoot was too good an opportunity to miss. He was putting pressure on himself in doing so, trying to flesh out the characters and hone every line. Other reports from the set flatly contradicted the suggestion that it was a maelstrom of dissent. The publicists’ dream of the actors gelling so much that they became best pals and went around together in one big group was never going to materialize and while the idea of them forming cliques (which assumes exclusion) was too strong an inference, in general it was clear they all got along. Michelangelo Capua, in his biography of Brynner, said the atmosphere on set was relaxed, adding that “most episodes reported by the press (and by McQueen’s biographers) were made up.”82 After the long hours and the pressure of carrying the show on Wanted: Dead or Alive, the movie was like a vacation to McQueen, working with old friends and living it up. “It was a ball,” he said.83 Not only had he acted before with Bronson and Coburn, but he and Wallach went way back to the Neighborhood Theatre and the Actor’s Studio and he had encountered Vaughn at an audition. Coburn and McQueen headed off to the mountains to smoke grass, get high and drive fast cars. Old friends Vaughn and Coburn spent time together.84 Brynner and Dexter played gin rummy, Dexter mostly the loser, and the pair of them sat down to play five-card draw with McQueen and Vaughn.85 Brynner and Buchholz bonded.86 By dint of having neighboring rooms in the hotel, McQueen, Vaughn and Bronson spent a great deal of time in each other’s company.87 Vaughn discussed Russian theater with Brynner. “There had been no plan of mine to chat about The Method. It just happened, and it created a bond between Yul and me.”88 Horst Buchholz and wife Myriam entertained the actors by the poolside where Brynner strummed a guitar.89 Brynner’s wedding was the social highlight of the shoot.90 Brad Dexter acted as the tour guide; he knew every bar and nightclub and the places where more exotic desires could be fulfilled and even wangled a visit to the home of the legendary Dolores del Río.91 Wallach was taken under the wing of the actors and extras who made up his posse of bandits and they hit the town as a group.92 Sturges was too busy womanizing to join in. There are pictures of Vaughn, McQueen and Coburn whiling away the time between takes with golf clubs. Location photographs show the actors at ease, eating together or playing cards. Bronson was the odd one out, fulfilling the role of misanthrope, though, apparently, it only took a passing senorita to take him out of himself.93 But that was at odds with reports of him on location with his wife Harriet.94 His taciturnity was also misplaced for he was good company on a one-on-one basis, just clamming up in groups.95 A great deal of what is known about the filming has come from the perspective of one particular actor or another and then passed on as if it applied to everyone. For example, the notion has arisen that the movie was being completely rewritten as it went along. And while it was true that a screenwriter was on set all the time, busily rewriting, it was certainly not the case that there were gaping holes in the structure. What is true is that Robert Vaughn’s part needed work and that, because he had such a small part, he spent a lot of time sitting around. He told Variety he was on the set for five weeks but worked just three days, and even got time off to attend the Oscars ceremony. “They are rewriting the script each day. So I

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play poker all day—and I’m doing all right too.” At night the next day’s scene would be slid under the doors of their hotel rooms.96 It is easy to make the mistake of deducing from Vaughn’s comments that it was the entire script that was being rewritten, that the movie was in chaos, whereas the reality was this was an extremely common practice on many movies and that, as shown in the section dealing with the screenplay, although many words were changed, the core of the Walter Newman screenplay remained. It was not as if Sturges was uncertain where the movie was going or what each scene had to achieve. One of the problems the film faced was that it failed to deliver on the promise of new stars to newspapermen. None of the new stars had much to say for themselves, some, like Bronson, as taciturn when faced with the media as Brynner. Buchholz got by with the old cliché of a foreigner adapting to the western in the vein of “Until he arrived in Mexico, Horst Buchholz had never seen a corral, a doggie or an arroyo.”97 But journalists balked at the prospect of filing copy on such uninteresting youngsters. The publicists’ job was to ensure everyone received coverage, reducing reporters to scraps. Vaughn told how his pocket got picked—in reverse. Someone had stuffed a wallet into his pocket. It turned out the item had been stolen from someone else and was full of papers but no money.98 Coburn was mentioned by columnist Barney Glazer in the same breath as newcomers Fabian, Frankie Avalon and James Darren. “James Coburn will draw the younger crowd … while Yul Brynner teaches the youngster how to build up and maintain and a loyal following.”99 Sokoloff was once arrested for swimming in the Trevi Fountain in Rome trying to rescue a young lady’s fur coat.100 Eli Wallach was, by far, the best value for money. He was good for a quote (“Heavies should be played no heavier than the essence of fine perfume”101) and even better with the anecdotes. No great horseman, he would regale the journalists with tales of his inadequacies, how he pleaded with the director not to shout “action” in case the horse bolted. “We did a couple of rehearsals, this horse and I. And when the shooting started, the horse would turn round and look at me as if to say, you just sit there in the saddle and I’ll take care of the rest.”102 He was as fascinated as the newspapermen by the gold caps on his teeth. When drinking tequila began melting the cement on the caps, he went to a Mexican dentist who repaired them with anti-tequila cement.103 Seeing them for the first time his wife Anne Jackson feared he had been kicked in the mouth by a horse and lost his own teeth. Cleaning house one day, she threw away the gold caps, worth $300.104 He turned down the advice of the dentist who wanted to improve the caps with diamonds. Wallach, a keen amateur artist, took his paints and easels on location. But instead of painting the spectacular scenery, he stayed in his hotel room painting an image from memory that he termed “The New York Skyline on a Murky Day.”105 Wallach had the most fun. Emilio Fernandez furnished him with a genuine sombrero, so big Sturges needed to trim it with scissors.106 Wallach played Calvera as a man who enjoyed his ill-gotten gains. He learned to ride from his gang, only needing a double once, but was reprimanded by Sturges for a stray hand that bounced as if he was typing as he rode,107 but his gunplay was woeful, the camera often catching him looking down to locate his pistol.108 By the end of shoot, Wallach had hijacked the publicity. Given the unprecedented opportunity afforded the film as a result of the rest of Hollywood

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being idle, it was an unmitigated PR disaster. Brynner himself called in a PR expert.109 Sensing trouble ahead, UA had flown in media boss Leon Roth.110 If anybody had bothered to do their homework, they would have realized Brynner was one of the most uncooperative stars—he was nominated for the annual Sour Apple Award by the Hollywood Women’s Press Club that year because of his attitude. The Mexicans invented a word for his behavior— “Brynnismo.”111 The local press complained that “they were taboo on set even when they went through PR channels.” Toward the end of the shoot, to placate the locals and concerned that the film could be boycotted or banned on release, Brynner agreed to become an informal spokesman for the industry.112 Once he emerged from the travails of dealing with the Mexican press and censor, Sturges showed the young bucks how to play the publicity game. He told Erskine Johnson that he was fated to work with actors that Hollywood perceived as difficult. “They’re not difficult and I feel cheated,” said Sturges. He did not want to tamper with the “certain something” that had made them stars and he was not going to worry about their time-keeping. Nor did he expect harmony on set, with stars agreeing with everything he said. “Complete agreement between director and star usually ends in disaster.” He cited actress Ingrid Bergman who married director Roberto Rossellini. They were great working apart but terrible together because neither contradicted the other, so work was not questioned in the normal way.113 He owed William Wyler the best advice he ever got about dealing with actors. Wyler said: “Get good actors and the problems never arise.”114 Sturges had the best anecdote, a love scene at the side of a bubbling brook with twittering birds and sunlight shimmering on the water. “A sudden oink interrupted this exchange of passion.” A couple of Mexican pigs invaded the scene. They were stubborn pigs and their owner was stubborn too. It transpired that pigs had water rights. An unwritten law of the land decreed this whether a Hollywood movie company was shooting or not. “We were set up so there was nothing else we could do but shoot the love scene in close-up while the pigs out of camera range slurped up water.”115

9 Steve McQueen, Scene Stealer, Elmer Bernstein, Scene Setter McQueen made one major miscalculation in his war against Brynner. He was fighting the wrong guy. It was not the star that McQueen should have been trying to upstage, but Buchholz. In essence, McQueen was Brynner’s sidekick. He appeared in many scenes, but without any great purpose. He had the occasional zinger of a line, but that was not unusual as the great lines were evenly distributed among the supporting cast. Only once did he instigate action. Where he shouldered emotional weight it was by default. In a western where almost everyone was diving and shooting, he only had one opportunity to display a different skill to anyone else and that was when, chasing away the bandits, he fired a rifle single-handed on horseback. His bold introduction in the hearse sequence was immediately undercut by his reappearance in the saloon when he gambled away all his money on one throw of the dice. That defined him as either an all-or-nothing guy or an immature loser. Buchholz had more pivotal scenes than anyone else, in several hogging the screen, whereas Brynner, for the most part, shared his screen space with McQueen or one of the others. Even while on the periphery, Buchholz stole scenes. Although not at the center of the action when Brynner and McQueen drove the hearse up the hill, his presence infiltrated and one could not help being intrigued when Sturges repeatedly brought him into shot. He was properly introduced during the recruitment drive, humiliated that he could not draw faster than Brynner could clap. McQueen must have been biting his tongue off in envy. The other mercenaries were older, hard-bitten, and therefore unlikely to get tangled up in their emotions. They had less material to deal with on screen. Playing an inexperienced young buck, Buchholz was presented with one opening after another to act his head off. In the recruitment section, the standouts were Buchholz and Coburn. In fact, Buchholz had two stabs at being recruited, the second the drunken confrontation with Brynner. Chalk up another scene to Buchholz. On the ride towards the village, the camera restlessly returned to him. He was all anyone could talk about. In the scene-stealing stakes there was little to beat his response when Brynner summoned him to join the gang and he gestured back for them to join him. A third of the way into the picture and McQueen had had only two big scenes—on the hearse where his bits of business attracted attention, although the scene belonged to Brynner, and the few seconds it took him to lose his money. By contrast, Buchholz had 116

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enjoyed three memorable scenes—his recruitment, being drunk, and then his stalking of the group topped by catching fish. At the village, while the mercenaries stood around puzzled, Buchholz summoned the hiding villagers and then took center stage to berate them. He inveigled his way into the Coburn-Vaughn expedition to catch a bandit and played a key part in the action. Then he got all the romance. Normally, in a big picture like this it would be the star who won the girl. In a sense, Buchholz was telling the story of all the mercenaries. Their younger versions had to choose between first love and adventure. Not only was Buchholz rewarded with the love scenes, he was presented with the one true comedic scene, the mock bullfight. Taking place just before the one-hour mark, it afforded Buchholz four minutes of screen time almost to himself. The budding romance set the tone for the next scene when the gunfighters were being fed. When the snipers opened fire, Sturges focused on Buchholz’s near miss, signaled by the hole in the hat, before turning to Bronson and the children. Sneaking off to the enemy camp gave Buchholz another major scene. Finally, of course, young love intervened and he returned to the village. Counting not just his lines but the scenes where he was either the main character or played a central role, in pure screen time Buchholz had a far bigger part than McQueen. For all his little bits of business, there was no way McQueen could compete with what was in the script. To a large extent, movie careers depended on luck and it would be interesting to debate whether McQueen’s would have fizzled out except for The Great Escape. Were we not able to look back on The Magnificent Seven from the perspective of his later films, would his part in this film have appeared a lot less significant? Looking back, expecting to find the chrysalis of the later actor, what we find is something else, a busy, fidgety actor, nothing like the man who would mature into Bullitt. For practical purposes half the cast was laconic or downright truculent since cutting dialogue was the easiest way to pare roughly an hour from the original. Introducing the main characters had to be done quickly, so it helped if they were distinctive. Some did it by their clothing—Wallach reveled in spending his ill-gotten gains on fine clothes. Vaughn was a dandy. Coburn had a loping gait. Bronson used his scowl. Just by keeping on his hat, Brynner stood out from the start. Characters were defined in a series of snapshots—Vin broke after gambling, hothead Chico, O’Reilly gruff and boastful, gunman-on-the-run Lee, smarmy exterior disguising a loss of confidence, Britt faster with a knife than a gun, Harry who believed the trip had an ulterior motive. Everyone invested in their character with bits of business, McQueen shaking shotgun shells in his ear, Wallach sucking water from his fingers, Coburn just with his lope. Vaughn, Wallach and Coburn improvised their death scenes. Brynner might have been irritated at McQueen’s antics but, as an experienced professional, knew the camera would follow him, regardless of what was going on, and that he would have the key lines in the main scenes. Brynner was already one step ahead. His outfit made him the visual center of attention and by keeping his hat on created subtle tension with an audience awaiting its removal. Sturges played fair with his supporting cast. Almost everyone was given a little cameo to provide their character with more depth. Bronson showed an unexpectedly paternal side. Vaughn’s cowardice was seen in flashes, unnoticed by the others, unspoken, until his nightmare, its psychological repercussions revealed to the villagers rather than the other gunfighters.

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From a writer’s perspective this meant his secret remained safe from his colleagues. If they knew, it could trigger conflict, and dealing with it would require extra scenes the movie had, literally, no time for. Partly, it was from a selfish actor’s point of view. With only the villagers watching, he did not need to share the scene. Coburn, who received the least screen time, had two of the highlights, his introduction and his marksmanship. Most of Dexter’s scenes involved him trying to wheedle from the villagers the truth about the gold he imagined hidden in the hills. Only Buchholz and Vaughn had true story arcs. Buchholz wanted to be a gunfighter and ended up a villager. Vaughn was a coward who died a hero. Were the film made today, each character would be supplied with more of a back story, their actions explained in terms of their previous life. Their relationships would be more overt, initial hostility turning to friendship in the vein of The Dirty Dozen or intermittent conflict as in The Wild Bunch. The idea of widespread scene-stealing has become so fixed that is it astonishing to discover it is built on a false premise. The fact that actors, director and producer all commented on scene-stealing did not mean that much took place. If it did, it was stamped out early because it is not apparent in the finished movie. Bronson, Coburn, Vaughn and Dexter are not seen indulging in bits of business to attract the audience’s attention; that Buchholz did was understandable as his character was young and excitable. But there was one exception to this. Steve McQueen brazenly attempted to steal every single scene he was in. The myth that Brynner was an overbearing actor to work with and that McQueen was trying to put him in his place has been created to overlook the often excruciating scene-stealing practiced by McQueen. You could get the impression Sturges tolerated or even endorsed it but Penina Speigel in Steve McQueen: The Unauthorized Story of a Bad Boy in Hollywood, related that the James Coburn’s knife-throwing and long-range shooting were director told him to “quit foolamong the most fondly-remembered scenes in The Magnifiing around.” cent Seven (United Artists, 1960). With those two scenes in McQueen’s scene-stealing his armory, he needed to do little else to remind audiences of his presence. was only inadvertently aimed at

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Brynner. There was no question who was the star of the picture and it was unlikely that anyone at the time believed McQueen was going to blow Brynner off the screen. In this picture, Brynner was the cool one. He had the walk, the clothes, the cigar. He was at the center of the main storyline, made all the decisions, issued all the instructions, led all the confrontations, and, as was the star’s right, got to kill the bandit leader at the end. Scene-stealing was McQueen’s game plan from the start. The bulk happened within the frame, i.e., in a two-shot or a three-shot or even a scene with more characters. If Sturges did not endorse it, he certainly encouraged it, but not, as everyone imagined, to encourage competition between the actors. There was another reason—a desperately practical one. Put simply, as a sidekick, McQueen had very little to do. He and Brynner did not share “buddy” moments, he did not rescue anyone and he lacked his own story. For the most part he did little except walk in Brynner’s shadow. Eliminate all those scenes where his presence was unnecessary and he would hardly be in the picture at all. And since he was in so many scenes, he would have looked like a piece of furniture had he not made sure that, one way or another, he was going to be noticed. People tended to give his scene-stealing a lot of leeway because his best improvisation came at the very beginning, shaking the shells in his ear. This was pointless, of course, but a nice touch. Then he took off his hat, apparently to check where the sun was (as if he had not worked that out before). After they had concluded the burial and he and Brynner had taken a drink from the salesman, he once again removed his hat and played with it. Crossing the street with Brynner, McQueen took the shells from the shotgun and appeared to weigh them in his hand as if tempted to listen to them again. When the salesman departed, leaving the gunslingers to finish the bottle, McQueen balanced the bottle on the fence. After losing his money, he sat down with Brynner and the villagers and, guess what, once again took off his hat and played with it and, as if that was not enough to attract attention, steepled his fingers. As he and Brynner went to recruit Bronson, just as they approached the ranch hand to ask where he was, we saw McQueen walk behind Brynner. Once again, McQueen took off his hat—and put it back on—before we got to Bronson. In the introduction to James Coburn, just as he clicked open his knife, Sturges cut to the watching Brynner and McQueen and McQueen was taking a cigarette out of his mouth. McQueen liked to make more out of objects, especially drinking vessels. In the bar with the villagers, before a drunken Buchholz appeared, McQueen sniffed a bottle and then regarded his glass as if he had never seen it before. On Buchholz’s arrival, he toyed with the glass. The Vaughn recruitment scene has been shortened. How did we know this? Because outside the room, McQueen had his hat on and inside he had his hat off. At the campfire scene, McQueen was hatless, but by this time Coburn had realized what was going on because they were the only ones with their hats off. The story was told in the Spiegel biography. McQueen, as they crossed the river, bent down from the saddle to scoop up water and sprinkle it on his chest while behind him Bronson undid his shirt and flexed his muscles and Coburn “did about three acts of Hamlet.” (McQueen stole this idea from the script, Buchholz doing the same before encountering the girl.) Clearly, the scene was reshot, evidence of Sturges stamping out rampant scene-stealing, rather than the opposite. Perhaps it was to restrict this kind of en masse improvisation that Sturges arranged them in this sequence the way he did. McQueen did not ride directly behind

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Brynner. That place was given to Jorge Martinez de Hoyas (Hilario), then came McQueen followed by Coburn and the other two Mexicans with Bronson, Dexter and Buchholz way at the back. As they were in single file riding in the direction of the camera, it was well nigh impossible to pick out those at the rear. That said, McQueen was sly enough to be the only one to keep his hat off for most of the scene. With perfect timing, just at the point where he passed the camera, he put his hat back on. In the campfire sequence that followed, they were all at it. Bronson adopted Coburn’s characteristics of dozing and tipping up his hat. Coburn topped that by reading a book (not in the script). Not to be outdone, McQueen fiddled with his saddlebag. Ringing the church bell to summon the hiding villagers was one of Buchholz’s big scenes. Sturges cut to various characters. McQueen had a brief shot in which he was center stage. Even though the only person in view, he maximized the moment by raising his reins and leaning his chin on his hands. When next in shot in the same sequence (and again he was the only person on screen) he removed his hat. Shortly after, Sturges cut to a shot of (in the foreground) the old man, a villager and Brynner—in the background McQueen fanned with his hat. At the fiesta scene, sitting hatless at a table with Dexter, he blew on the stick. It might look cute but was hardly in character and it was almost as if he was trying to steal the scene from Bronson who, at this point, was making the whistle for the girl. When the camera returned to him and Dexter he drank wine then looked down at his cup as if there was something out of place and took his time placing it down. After the fiesta was interrupted, in a two-shot with Dexter, McQueen put on his hat and stood with his holster slung over his shoulder and the next shot of him was buckling his holster on. There was a shot of him and Coburn teaching the villagers to shoot pistols. Before he handed a pistol over, he twirled it, then tucked a finger into the back of his belt. When Buchholz returned with the girl, they were all digging ditches. It was so warm that Brynner had his hat off. So did virtually everyone else—except McQueen. Then Brynner put his hat on and approached Buchholz and in the corner of the frame behind Brynner we saw McQueen sloping up and scratching the back of his head. There was one other genuine piece of improvisation. Whether the script called for McQueen to hoist the girl onto Buchholz’s horse, his hand gesture that followed, which seemed at once to want to pat the girl’s bottom and realized this was inappropriate, offered an insight into his character especially as it was followed by him saying, as if to the departing Buchholz, “Gently. Gently.” He even stole scenes from himself. Teaching the villagers to shoot, he was distracted by the sight of women washing clothes in the river. The scene required him to show longing. A look achieved this but then he played with his necktie. Not only was this overdone, it confused the audience. Was he really so callow? Was this tough guy actually shy with women? Brynner and McQueen set off to persuade the old man to return to the protection of the village. This was the old man’s scene with some great lines. McQueen stroked his chin. Notice his hat was soaked with sweat. In the celebration after the first gun battle, just before it was cut short by a sniper’s bullet, he stood on the edge of the frame twisting his jug and looking down at it. Moments before that, on patrol with Brynner, he was wearing his hat. Joining Brynner for a celebratory drink, he threw his hat down. When all the gunfighters were in the back room reflecting on their profession, McQueen, in a two-shot with Coburn, was playing with something in his fingers. When Buchholz departed with his sombrero,

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McQueen came forward to where Brynner was sitting and removed his hat and poured wine. While Dexter was teaching the villagers the game, McQueen, picking at food, managed a theatrical bulge in his cheek. Buchholz interrupted the scene and everyone left and McQueen rubbed his face in a thoughtful manner. His over-acting here was woeful. In his scene with Chris, talking about settling down, he fingered his hat unnecessarily because this was his scene. At the start of the final shootout, McQueen had his shirt unbuttoned. McQueen was also the only one of the stars who thought to bring a spare shirt. The Mexican recruiters put on their Sunday best, Hilario in red and the others in striped or patterned shirts, changing back into spotless white back at the village. McQueen apart, the others wore the same outfits from start to finish, Brynner in black, Bronson in blue denim, Vaughn not appearing to remove his gloves for the entire picture. At the beginning, McQueen sported a gray shirt but for the fiesta changed to a salmon pink one. Trapped in the village after failing to find the bandits in the hills, McQueen on horseback pressed down with both hands on the pommel. When their guns were taken by Wallach, and Brynner and McQueen were together, he played with his hat. In the last scene with Brynner, McQueen did not give up— he fingered his reins. Eli Wallach claimed that McQueen was always asking Sturges to reduce his number of lines. Close examination of the screenplay showed nothing to back up this claim. If anything, Sturges may have incurred McQueen’s wrath for deleting one of his key scenes. The idea of the competitiveness between the actors has been blown out of all proportion, partly as a consequence of nothing going wrong. There were no disasters, no other incidents of any note, and there was the sense, as with all legendary pictures, that somehow there should be more to latch onto, more happening on set than was the case. It is no coincidence that the most common complaint of movie actors on set is boredom. In some senses McQueen did not need to dominate the others. He received third billing in the picture which meant, Wallach apart, he was second top dog. Pro-McQueen elements have played up his supposed rivalry with Brynner. Brynner could hardly be blamed for enjoying the trappings of stardom. Hollywood tried to cosset its stars on location. In Los Angeles, a star would leave his palatial mansion and be driven to the studio in style and on set would have a trailer fitted out with every modern convenience and go home at night or out on the town, rubbing shoulders with other celebrities and quaffing champagne. Location was boot camp. Location was roughing it, not insulated, as in a studio, from excessive heat or cold or insects. The nearest town might not be much of a town and the hotels nothing compared to what he was accustomed and the best room in the best hotel only bearable. Trailers, flunkeys, palms trees and fishponds were the system’s way of compensating for what otherwise a star would enjoy in Hollywood. In the end Brynner was guilty of knowing his worth. He was aware of what he contributed to a movie, not just the required screen charisma, but offscreen, too, a man of many interests, more interested in world affairs than most of the breed. More importantly, he had read the script and knew there was nothing McQueen, or anybody, could do to steal the picture. Brynner carried the film, he led the recruitment, he led the team, he confronted the bad guy, and although Wallach and Buchholz had good scenes, they were almost cameos in comparison. What is often forgotten in the McQueen-frenzy was that it was the iconic Brynner look, steely-eyed and professional and emotionally cold and dressed in black and smoking a long cigar, that set the tone for the revolution in westerns.

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The fact that McQueen primarily relied on headgear and drinking vessels for his scenestealing was both pragmatic and thematic. Much of the action, as one might expect, took place in bars and cantinas, and it was as if McQueen had decided to take advantage of the script in always being apparently undecided how to hold his bottle or cup. The other gunmen were identified by their hats. Chris had the no-nonsense black hat, Vaughn a gambler’s hat. Buchholz’s metamorphosis occurred after he donned the dead Mexican’s hat. Vin had the most scuffed and dirty hat ever seen. It was continually stained as if he had the sweatiest head in existence. If one wanted to let rip with Freudian analysis, one could venture that the endless fidgeting derived from a lack of identity. The number of times McQueen removed his hat—nine. Scenes involving fiddling with drinking implements—four. The final piece of “casting” did not take place until much later. That was the recruitment of Elmer Bernstein to write the score.1 He was not the first choice, nor even the second. Sturges wanted Dmitri Tiomkin but they fell out when the composer insisted on a song overlaying the credits as in High Noon.2 Aaron Copland himself had been mooted as a possibility and in June Alex North (Exodus) was reported to have watched the film as preparation for writing the score3—contrary to the way Sturges like to instruct composers. Bernstein, born in New York in 1922, had been composing from an early age and for a short period was a dancer.4 His father collected opera and jazz recordings and Elmer remembered as a child listening to Italian tenor Enrico Caruso and jazz maestro Louis Armstrong.5 Taken to concerts, he was enthralled by Bach’s St. Matthew Passion and was enrolled for piano lessons and yearned to become a musician.6 “I was always fooling around on the piano. I would improvise things. My piano teacher … instead of disciplining me … became interested in this improvisation. She took me to see this young rising star, Aaron Copland.”7 Bernstein played a little A minor waltz he had composed8 This time the hat stays on. McQueen in action in The Magnificent Seven (United Artists, 1960)—with a sweat-soaked and was encouraged by Cophat. land. “From the age of 14,” said

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Bernstein, “music was clearly going to be what I would do.” Bernstein saved up his money to buy Mahler recordings, finding himself attracted to the madness in the music and influenced by the orchestral concepts and colors.9 After the war he became a concert pianist and was influenced by Copland’s Appalachian Spring, written in 1944, and by the “energy and rhythmic excitement” of Bartok. He gave one of the first performances of Bartok’s Piano Sonata in New York City, learning more about orchestral color from his Dance Suite.10 After working in radio, he composed his first movie score in 1951, Saturday’s Hero (1951). Politics threatened his burgeoning career. He was “graylisted” after appearing before a HUAC subcommittee during the McCarthy era.11 He was “unemployable in the grand sense”12 until rescued by Otto Preminger for The Man with the Golden Arm (1955), the jazzoriented score earning an Oscar nomination, up against Max Steiner (Battle Cry), George Duning (Picnic), Alex North (The Rose Tattoo) and winner Alfred Newman (Love Is a Many Splendored Thing). More significant, however, was The Ten Commandments the following year. He was hired to do the dance music, but the illness of Victor Young meant he ended up writing the entire score. He lobbied for The Big Country13 (1958) without success but Jerome Moross’s music, in the Copland idiom, introduced a new, sweeping sound to westerns. Film composing was going through a dramatic change. When Alfred Newman, head of music at Fox, left after a quarter of a century staff composer positions vanished.14 This provided more creative freedom, but the downside was lack of financial stability. Another fashion was producers preferring novelty to suitability. Bernstein objected to this trend. “The only yardstick as to measuring proper sound is when the music fits the mood of the sequence. And not because the tempo is different. Music is chemistry and notes must be mixed properly so that it matches the action taking place.”15 The success of the Peter Gunn television series heavily influenced television and movie producers into incorporating jazz themes and Bernstein found himself forced to create such a score for the series Johnny Staccato,16 although it did prove popular and was a top ten British hit.17 By 1960 Bernstein had developed enough of a following to be featured on the Music Is My Beat show on KABC-TV which played selections from The Man with the Golden Arm, Some Came Running, The Ten Commandments, Rat Race and From the Terrace.18 The Magnificent Seven was a sort of cause for me; it was one of the few times when I put myself out of order to get it. I had all these ideas for the use of idiomatic music looking for a place to go.19 I really loved the westerns … addressed themselves to a particular kind of Americana which started with Aaron [Copland]. In my early years I spent a lot of time with American folk music. It was like discovering a magic world … it was part of my musical heritage.20

Bernstein did not watch the film. He received instruction in a different way from the director. “John loved music,” said Bernstein. “I think he would have happily stripped all the dialogue out of all the movies he ever made.”21 He had a unique way of being able to sit with a composer and just enthuse him with the character of a picture,22 by simply telling the story. When Bernstein did screen the movie, he realized music was needed to compensate for lack of pace and drive it along.23 He did not compose at the piano. “I’m always highly suspicious of sitting at a piano and letting my fingers do the thinking,” he said.24 In essence, the music he composed was “basically symphonic in character.”25 But Bernstein knew that his idiomatic ideas had found perfect expression. “Every once in a while—it doesn’t happen often—you hit on something that really feels quite thrilling. The opening rhythm … was like a surge of energy.”26

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The music was not complete until August. Recording took place at the end of the month on the Goldwyn lot.27 Reaction was divided. “My score scared the producer a bit,” said the composer. “ John heard it and loved it.”28 Sturges thought it one of the best scores ever written.29 Kevin Hughes of the Bernsteinwest website (so named because in 1960 critic Raymond Kendall had christened Elmer the West Coast Bernstein to differentiate him from east coast namesake Leonard Bernstein) went further. This is The Perfect Score. From the main title to the last frame of film, there is not a wasted or unnecessary note, not a single misstep in how best to approach a scene; more than this, it sounds like nothing movie audiences had ever heard before in the context of a film; overtly masculine, the score also contains moments of great tenderness and folk music that honors the lives of the Mexican farmers. Its energy and kineticism are as heroic as the larger-than-life characters that fill the screen.

The movie did not begin with the “galloping riff that has become part of popular movie culture.” The score started with huge chords indicating action and a string section before the main theme and then a counterpoint melody written for brass that segued into the softer, strummed guitar variation of the theme, where woodwinds carried the melody. The title sequence ended with a repeat of the main theme. For Calvera’s theme, wood blocks, tympani, and low strings created rhythm interspersed with hints of flamenco music. When the mercenaries ate, Bernstein composed a Mexican folk melody played on a flamenco guitar which exhibited a “wonderfully earthy quality.” As the gunfighters taught the villagers to shoot, the composer introduced a Mexican theme using piccolo and flute to emphasize “the innocence of the farmers and how the Seven are gradually won over by the people they’ve come to protect.” Mariachi trumpets sounded as villagers erected the defensive net. For the battles, the music used variations on Calvera’s theme and prologue of the main titles. “His music heightens the action to a level where you almost begin to hyperventilate.” The music for the final theme indicated “peace and a new beginning for the farmers” before the main theme began, quietly building up to a “boisterous ending fanfare” as Brynner and McQueen rode off. Bernstein reaped the financial and artistic rewards. Mirisch gave him a five-picture deal.30 He was nominated for an Oscar. Until Jaws and Star Wars, it was probably the bestknown theme song in Hollywood history. The American Film Institute ranked the score as the eighth-best of all time.

10 Breaking the Rules What most people remember about the film are the ride on the hearse, Brynner clapping his hands, the recruitment of Coburn, an over-the-top Wallach, McQueen rattling shells, Bronson and the children, Coburn’s long-distance shot and the battles. There are enough great lines to fill Boot Hill and everything is driven by the score. The film has become a classic by subverting cliché. Although motivations are occasionally fudged, and a few plot points are of dubious provenance, the narrative drive is underpinned by an overwhelming sense of loss. Originality begins with the casting. This movie should have starred John Wayne, Gary Cooper, Burt Lancaster, Gregory Peck, Alan Ladd, Glenn Ford or maybe even Randolph Scott. Why? Because every major western in the last 15 years featured one of them. In that case, why is Brynner so well cast? Because he brings freshness. Casting can be a lazy director’s shorthand. Use any of the others and the audience would know what to expect. The movie kicks off with a different kind of bandit. The charming Calvera (Eli Wallach) is a far cry from the more thuggish of the species. He invites sympathy for his situation, his responsibilities excusing his greed. He seems too good to be true, a bit boastful, perhaps, and fond of throwing his weight around, but decent enough until he shoots dead a dissenting villager. After discussing their options—running away, hiding their food, doing nothing— three villagers including Hilario seek the counsel of the old man (Vladimir Solokoff ). Traditionally, old men calm young men. Not this one. “Fight. You must fight.” The weaklings protest they do not know how. The old man retorts, “Then learn. Or die.” The villagers arrive in an unspecified town in the middle of a funeral. Cue hymns and solemn speeches. Not here. This is funeral interruptus. Nobody will drive the hearse because the dead man is an Indian. “I didn’t know you had to be anything but a corpse to get into Boot Hill,” comments a traveler. Great lines like this are usually allocated to the star. Not here. Chris and Vin take on the task. We know they are tough because they hail from tough towns, Dodge City and Tombstone. In westerns, crisis begets crisis. However it begins, it soon veers off into screaming and yelling. Not here. Whatever these men have to say for themselves it does not involve a shouting match. High content is delivered in low volume. To raise the stakes in The Guns of Navarone, writer-producer Carl Foreman fleshes out the movie with females, an element lacking in Alistair Maclean’s book. As well as heightening emotion, the women’s purpose, from the script’s perspective, is to throw a more sympathetic light on male personality. In The Magnificent Seven only Chico is permitted romantic entanglement and his youth strangles 125

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his emotions. In most westerns characters are black and white. Here they are shades of each other. Vin is a younger version of Chris, more open to life’s potential. They have all been Chico the glory-seeker, felt the terrors racking Lee, like Britt killed a fool, like Harry dreamed of the pot of gold that would allow them to retire (the “one last job” cliché of so many crime films), and like O’Reilly boasted, if only to themselves, of their true worth. On the way up the hill, Vin shoots a sniper. The point of the sniper’s bullet ruining Chris’s cigar is to show he does not flinch. (Frances Ford Coppola pays homage to this scene in The Godfather when Al Pacino, outside the hospital where his assassinated father lies, discovers his hand does not shake when lighting the cigarette of his companion.) Bad guys, waiting at the top of the hill, are outgunned. Job done, Chris and Vin share a comradely drink in the street and, curiously, part. In another movie, they would carouse. One of the other rules of screenwriting is to remain one step ahead of the audience. The viewer would expect them, having met, to remain together. Instead, they separate, leaving the cinemagoer pondering how, and if, they will get back together. Equally, a good screenwriter dispenses with dialogue wherever possible and the decision by the villagers to ask for help is made with looks exchanged between them. Another attribute is that the story permits time for reflection. Sentimental connections or old scores to settle are usually the reasons gunmen respond to cries for help. Not here. Nor does Chris calm their fears. He could be the old man’s more brutal brother, telling them that once it begins they have to be prepared for killing and more killing until “the reason for it is gone.” Nor does Chris immediately commit. Much later it is inferred that Chris paid the penalty for getting too involved. The recruitment could have been simplified. Two could have come as a team, for example, or met over a glass of whisky in a bar or in a chance encounter. Instead, each is set up in such a way as to define character. The Dirty Dozen is constrained by being forced, since the “applicants” are locked up, to only use dialogue during this process. There is only one locale, an interior. In The Professionals, Lee Marvin only personally recruits Burt Lancaster, the others selected by their employer. The Magnificent Seven uses both interiors and exteriors, and action and inaction, to show what the recruits are made of. It is also worth considering the order in which they appear. Expectations are confounded by having the first applicant, Chico, fail. Westerns concerned with wannabe gunfighters allow them to demonstrate their prowess, shooting cans or bottles or coins in the air. The script deftly sidesteps the obvious by equating drawing a pistol with clapping your hands, the echo deafening as a bullet. The next recruit hides. Chris has to step into the corridor to find Harry (Brad Dexter). They are old friends but not the kind usually found in a western, bound together by riotous behavior or a guilty secret. It is not friendship that motivates this old friend, but greed. An astute filmgoer could tell Vin has to lose his money gambling otherwise poverty would not would not be a motivation. When Vin asks how many have been recruited, Chris holds up one finger. Vin holds up two. The finger holding is entirely redundant. The audience can count. It is not there to help McQueen steal scenes, but to involve the audience, getting movie fans to will the pair to reach their target. For no apparent reason, Vin now accompanies Chris everywhere rather than Harry who knows Chris better. How Chris and Vin arrive at this decision is not made clear. A lot is left unspoken. In this profession, friendships are sealed by riding shotgun for a stranger.

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No scene, either, of discussing who to approach. They simply arrive at destinations. They ride out to a ranch to see O’Reilly (Charles Bronson), a friend of Harry’s. They know he is broke. For a taciturn man, O’Reilly is voluble. He tells us everything we need to know about his present circumstances, except, of course, how he has gone from earning $800 a job to chopping wood. Audience expectation is being played with. Someone must turn Chris down or be involuntarily recruited. The drunk who wakes up to find himself on a mission would be the cliché. It would have been easier to begin with Britt ( James Coburn) snoozing and the argument occurring offscreen. Instead, it is Britt who is kept out of the picture. Wasteful showdowns are often a western prerequisite, a drunk challenging the hero in a bar. This script not only switches locale to a stockyard but swaps gun for knife. We come into the scene toward the end, words about to spin into action, a cowboy itching for a fight. Britt ignores the challenge, not reacting to bullets pumped into the earth. It is just a dummy run. “I won,” crows Wallace. “You lost,” replies Britt. The man insists on going at it again. He learns the truth the hard way, the knife stuck in his chest. Walking away, Britt spots Vin and Chris approaching. We know they are friends because Britt calls Chris’s name. More deception follows. It is only in the next scene that we learn Britt has turned Chris down. “He doesn’t care a hoot about money…. Some care about nothing but money. Others, for reasons of their own, enjoy only the danger. And the competition.” If this sounds like an autobiographical nugget, it is. In referring to Britt, Chris is volunteering information about himself, but the script never wallows in sentiment and this is merely a preamble to the return of Chico, now drunk. There is no showdown because Chris is understanding rather than affronted and does not move under fire. The scene ends not in the departure of the humiliated wannabe but the silent arrival of Britt. Cut to Vin, holding up four fingers. The final recruit is a strange one. Lee is waiting in Chris’s room. Lee is as dandified as Calvera, leather gloves, string tie. He is another hard luck story, on the run, paying for somewhere to hide. There are two curiosities here. The first is that Lee’s circumstances are left conveniently blank. The other interesting element, of course, is that times are tough for even the best killers, putting Lee on an equal footing with the others. The group sets off, riding slowly over the hills, and in the distance, trailing them, is Chico. This would be the opportunity to learn more about the characters with stories told over the campfire. Not here. The film is lean on back story because it needs to be to work. The men look back until Chico disappears and then he is ahead of them. This is not cuteness, but characterization. Chico knows the land better than they do. It intimates he is not the stranger he pretends to be. Their arrival at the village is the best twist of all. We could have guessed they would be welcomed in a traditional style or that Sotero, feeling usurped, would challenge Hilario’s choice of gunmen. At the least, we would expect the village represented in a sympathetic manner. Not here. The one-man reception committee puts one off farmers for life. “They are afraid of everyone and everything. They are afraid of rain, and no rain…. The summer may be too hot, the winter too cold. The sow has no pigs, the farmer is afraid he may starve. She has too many, he’s afraid she may starve.” Suddenly, the church bell rings. Chico appears in the bell tower, the surprise not just that he has taken this action, but that he knows what will happen if he does; in other words,

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he is more familiar than he lets on with village life. Alarmed villagers rush out of hiding to be harangued by Chico, no longer tongue-tied and nervous. “We’re ready to risk our lives to help you. And you hide from us!” Chris says, “Now we’re seven.” Strangers arriving in western towns prompt the appearance of women, singers in saloons, whores in saloons, wholesome teachers, old flames. Another cliché bites the dust. Here are no women. A fiesta has been promised, the founding of the village celebrated with firecrackers and ritual dances. The fiesta is not sufficient to lure the women from concealment. The fiesta overcomes cliché by realism, essential to an audience unwilling, in the wake of films like Bridge on the River Kwai, to be fobbed off with the lazy Hollywood version of a foreign country. While the camera concentrates on the dancers, the gunmen are ostensibly onlookers, Chico lazing in a tree, Harry and Vin at a table. As ever, the script slips in another unexpected detail, not so much O’Reilly carving a wooden whistle, for that is another western cliché, but that he gives it to a little girl, changing our understanding of him, the first crack in the tough façade the characters, and the scriptwriter, have carefully built up. When a young boy races through the village, it transpires that the filmmakers have omitted a piece of information. Chris has posted spotters on the hills. Cue the introduction of a cute little boy who will become the victim of events. Not here. The cute children, when they appear, endanger the visitors, not themselves. Britt and Lee depart to capture a bandit, and Chico sneaks off behind them. Once more the script takes us by surprise. Possibly we are not taken aback by Britt’s coolness, lying down, relaxed, but when he picks up a flower and regards it with awe, then he has our attention. When the bandits suddenly appear, Chico and Britt shoot one apiece and from long range Britt picks off the third. Chico is incredulous, hopping with excitement: “That was the greatest shot I’ve seen.” Britt replies with a zinger. “The worst. I was aiming at the horse.” This iconic publicity photograph from The Magnificent Seven And there is another of those (United Artists, 1960) arranged the actors in the shape of the blink-and-you-missed-it obsernumeral seven. Note they are lined up in the order of their billing. McQueen kept his hat on—and a clean one at that— vations: what is Lee doing when for the occasion. all this is going on?

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Now the villagers appear agreeable to preparing defenses and being taught how to shoot. The script has used the last two scenes to develop character arcs. Harry probes the villagers for the secret location of their gold, or silver, mine. His uneasy glances at Chris show he does not intend to share this information with his compatriots. Scouting the perimeter, Chico engages in a mock bullfight with a cow. This is one of the few pieces of poor judgment in the film, especially if intended for comic relief. Reacting to a noise, Chico finds Petra (Rosenda Monteros) and scoops her up like a veritable cliché and carries her back to the village where the men dig ditches. Exhausted by their labors, the men are plied with food. Suddenly the absent women are present, a scene of them coming out of hiding deemed unnecessary. As before, a scene begins one way and ends another. The start is a subtle and convincing piece of comedy. Budding romance between Chico and Petra is indicated by her reaction to being ignored. To attract his attention, she loads food on his plate. Before this can develop, O’Reilly announces the villagers are starving themselves to feed the gunmen. This, it has to be said, errs on the side of sentimental. The others are too self-absorbed to consider the villagers, but this is consistent with O’Reilly’s tender side. The process of building defenses is dealt with in peremptory fashion, mostly because these played a more vital role in Seven Samurai than they do here. To fill in the time (why else include this scene?) Chris and Vin visit the old man to persuade him to move back into the village. It’s never clear why he lives away from the others, his explanation (“Farmers talk of nothing but fertilizer and women”) comic but unconvincing. It is possible he has been, in some way, banished, since his views on bandits clash with Sotero, but this idea is never explored. The rationale for this scene is likely more prosaic. Since the old man is called upon to deliver the philosophic denouement, he needs another appearance. What is baffling is that, despite the general excellence in developing story ideas, the script fails to capitalize on what appears to be the old man’s defining trait—his bloodlust. As he prescribed killing as the only way to get rid of the bandits, it is odd that he plays no part. The spotters signal the arrival of the bandits. As the men take up their positions, Chris steps out into the square to confront Calvera. The ebullient bandit is unfazed. Confrontation is the key to any western, the good guy in trying to avoid bloodshed often forced to turn the other cheek. That does not occur here. Chris is as confident with words as he is with guns. It is a verbal duel. “New wall,” says Calvera. “Lot of new walls,” answers Chris. “They won’t keep me out,” says Calvera. “Built to keep you in,” replies Chris. “Did you hear that? We’re trapped! All forty of us!” retorts Calvera (for the audience’s benefit, to give us an idea of the odds). Calvera the salesman is every bit as tricky as Calvera the enforcer. After Calvera explains their need for food, Vin chips in, “Solving your problems isn’t our line. We deal in lead, friend.” Calvera changes tack, offering to come to an arrangement, sharing the spoils of the village. Chris protests, “And the people in the village?” Calvera is dismissive. “Can men of our profession worry about things like that?” The conversation proves a distraction to allow the bandits to move into position. The shooting begins. Vin, Britt and Chris dive for cover, Chico retreats into the church, O’Reilly is on the roof, Lee hides. The square is a killing zone. There is nothing honorable about this fight. Horses rear up. Dust spreads like the plague. The bandits are driven into a trap, picked off by Harry and O’Reilly. Calvera and his men escape into the fields. Hilario shoots his first bandit. Leaping onto a horse, Vin gives chase, firing his rifle one-handed.

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Victory celebrations are interrupted by snipers and the resulting chase separates the gunfighters from the group, allowing character development. First up is O’Reilly. He turns protective at the appearance of the children who will get his gun if he dies. He grunts, “Don’t you kids be too disappointed if your plans don’t work out.” Vin and his unlikely sidekick, Hilario, engage in conversation. Or at last Hilario does. Vin looks as if he would rather pull out his own teeth. This is a man-to-man talk, except that for Hilario it is his ascent to manhood after killing a man. It is soldiers’ talk, about fear and danger and adrenaline. The third interlude is between Chico and Petra. Ostensibly, he is on guard and, therefore technically, she could be in danger. They bicker about the other keeping safe. Though threatened with punishment for fraternizing with the gunfighters, she is not frightened of her feelings. The scenes stand on their own and yet are connected, reflecting various stages of the gunfighter experience, from the child desperate to grow up and shoot guns, to the first killing, as sweet to some as a first kiss, and the worry that he might not be cut out for the work, to the women who will throw themselves at him not caring what they will lose— family, honor—in the process. But this film has little time for interludes. The sniper signals the battle is not over. The villagers are uneasy, trying to convince themselves that a sensible man, after such a savaging, would go away. Chris, Vin, Britt and Lee gather in a back room, the first three sipping wine from glasses, Lee knocking it back from his own bottle. The mood is somber. Chico is pumped up, trying on the hat of a dead Mexican, wanting to relive every moment of battle, annoyed the others are not more excited. They make an effort to deflate him, deter him from the life on which they guess he is now set. They expose their collective soul. The act of reflection is drained of vitality. Vin gets the best lines: “Home, none. Wife, none. Kids, none. Prospects, zero.” Chris picks up the baton. “Men you step aside for, none.” Lee joins in, “Insults swallowed, none. Enemies, none.” Chico is delighted. “This is the kind of arithmetic I like.” “Yeah,” says Chris, “so did I at your age.” The scene does not end on that note, but with the germ of the next one. The hat gives Chico the idea of dressing up as a Mexican and spying on the enemy camp. The enemy, too, are downcast, counting their dead. But there is no sign of Calvera giving up. Perhaps the discussion in the back room has inflamed old wounds, or possibly it is just the wine, but Lee wakes up from a nightmare and runs cowering into a corner. His outward appearance is a sham. To concerned villagers, he reveals his cowardice. The villagers cannot understand his low opinion of himself. Lee puts them straight. “The deserter, hiding out in the middle of a battlefield.” The villagers are baffled. “Only the dead are without fear.” Until now Lee has been subtle and this is the opposite. In company, he can disguise his fears; on his own (almost—the villagers do not count), he surrenders to terror. This is the missing final act to the drama played out in the aftermath of the snipers, the inevitable end facing most gunfighters, that they will not be killed in a shootout by a superior talent, but that they will be let down, left vulnerable, by loss of confidence. O’Reilly has a confession to make. Who does he talk to? His colleagues? Someone he can trust? No, that might have repercussions. He tells the children his real name. What’s wrong with that? Because, as we learn later, that makes him like them, or half like them, because he is half–Mexican, and perhaps coming here he is in danger of finding something more worthwhile than killing people for a living. Not that any of this is overtly stated. Meanwhile,

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to round things off in the character stakes, Harry tries to find the secret treasure. Chico returns. The villagers take the bad news badly. Sotero reasserts his authority, telling the gunfighters to leave, pointing out the strangers have no families to lose. Chris vows to kill anyone who considers giving up. And that should set up the grand finale. But the script has a sting in the tale. Not everyone goes along with Chris. Surprisingly, Vin sets the ball rolling. Generally, in assessing his role, it is forgotten that he is the first to want to quit, siding with Harry against Chris. In a sense, this echoes the previous scene. Someone is challenging Chris’s leadership. Until now, Vin has been happily polishing Chris’s shadow. Unsurprisingly, Harry wants to look after himself, Vin wants to “bend with the breeze.” Chris reminds them they took out a contract. Vin and Harry are determined to leave, but Chris has a better idea: attack the bandits in the hills. It is a great idea, and they should get going right away, but the demands of the script decree otherwise. Chico needs one last scene with Petra to tell her he is now a fully-fledged gunfighter and will not waste his life farming. For structural reasons (i.e., they have to be captured), Vin leaves Hilario and his friends behind. There is another twist in store. The bandit camp is empty. They are the ones duped. Assuming the bandits have vanished, they return to the village and, in an echo of the first battle, are the ones trapped. Calvera, at his swaggering best, disarms them, but reprieves them (in case their deaths inspire their friends to come looking for revenge). Chico’s rebellious instinct is curbed by Chris. Once more, for structural reasons, they don’t leave right away. It takes Vin to express Chris’s feelings about the dangers of getting involved and then to considering retiring here. O’Reilly reminds his fan club that their fathers are braver than gunmen. They ride off and get their guns back, but, oddly, in a passive way. There are no shots of them bristling, or fuming, on the ride. In a different film, someone would have distracted their guards and in the ensuing fight they would have retrieved their weapons. When the bandits return the weapons, Chico is furious, blaming the gunmen for the farmers being duplicitous, in the process revealing his true origins. The ostensible reason for returning is to avenge being insulted. Britt, the most moral of the gunmen, sets the idea in motion: “Nobody throws me my own gun and says run.” In some senses, this is most bizarre scene in the picture. Surely, it would not have taken much for one of the characters to say something along the lines of “We can’t leave those poor villagers at the mercy of Calvera” or for the lovelorn Chico to persuade the others to go back. But, of course, this is not about saving the world; it is about how these men perceive themselves. Retreat is humiliating enough without carrying the memory (never mind if word got out) for the rest of their lives. Only self-centered Harry takes the opposite view and although he and Lee have never so much as shared a scene suddenly Harry suggests they are kindred spirits, misreading Lee’s disdain as selfishness. This is a moral turning point for Lee who returns with the others. True to character, Harry does not. They catch the bandits off guard, asleep, trapped inside the buildings. There are not that many buildings they could be trapped inside, and, conveniently, none has sneaked off elsewhere with a compliant señorita. Chris gambles that, once roused, the bandits will fight rather than run. So the strategy is simply to rush inside the buildings and kill as many as possible. For a time, the plan works. Then, ironically, Harry turns up, but instead of saving

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Action! Robert Vaughn rescuing the prisoners in the second battle in The Magnificent Seven (United Artists, 1960). Note his athletic stance.

the day, complicates everything by getting shot and needing to be saved, with the consequence that Chris and Vin become the besieged. Harry is the first to die and in character. The scriptwriter holds his nerve. Harry’s last words are as mercenary as his first, seeking reassurance about a stash of gold, but in another sense he shares with the others an essential need— to know he has not died in vain. He does not want to die a sucker (i.e., by doing good for no reward). Chris comforts him the only way he knows—by lying. Is this Chris compromising his own morals or is it the kind act of a friend, bearing in mind that Harry is due a measure of salvation since against his better judgment he returns to help his friends? The battle is more exciting than the first one. It is longer and the outcome difficult to predict. Too many good guys die. After rescuing the hostages Lee looks dazed, almost a benign expression on his face, as if, redemption complete, he can die happily. He emerges from the building without seeking cover, just standing in the plaza, a target. The forces of honor also work in the other direction. Calvera’s main aim is not escape, as in the first battle, but revenge, outraged the mercenaries have broken their promise. He leads his men to break down the door and then, when that is not working (or not quickly enough), slips around the side to surprise them, but is killed.

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This time, in a role reversal, the battle cannot be won without the villagers who savagely attack the bandits with anything they can lay their hands on, machetes, axes and chairs. Had Britt remained crouched behind a wall, shooting at the fleeing bandits, he probably would have survived. He leaves his knife for posterity, thrown with his last gasp into the wall. Emotion does for O’Reilly. Had he not befriended the children, they would not compromise his safety. He, too, dies having accomplished more than he intended. The surviving gunmen realize the folly of their dreams. They cannot stay. In the first place, they are not required. When the tale of the battle is told, they will be part of it, but not all of it, just as in the aftermath of the first battle, each of the villagers boasted about the part he played. In the second place, they are not farmers, and they could not settle down. And perhaps they would prefer to be remembered as legendary heroes. Lastly, of course, they may be needed elsewhere. Somebody somewhere will need the services of upright men who are fast on the draw. Despite its status as a classic line, the old man’s parting words misconstrue the reality. While the villagers become fighters, the gunmen cannot embrace farming but even so the mercenaries reaffirm their faith in themselves. Now a proven gunfighter, Chico lays down his weapon to become a farmer. Clever Petra has not pleaded with him to remain, which would almost certainly make him leave. Nor are any words of explanation exchanged with Chris and Vin. Chico, the least likely of the gunfighters to succeed, has come out of the battle with more than any of the others.

11 Interlude: The Poster That Never Was The most famous poster for The Magnificent Seven was never seen by the public. For his design Saul Bass—best known for designing the posters for Otto Preminger’s The Man with the Golden Arm, Anatomy of a Murder and Exodus—drew on the banner from Seven Samurai that united villagers and samurai. It used hashes for numbers. It was only seen by the trade, the producers presumably believing it too sophisticated for a mass-market western.1 United Artists at least concluded that bold use of the numeral was integral to promoting The Magnificent Seven. It was hardly an original idea. American International Pictures used a similar technique for its forthcoming Ali Baba and the Seven Wonders of the World.2 The poster for Budd Boetticher’s Seven Men from Now (1956) had used a prominent numeral as had the Frank Sinatra picture Ocean’s 11 earlier in the year. The trailer for The Magnificent Seven showed the men in the shape of a seven (it also boasted a male chorus not used in the film) and designated the characters for easy reference—Calvera was the Evil One, Vin the Dangerous One and Chico (Buchholz’s name was misspelled) the Violent One. The poster was designed by Russian-born Symeon Shimin who had created the original painting for Gone with the Wind and a mural for Solomon and Sheba.3 As well as working for Vanity Fair and as a book illustrator, he had been commissioned in 1938 to paint a mural in the Department of Justice called Contemporary Justice in Relation to the Child. For The Magnificent Seven he produced a series of illustrations, some paintings and others line drawings, which, along with other photographs, comprised the basis of posters seen outside the cinema, in lobby displays and newspaper advertisements. Four drawings were devoted to images of charging riders. In three of these the horsemen were Mexicans, two scenes showing them racing from left to right and one in the opposite direction, while one showed the gunslingers heading, as it were, straight at the camera. Brynner’s face was presented at three different angles and the faces of Wallach and McQueen were also featured. As well as individual life-size portraits of each of the gunfighters, there was one where they were all lined up behind Brynner. Shimin drew individual scenes, among them a gunfight, Chico being slapped by the girl and Chico gripping her hands. By and large, Shimin captured the essence of the film, but there was considerable poetic license. The main piece of artwork showed scenes, including 134

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The one-sheet poster, the smallest-poster available. Note the shading of various letters. James Coburn and Brad Dexter are not included in the credits (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

fistfights and whips that were not to be found in the film. Putting posters together from these disparate elements as well as including various taglines and the ubiquitous numeral took considerable skill. Four different posters—one-sheet, three-sheet, six-sheet and 24-sheet—were created in varying sizes. The one-sheet poster, portrait-sized and measuring 27 × 41 inches, bore the heading “The Magnificent One!” Below that came two illustrations; the one on the left, filling one-third of the space, had Brynner with the gunmen behind him, and the one on the right, taking up the rest of the space, had the Mexicans charging towards them. Half the poster was given over to the billing block, the section of the ad set aside for the titles and credits. The names of Brynner, Wallach and McQueen were above the title. Buchholz was in a box below it.4 Also a portrait, the three-sheet (81 × 41 inches) was dominated by the numeral, inside

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The top half of the six-sheet poster gives the film the impression of a hard-driving adventure. This was the largest (apart from the billboard) of the posters and, therefore, with more opportunity to get across the theme of the movie. In fact, the mercenaries never engaged in a charge like this (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

which were the faces of Brynner, Wallach and McQueen, as well as tiny glimpses of the fistfights from the main artwork. The numeral topped a line drawing of the charging Mexicans. Alongside the numeral was the most famous of the taglines: “They were seven … and they fought like seven hundred.” The billing block sat in a box at the bottom of the space with only Brynner above the title.5 The famous tagline was not so original. Minus one numeral, it had been used nearly a decade before on the Warner Bros. western Only the Valiant starring Gregory Peck, at the time the number one box office star. The 1951 version read: “They were six but they fought like six hundred…!” There were other similarities between the movies. The earlier film boasted seven leads and Peck, playing a martinet captain, had to select a band of misfits— “derelicts turned heroes”—to hold a pass against marauding Apaches. On the square six-sheet (81 × 81 inches) the dominant feature was a line drawing of charging horsemen. But this time the riders were the gunfighters. They occupied the top half of the poster and underneath was a new tagline, “The Matchless Seven…. The Mighty Seven,” and below, in the middle of the poster, appeared the title with, unusually, an exclamation mark. Next came a narrow rectangular box of illustrations showing the gunfight, Chico being slapped, Brynner’s face and the racing bandits. The title was then repeated in the billing block with the names of Brynner, Wallach and McQueen above.6 Largest by far and intended for billboards, the 24-sheet (246 × 108 inches, or 20 feet, 6 inches × 9 feet) made dramatic use of the main artwork. Not as crammed as the others, these scenes comprised only a third of the space. Brynner’s face filled a narrow strip on the

11. Interlude: The Poster That Never Was right side and tucked at the bottom of this was Chico gripping the girl. The central portion of the poster was essentially left empty with nothing in it but the title section. At the top was the tagline “They were seven…” then Brynner’s name above the title with the rest of the billing was at the foot of the page.7 The marketing campaign is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 17.

The film was made by producer William Cagney, brother of James Cagney. The female lead was played by Barbara Payton, with whom Peck had an affair, who had played opposite Cagney in Kiss Tomorrow Goodbye the previous year. Peck was on loan from David O. Selznick. According to Variety, the western earned $2 million in rentals, finishing 43rd for the year (Only the Valiant pressbook, Hannan Collection).

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12 John Sturges: Artist and Economist John Sturges’ single nomination for a Best Director Oscar is not for either of the films— The Magnificent Seven and The Great Escape—for which he is most commonly known. The tag “efficient” is Hollywood code for someone who gets the job done with a minimum of artistic flourishes. That assessment might be considered fair were it not for the other ingredients he brought to a picture. The Magnificent Seven opens with a piece of audacity not often associated with the likes of Sturges. The credits appear over what looks like a still, mountains in the background sloping to the right and the lower third of the screen taken up with ricks of corn, until after one minute and 34 seconds a tiny figure walks out on the left from behind a corn stack and a few seconds later a band of horsemen enter the frame from the right. The horsemen are on the same sightline as the walking man but both are so small in the bottom part of the screen they are almost unnoticeable. The horsemen, still tiny, turn and race toward the camera and Sturges cuts to three villagers shucking corn in an open-sided stone hut with the distant riders filling the space between the men and the roof of the hut. Although Sturges is not famed for thematic symmetry, this shot echoes the film’s ending when the reunion of Chico with Petra is composed in a similar fashion with the departing Chris and Vin in the background. For the next 90 seconds the camera focuses on the bandits riding into the village and the villagers’ reaction to their arrival. Various shots lasting from five to 17 seconds show the invaders thundering past, giving a sense of their power and an idea of their number. Among the villagers, Sturges concentrates on one family, a boy, his father and his older sister. The man moves forward to the camera, waving away the boy and girl, who exit left. In the first few minutes, with surprising subtlety, are four examples of what makes Sturges great rather than merely efficient. The “echo” shot has not been touched on by commentators, certainly not in the reverential way critics regard the opening and closing of The Searchers. Sturges is not the first director to use the idea of a tableau coming to life, but the sudden movement on one side of the frame followed immediately by action on the other is unusual. The men glimpsed in the hut are, unbeknownst to us, those who will later seek help. The sister is Petra, who will become the love interest. Another director would not have introduced the girl until it was time for her character to take center stage, in this case not 138

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for another 50 minutes, or given her some contrived piece of business—rebellious words or glares—at the outset to make sure she is noticed. Sturges introduces her immediately and she is almost invisible at the center of the action, without further introduction, when Calvera appropriates the fur. Overlapping dialog—when a character speaks before being seen—was popularized in America by Robert Altman (M*A*S*H ), but Sturges excels in its visual equivalent, bringing characters into scenes long before they play a part in it. He employs the same device with the corn-shuckers and again at the Boot Hill sequence which begins with three men arguing over burying a dead Indian. Sturges cuts away for three seconds to Chris slinging his saddle over a fence and to Vin for two seconds, returning for another minute of the men arguing before, offscreen, we hear, “Oh hell,” and Chris strides forward. Sturges uses this technique to better effect introducing Chico. At the beginning, he is just a face in the crowd following the hearse until so eager to be involved he goes to the front. He does not speak, but he does not have to; his intentions are written all over his face. Being almost mistaken at one point for the enemy justifies the director’s focus on him. Mostly, he is seen in long shot trailing behind, his identity a mystery until he volunteers for the mission. Other moments plant characters early in a scene. Chris is seated in the saloon when Vin enters and at the stockyard Chris and Vin dismount in the middle of the Britt sequence. This compresses action and maintains fluidity, so a scene that begins in one way ends in another. (Similar techniques are used, it has to be said, in Seven Samurai to introduce characters who will later become important to the action.) Sturges also uses color shorthand to imprint something on our mind that we will remember later. During the sequence when the villagers feed the mercenaries, Petra wears a green dress and during the final battle a woman in green hacks down a man with a hoe. Color plays a similar role at the beginning. As the bandits ride into the village in long shot, one might notice that they are all dressed in murky brown, except at the front is a man in red. The man we have seen with the son and daughter turns out to be the village leader, Sotero, and the man in red is the bandit leader, Calvera. Sotero comes across as unsympathetic, but the clue to his submission is shown in the first shot of him. The children have no mother, the father has no wife, and her death, at presumably a relatively young age, underpins his subservience. He would rather be alive than leave his family fatherless. Casting can make or break a film. Calvera would have been ideal for Lee J. Cobb (Twelve Angry Men) or Karl Malden (On the Waterfront) had Sturges been interested in a surly, overbearing bad guy. But the director prefers originality. His bandit leader is nothing like the cliché. He is expansive, friendly, a philosopher. He is not the distant mysterious figure of the Japanese original, but a man who commands the screen, though, for all his ease and charm, brooks no rebellion, slapping Sotero and shooting a man. And the charm is no accident. The words could easily have been put across with more heft. Rather than Wallach’s insidious tone, the lines could have been spoken more aggressively, not in the nature of almost a conversation between two old friends. Calvera is a force of nature, almost the prototype for the James Bond film, where the villain had to be larger than life and not just downright horrible to engage the audience. In avoiding one stereotype, Sturges deftly evades another one. Would it not have been simpler for Calvera to covet the man’s daughter, Petra, sitting in the back shop? He could have taken hold of her chin, made his lascivious intentions clear. But he is not that kind of bad guy and Petra remains, for the moment, in the back-

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ground. While Calvera clearly enjoys the high life and the sound of his own voice, his clever use of words displays his intelligence. For, above all, this film is a battle of wits. A woman runs out to the dead man and the camera, tracking her as she moves from left to right, stops when it comes to Sotero who fills the extreme right of the frame top to bottom. He watches the bandits leave and then goes to the woman as others approach the corpse. We see men advance. The camera tracks the body being carried away. We cut to two men coming in from the left and three from the right. Sotero now walks from left to right. In long shot, a ragged line converges on the square. Each man who talks does so while walking towards the camera. (Spielberg favors this technique, inverting it—a person walking towards a low-slung camera, staring, though in silence.) The debate grows more heated until a younger man with a mustache, one of the corn-shuckers, declares, “We must do something.” Sotero turns to look at him, replying, dismissively, “Like Rafael?” (the dead man). Another takes up the refrain, “We must do something.” With the well now in the foreground to add depth of field, another mustached man emerges from the ragged line of villagers, complaining, before reiterating, “We must do something.” Sotero, dominating the screen, standing on his own, asks in an exasperated tone, “But what?” Three villagers are now in the shot with Sotero just on the right of the frame and the older mustached man finally says, “We must ask the old man.” This entire sequence, from opening credits, to the arrival of the bandits, the man shot dead, and the rumblings of rebellion, is constructed so that one action leads to another. Everything, literally, moves along, and within eight minutes and twenty seconds the course of the film has been determined. This is as carefully thought-out as any of the pre-credit sequences so popular among today’s blockbusters. For the Boot Hill sequence, action builds on reaction, marked, literally, by movement. The three villagers on horseback enter the town at the top of the street. They face the camera in medium shot and in the background are mountains. The camera cuts to their point of view and on the sidewalk we see men outside the saloon, clearly drawn to something else, who glance at the Mexicans with disinterest as they pass. In an overhead long shot the Mexicans are now halfway down the street and turn a corner with no sense of urgency, continuing towards the camera, noticing, without reaction, the hearse on their right. We cut to two men walking toward the camera. As much as the details that will later Eli Wallach as the irrepressible bandit chief designate the mercenaries, we are given an immeCalvera, one of the most engaging bad guys ever to hit the screen. His wife Anne Jackson diate visual clue that tells us all we need to know did not take to his gold teeth. about these men.

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A first-time viewer has no idea whether these men are essential or incidental to the plot. They carry suitcases so we know they are travelers. They will not be riding out of town on horses. They are a class above. The Mexicans dismount. The funeral director walks toward two men and as they begin to argue Sturges cuts away to Chris and Vin, although we have no idea who they are. The argument continues for a minute, divided into two-shots and three-shots and close-ups of the funeral director and the pair of travelers, until Chris takes charge. The next shot sees Vin borrowing a scattergun. (One of the rules of screenwriting is to begin at the end of the a scene, so just as we have not seen the Indian being shot and the outraged travelers commissioning the funeral neither do we see Vin making a verbal decision to become involved; there’s no shout of “Count me in.”) Instead of shifting to this pair, Sturges allows the funeral director to quibble with the travelers about his precious rig. On the face of it, this is a comic interlude whose purpose is to undercut the growing tension. But, actually, it is another echo. The townspeople, as oppressed as the Mexicans, now join together in the hope of ridding themselves of the outlaws, and although no money is offered to the mercenaries this action brings the others into the confrontation. And there is one more echo. Strangers—men who can leave without facing consequence—instigate the action. On the hearse, Vin is antsy, reacting to every insult, while Chris authoritatively assesses the threat. Vin looks back, Chris stares ahead. Sturges films the short journey uphill the same way he shot the Mexicans, on their arrival, going downhill, mixing point of view with long shot and cutting back to the followers, cautious except for Chico. There is logic for everything. Vin cannot be seen by the shooter in the window because he has turned in response to an offscreen shout. The director’s focus, cutting between what Vin and Chris see, the hearse slowly climbing the hill and the followers, is so intense that, in camera terms, he barely acknowledges the first death, of the man in the window. A gun shot, smashing glass, but no scream, no falling body. Going uphill is genius, slowing the action, rather than, as with many gun battles (and in contrast to the later ones in this film), speeding it up, and this allows for the shot, from the pair’s point of view of the camera cresting the hill and of the gallows coming into view and men approaching. By comparison, the showdown is over in a flash. Two shots from Chris settle the dispute. From mounting the hearse to shootout lasts under six minutes. In another parallel, their reward is even less than the villagers will offer—a drink of whisky. Had the Mexican Film Bureau gone along with the original script the villagers meeting with Chris could have been cut to the bone. Instead, it is extended by their necessity to state their purpose and to allow Chris to suggest an alternative. To prevent this wordy 3¼-minute scene from dragging, Sturges maintains interest through a series of cuts, mostly three-shots and four-shots. For compositional reasons, one Mexican remains standing while the others sit. The longest section of the film is the recruitment. Including Chico’s failed attempts, this runs for nearly 20 minutes. For the most part, Sturges lets the scenes unfold. The longer scene with Britt is flanked by much shorter scenes of Harry and Bernardo and then Lee. A director’s job is not so much cutting between cameras but knowing where to put the camera in the first place. So where scenes occur is vital. Harry meets Chris outside the latter’s room. It is deftly done, only six cuts. After a brief close-up of Harry, the camera holds them in a

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two-shot, Chris to the left and Harry to the right, for 26 seconds. Harry goes past Chris to close the door, reversing their positions. As he turns from completing this action, they are again in a two-shot, first from over Chris’s shoulder thus favoring Harry and then the other way round. Finally there is a brief two-shot as Harry departs. Economy prevails in the scenes involving Bernardo and Lee. Chris and Vin have ridden out to a ranch. The camera picks out Bernardo on his own outside the house chopping wood and Chris and Vin come into frame behind him so that all three are facing the camera. Then the camera switches position, effectively to the point-of-view of the visitors, and we see Bernardo from the rear. Virtually the entire sequence, lasting one minute and 20 seconds, comprises the same two shots—Chris and Vin in one shot and Bernardo in the other, Chris foreground right and Vin background left, Bernardo filling the left of the screen. The action consists entirely of Bernardo chopping wood or stopping in the act of chopping wood as he responds with incredulity. Chris and Vin, thinking they have failed, walk away in a twoshot until Bernardo, now shifted to center screen, reconsiders and the final shot, almost as it begun, that old symmetry again, is a three-shot. Lee, waiting in Chris’s room, is first seen in medium shot illuminated by the outside light, sitting up on the bed. Chris and Vin stand at the door, Chris to the foreground right, Vin background left. The director simply cuts between these two framings until Lee gets up and walks out of the room. From start to finish—under a minute. In contrast to the voluble Harry, Britt could not be more laconic. In his four-minute scene he utters only two lines. In a stockyard three cowboys argue over the unseen Britt. Wallace, the most boastful, is coiling a rope. Behind them lounge other men. Even incidental characters appear before employed in the action, in this case the man whose derisive laughter prompts the tragic incident. His face is visible between two of the arguing men. Wallace dumps the rope and the camera follows him over to the fence where Britt is dozing. Britt glances up. We are in his point of view then in Wallace’s as Britt pulls down his hat. The man looks incensed. The incidental character now explodes into mocking laughter. Wallace challenges Britt again. So far the camera has simply cut between the two men, looking down on one and up to the others. But now the camera holds the men in a two-shot and there is a 32-second sequence, without cuts, as Britt rises, adjusting his hat, walking along the fence, tossing the coffee out of his cup, then placing his cup on the fence and pointing. The camera follows the man to the telegraph pole. Sturges cuts to Chris dismounting with Vin still on horseback. Britt and Wallace assume the showdown pose, the camera positioned behind Britt. The camera holds the shot as Wallace adjusts his stance, Sturges using this little bit of business to increase tension. A signal is given. From the same camera position, we see gun smoke and the can knocked off the fence. Then Sturges cuts to the man staring at the knife embedded in the pole. Britt retrieves the knife and moves back through the crowd, helping himself to coffee. Sturges returns to the watching Chris and Vin. Wallace accosts Britt. Britt utters his first line. “You lost.” He returns to the fence and lies down. When the man challenges the result, there follows the boldest sequence in this film— or any other. Talk about symmetry! The director repeats almost shot for shot the previous sequence. The camera follows Wallace over to Britt. We have the same upward/downward shot as before. Britt again expresses disinterest by tugging down his hat. The camera cuts between the pair then we are in a two-shot as the man, enraged, shoots his pistol into the

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ground. We cut to Britt lifting his hat and the camerawork is identical as we follow Britt taking his position by the fence. Then, as before, the camera follows the man to his place beside the telegraph pole. We cut to the man who gave the signal the last time only this time he does not want to be involved. Back to Britt and the showdown shot, the camera framing the pair in exactly the same way, except the camera is lower and we see (and hear) the click of Britt’s knife. There is a shot of Chris and Vin. We cut to the man, then the observer, and back to Britt, “Call it,” and the observer raises his gun, back to the man, to Britt, to the man and the showdown shot as Britt’s knife whirls and the man goes for his gun and then we cut to the knife in the cowboy’s chest. The others rush to the fallen man’s aid while Britt collects his saddles and meets the waiting Chris. This scene appears alternately longer and shorter. Sturges builds up the tension by delaying tactics, Britt not responding to insults, but the action, when it comes, is both times quick. Naturally what most people remember is the outcome, shock on the man’s face, awe on the faces of the crowd. What people tend to forget is the detail of the four minutes Sturges took to reach this climax. Just as with the hearse shootout, Britt registers no emotion, not even relief, nor does Chris offer congratulations. The whole scene is set up with eerie precision. And once again, Sturges uses motion, of camera and protagonists, to maintain fluidity. This echoes Spencer Tracy in Bad Day at Black Rock finally responding to taunts by felling his aggressors with karate blows. Due to his unusual dexterity with the knife, the scene with Britt is always considered the standout. But, given the content, and Sturges’ willingness to explore tension, it is the easiest of the recruitment scenes to film. Bernardo, physical attributes on display, and his grunting, laconic delivery, and the contrast between his boasts and his present circumstances, is also simple to get across. Scenes involving Harry and Lee deal with deeper personal issues. Harry is the only one, apart from Chico, that Chris does not have to seek out and that, in itself, tells us all we need to know. The scene is played out in the tight confines of a corridor, ostensibly to prevent the Mexicans overhearing. Harry’s greed exudes urgency and setting this scene inside rather than outside emphasizes that. Lee is indoors because he is hiding. Darkness is his friend and he is only revealed in the light from the open door. The ride to the village exposes weaknesses in both director and script. This is a threeminute and 43-second journey and blasts of Elmer Bernstein’s theme tune cannot disguise the fact that it is pitifully slow going. The driving music leads one to expect riders tearing along the prairie. But that does not happen. In fact, nothing happens except Chico is annoying and the point where he is half-heartedly accepted as one of their number is far from convincing. Compared with what has gone before, this is all rather long-winded, its purpose to build up Buchholz, as if this is a new star’s entitlement. So far, he has been allocated more screen time than anyone apart from Brynner, and to little effect. Unless there is something in his performance that has eluded the common viewer, it would appear as if the producers are relying on quantity, not quality. Twenty-six minutes elapse between the mercenaries leaving the border town and the bandits returning to the village. Sturges subtly maintains audience interest in all the characters. Consider the aftermath of the bell-ringing. As Chico berates the farmers, Sturges arranges his actors in various groupings so that all are included. Chris, Sotero, the old man and Vin stand together. Then we cut to Lee and the villagers; then Bernardo, Harry and

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The gunslingers’ first encounter with the villagers. The church in the background was made out of papier-mâché.

Lee; back to Chris and Vin in a two-shot; then to just Vin; back to Bernardo, Harry and Lee; back to Chris in a two-shot with Sotero; back to Vin who removes his hat; and finally another two-shot of Chris and Vin. Sturges does this all the time. Nobody is left out, even if he has nothing to do. At this point, apart from their various killing skills, all we know about Chris, Vin and Lee is that they have nothing to prove. We know too much about Chico when we would prefer to know less. Harry is greedy and there is something odd about Lee. Bernardo appears more inscrutable than the others. Nobody can enjoy the fiesta for thinking about the imminent return of the bandits, and the opportunity for carousing with each other or bonding with the villagers by joining in the dancing is not taken. But we learn that Bernardo is not as hard-nosed as he looks. The arrival of the lookout prompts action and Chris sends Britt up into the hills to capture a bandit. Britt calls on Lee to help him and Chico, overhearing, follows. In other hands this would be a cliché. The heroes would sneak up and somehow the bandits would be warned and the action would backfire and that is all it would be, a mindless piece of action. What most people remember is Britt’s fabulous long-range pistol shooting and his clever line.

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What Sturges wants us to remember is what precedes the gunplay, when Britt admires a flower, as if there is poetry in his soul. Sturges wants us to notice what is missing. What does not occur that should is Lee using his weapon. Within the action it is almost incidental, but through little moments like these Sturges explores character and sets up later critical scenes. Hitchcock is always the director most praised for lack of dialogue, for letting the camera do the work. But in this film, Sturges runs him close. There are also many instances of what can be achieved by a look. The envious (not lustful) glance Vin casts at the women washing clothes in the river tells us a great deal about his character. There is also more time for Harry. Apart from Bernardo with the children, Harry is the only person who attempts to bond with the villagers. Alas, it is out of self-interest. This is a good example of the director’s efficiency. This entire sequence takes place within a fourshot. Sturges uses the same technique for Bernardo’s scene. He is to the right foreground, staring ahead, or occasionally twisting his head round, ostensibly watching for the return of the bandits, with the children ranged in a row slightly behind. During the one minute and 22-second scene the camera does not move. This is clever. Had Bernardo been facing the children, they might have been obliged to quail at his anger, or there may been a requirement for more reaction shots. Done this way, the reactions are all handed to a disbelieving Bernardo. The comedy with the cow is lamentable. Not much can be done to remedy this scene. In theory, it is there to entice Petra, the daughter of Sotero, the girl we glimpsed at the beginning, out of her hiding place. We don’t need to laugh any more at Chico and it would have served the plot as well for him simply to have come upon her. But it is typical Sturges that when Chico returns it is into the middle of something else, the mercenaries and the villagers digging ditches. Composition and structural economy go hand in hand in The Magnificent Seven. After they chase away the snipers, Chris returns to the cantina where the villagers are waiting. This sequence is completed in one take lasting 42 seconds. The camera does not move. Everything that occurs takes place within the frame and it is achieved by composition in that Brynner takes center stage and first of all faces the camera so that he can talk to Sotero on the right of the screen, then sits on the table with his back to the camera so that he can address Hilario, whom he now believes has usurped Sotero as leader. As Hilario issues instructions a man sitting at the end of the table on the left now rises to query, and in some sense challenge, Chris. When this scene ends Chris goes through to the back room where the discussion with Chico detailed below takes place. After that, they go back through to the main cantina, and the next section is comedic with Harry determined to uncover the hidden gold. This is interrupted by the return of Chico. His news that Calvera has not gone away creates a confrontation between Sotero and Chris that results in the rebellion against Chris’s leadership until Chris announces alternative action. Two unnecessary sequences follow. Chico boasts to Petra about his trip to the camp, the bulk of which we already know, and about his intentions to leave with Chris, the bulk of which we have already guessed. Had this scene been deleted, his decision at the end to return to Petra would have been more powerful. Chris tells Hilario about the raid but instructs him to wait behind. This could also have been cut. The short scenes following their capture are economical. Bernardo berates the children

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for thinking he is better than their parents. He is sitting down with them in a row and as he talks Chris comes up behind him. The children scarper and he rises and they exchange brief words. Again, a single shot contains everything. The scene between Vin and Chris is done without a cut, the two men facing the camera. It is not necessary to go through the film scene by scene to establish just how underrated a director Sturges is. (The battle scenes are dealt with in the next chapter.) But one other scene cannot be passed over without comment. The aim of the remorse scene is, effectively, to dissuade Chico, elated after his first experience of gunmanship, from embarking on a career as a mercenary. Given its purpose and the content, it could easily have been a two-person sequence, Chris handing out fatherly advice to Chico. Any cinemagoer has witnessed a dozen such scenes, alcoholics or adulterers or deadbeats reflecting on wrong decisions. Actors love these scenes, drenched in soul and close-ups—they can almost taste the Oscar. It would have been Brynner’s big scene. However, too overt a confession would allow the audience to slip under Chris’s mask. Instead, it is a communal scene, four mercenaries contributing. Chris, Britt and Vin troop into the room, Chris and Britt going to the table, Britt dropping his guns while Chris pours wine (Vin, meanwhile, having moved out of shot) and hands it to Britt. The camera follows Britt as he moves back into the room (we can see Vin in deep background) and plays with the hat of a dead bandit. We cut to Chico entering and going to the table to excitedly address Chris. In the same shot, Lee enters with a bottle of wine in his hand and stands in the doorway. Britt tosses the hat onto the table and Chico picks it up and puts it on. We cut to a two-shot of Britt sitting while Vin stands. In a three-shot, Chico admires himself in the mirror, Lee stands in the doorway, drinking, while Chris, at the table, begins the serious conversation and Chico turns to look at him. We cut to Britt and Vin. Chico approaches Chris and in the same three-shot Lee edges along the wall so that they reverse positions. In a two-shot, Britt contributes his thoughts, then Vin, and while Vin explains the unhappy lot of a gunman the camera cuts to Lee and then returns to Vin for a medium close-up and back to Chris, then Lee, Chris and finally Lee. Now we have Chico, Chris and Vin framed as before but now Vin enters this shot to get a drink. The four-shot now comprises Vin standing on the left pouring a drink, Lee in the deep background sitting, Chico at the door glancing at the hat he holds, and Chris sitting in the right foreground. What is interesting is how the scene ends. Chico’s glance at the hat explains his next action—going off alone to sneak into the bandit camp, with the hat as his primary disguise—and it is only later, if at all, that we reflect he has taken in nothing of what has been said.

13 John Sturges: Battle Master The Magnificent Seven is unusual in having two set pieces. Generally, westerns build up to a climax. There may be a skirmish or two along the way, but not a full-blown shootout. Having determined that two gun battles would take place, the most important element in the director’s mind would be ensuring that they would be different. The easiest way to achieve this, of course, would be to vary the locale. The mercenaries could have staged an ambush in the hills (although that might have been deemed too ruthless). If the locale cannot be changed, then what can? The biggest difference is that in the first battle they are the defenders and in the next the attackers, although once this begins the mercenaries are driven back and, under siege, become, once again, defenders. The first battle benefits from a slow build-up, the growth of tension, training, devising defenses, the approach of the inevitable. As previously mentioned, the onset of violence is preceded by lack of dialogue—from the first signs of the bandits approaching to the standoff in the square, two minutes elapse without a word being spoken. Nor with the usual signs of alarm or terror common to such movies. Sturges avoids the temptation to have women or children screaming or to focus on looks of terror on the faces of the innocent. Unlike Seven Samurai, the defense plan is not so well thought-out. There is no sense of being able to corral the enemy and pick them off. This complies with the western’s tradition that men face each across an open space. What is unexpected is that the battle does not begin sooner. Having created a trap, Chris does not take advantage of the element of surprise, about which he has made great play. The verbal showdown in the square, Calvera on his horse, Chris standing firm, is a great joust, no quarter given, dialogue zipping like bullets, each man seeking resolution without bloodshed, Calvera insisting that might (his forty men) will always win, then resorting to cunning, offering Chris a share of the spoils if he switches sides. But this turns out to be a delaying tactic as across the square four of his horsemen reach for their guns. When the encounter begins, the director captures the action in a series of snapshots lasting seconds. It is all cause and effect, gunfire and death. The combat, initially, centers on the square. Sturges avoids the overhead camera, instead opting to keep the audience vividly involved with no time to assess what is going on. In reaction to the horsemen going for their guns, Vin fires and turns and a bandit falls from his horse. Chris shoots and turns and shoots to the side. The horses rear up, creating the first clouds of dust that will permeate the battlefield, and a man falls. Chris starts firing. 147

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Calvera retaliates. Vin runs for cover behind the counter of the shop. We cut to Britt, in the act of upending a table, and he shoots from behind it. Chico backs into the church, shooting as he goes. Caught in the crossfire, through the swirling dust, two horses leap a wall and a bandit tumbles. Chris stands still shooting and then we see him from a different perspective, horses racing behind him, as he turns and rushes towards the camera, heading for a wall, and jumps over. Horses run around in circles while their riders send down a barrage of bullets. On a roof, Bernardo, lying flat, lets rip with his rifle. Vin is shooting from behind the counter. Another man dies. Chris now has a rifle. Another man goes down. And when Sturges cuts to Lee standing behind a house, the contrast is all the more striking because everywhere else people are in frantic motion and Lee is standing stock still, arms flat against the wall. Until now the point of view has been tight, limiting our understanding of the battle, but then we have our first shot from outside the village as the bandits race up the road— and into the trap of the net. Bernardo, twisting around, shoots from the roof, aiming at these men. A rider falls. Harry shoots, also targeting this group of bandits. Another goes down. Horses charge past the church. Once again the camera looks in on the village and three riders (with more behind) dash toward the camera—to escape. Hilario takes aim with a rifle (but does not pull the trigger) and beside him, fascinated, a villager with a machete. Chris is behind the wall. Bernardo is now upright on the roof. In an explosion of gunfire, three escaping riders are hit. Now we pick up Calvera in his trademark red shirt and another bandit escaping the village, racing towards the camera, leaping over low walls, and the camera turning right and tracking them as they move swiftly, jumping over more walls. Behind the counter Vin has stopped shooting and now, instead, watches and runs to his right. The camera sticks with Calvera and the other rider and then gets ahead of them. Vin runs to his horse and as it starts to move he leaps on. Calvera and his crony belt through the fields and converge with a larger group of bandits all heading in the same direction. A waiting villager ambushes a rider with a machete. Chico stands behind a wall, shooting. We cut to the racing Calvera. In pursuit Vin fires his rifle one-handed. Hilario shoots. The camera focuses on two riders and as one falls (killed by Hilario) the screen fills with a massive cloud of dust, obscuring everything, and when this clears the bandits are speeding away from the camera. Vin pulls up and jumps from his horse. The bandits are distant. Vin stares and wipes his mouth. The end. What is distinctive is the constant motion. The battlefield is a scene of chaos. Men running, diving, leaping, guns blazing, horses whirling, charging, rearing, dust everywhere. Each of the seven is given a cameo, involved even if only in one shot. Vin is the most prominent character in the shootout. He is seen eight times, Chris four times, Bernardo three, Chico twice, the others once apiece. Where another director would have constantly returned to his leading man, Sturges refuses to center the action round Chris—we lose sight of him for virtually the last minute. In other words he only appears in the first two-fifths. And in these tiny fragments of time, stories are still being played out. The most obvious one is Lee. The previous scene on the hillside is so subtle the viewer may have failed to grasp that while Britt is shooting at the bandits, Lee’s gun remains in his holster. Here, we cannot fail to notice that he is hiding. The second scenario concerns Chico. His first battle and he backs into the church. Is this

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Exhibitors were given a wide choice of advertisements of all sizes. See Chapter 14 (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

fear? Is the gunfire too sudden, too fast, too much? We never see him shooting from a church window and the camera does not show him emerging, nor capture his emotions when he does, but later he is outside, playing his part. The third character picked out is Hilario. Sturges wastes no time examining the prebattle fears of the villagers. Although ostensibly the tale is all about the villagers learning to kill, this aspect has been largely ignored. Where Sturges concentrates on changes in Hilario, he does so afterward, in the scene with Vin and, inadvertently, when Chris addresses Hilario rather than Sotero as the village leader. In the battle we are given two glimpses of Hilario. In the first we see him aiming but do not see smoke emerging for his gun, so it is unclear whether he has pulled the trigger. The battle narrative adopts a rigid format. A man shooting is followed by his target falling. But after Sturges shows Hilario, the next shot is of Bernardo on the roof and it is only after that that we see the three riders falling. Did Bernardo get them all? He is an expert shot. Or was one down to Hilario? But later, we see smoke from Hilario’s gun and a consequent death. In fact, the last person to die is killed by Hilario. The battle has three separate phases beginning with the initial fight in the square when Calvera’s men are taken by surprise. Although driven to take cover, the mercenaries have the advantage of catching the bandits in the open. Then there is the failed breakout as the net prevents escape. Finally, there is the actual escape, as Calvera and his gang race away from the village. As the battle flows from one area of the village to the other, different characters

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are involved. Chris, Britt, Chico and Vin are dominant in the square, Harry near the net, Hilario in the fields, while Lee hides throughout. Only Bernardo, from the vantage of the rooftop, straddles all three battlegrounds, while Vin, by virtue of giving chase, is involved in two. The battle (from the four horsemen reaching for their holsters to Vin watching the bandits depart) lasts one minute and 40 seconds. There are forty-seven cuts. The first ten seconds alone contain eight. Many shots last one second, others fractions of that. Blink and miss Harry’s sole appearance. And watch intently to notice that, just as Lee looks frozen to the spot, his eyes swivel. The only time, comparatively speaking, there is any breathing space is when the camera switches scene. As the bandits try to escape one way from the village, the shot is held for three seconds, an enormity by the editing standards. A similar “break” occurs when we move to the other side of the village where the bandits are, more successfully, evading the trap. Sturges allows Calvera a full ten seconds to race over low walls. Barely noticeable within the excitement of watching the action, but it is a change of gear, instead of the horses whipping around in trapped frenzy, now they are going hell for leather for freedom and the director captures that intensity. There are fewer edits in the escape sequence—twelve in 42 seconds. The last death commands nine seconds of screen time, although that is “action poetry,” the riders charging toward camera, one falling and sending up a massive cloud of dust, bigger than all the previous sprays, enough to smother the frame, signaling the end. There is a downside to all that action. The blistering pace, the heart-stopping excitement, obscures the care that has gone into every shot. Sturges uses natural elements to suggest the pressures of the fight. Once battle commences, the first time we see Chris he is standing upright, commanding the screen, right in its center. A few seconds later the camera begins to hem him in. The wall to which he will run takes up one-third of the screen and when we see him he is a small figure almost overwhelmed by the array of horses and dust behind him. Then we view him from the back, and he is shooting a rifle, arm extended, to the left of the screen, while to the right a wooden pillar contains him. When the camera returns he is a tighter fit within the frame, shooting to the right, but low down, head only half the size of the screen. He is not seen again until near the end. Vin is also a tiny figure behind the shop counter. Sturges has split the screen vertically by placing a pillar in the middle of it. Then he has quartered the screen by including the horizontal line of the counter. Vin is on the right hand side of the screen in the top quarter, but fails to fill it. Almost unnoticed is the fleeting moment at the end of this scene as he ducks behind the counter. By contrast, Bernardo is shown against a blue sky, although the right hand side of the screen is filled by the church tower and the roof on which he lies tilts down at an angle. At this point, aiming at the bandits in the square, he is shooting downward and to the right. He does not dominate the screen, being limited to the left hand side. Compositions such as this, given that they will only be seen for seconds, show a director’s skill. We would not have cared less if Bernardo simply blasted away from any position, too involved in the picture to notice the precision of the sky and the bell tower. When Bernardo starts shooting at the riders caught in the net, he has shifted position, his body twisting around, his back toward us, while he shoots to our left. But he occupies even less of the screen, his shape narrower, but taller, no longer lying down, and he is still framed against the blue sky

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with the bell tower much the same distance away on the right. The third time Bernardo appears he is standing on the roof, shooting right, aiming at the riders fleeing with Calvera, but with still the same framing. Even Lee and Harry are constrained. Lee is braced against the wall, arms flung out, and yet he takes up only half the screen. Harry is the tightest fit, positioned to ambush the riders whose flight is blocked by the net. One-third of the space, on the right, is taken up by a wall, another third on the left by the giant bulb-shaped corn vessels. Harry is in the middle, but crouched down, firing at the camera, barely occupying half the available space. With dust and horses in front, he is almost invisible. The contrast between where participants stand or crouch or lie as one shot folds into another extends to the horsemen escaping the village into the net. They race toward the camera, but the screen space they are allowed is minimal. A tree splits the screen vertically. To the left is rocky slope. The tree is slightly off-center, intruding on the right hand of the screen so the horses thunder towards the camera in a tiny area. As they crest the slope, Sturges cuts to another point of view, from beyond the net as it suddenly snaps up. Even this space is skillfully controlled. On the right of the screen the branches of a tree force the rearing horses left. The constant use of one half of the screen, the shifts between right and left, provide visual guides to the feelings of the characters and the reality of a gunfight. By the time the second battle is staged, there is more at stake, repressed emotions opened up, Chico in love, Bernardo caring too much for the children and Chris for the people while Lee must confront his cowardice. There has been treachery by Sotero and humiliation from Calvera. In addition, all have all been forced to come to terms with their profession, and, although none except Chico bonds with any particular individual, responsibility (love is too strong a word) is what makes them turn around. Deep feelings have been stirred in Chris although the ostensible reason for returning to the village, according to the super-laconic Britt, is aversion at being told what to do. The consequence of war has also been felt by the villagers, the adrenaline of victory replaced by realization of the price fighting exacts, and that oppression by Calvera, no matter how onerous, does not usually involve risking one’s life. When the mercenaries turn back, it will be to a tougher fight for they will have no allies, the men they taught to fight—and they have no way of knowing which—either dead or surrendering without a fight. Nor is there the comfort of a plan. Throughout the film Sturges has gone out of his way to avoid the picturesque but just before the battle we get a shot of a beautiful sky, held for rather too long, in order to emphasize the point of surprise. The choreography of the second battle is significantly different. There is more ebb and flow, raids and counter-raids, more use made of inside as well as outside. Beyond the sunrise, no time is spent setting the scene; there is no overview, no glimpses of men snoring or a cow pawing the ground or other morning clichés. This maintains the point of view of the mercenaries. As well as this, Sturges must bring individual narratives to a climax. After seven seconds of the bright red sky, Chris appears at the top of a slope then Bernardo approaches the village. Vin, in a ruined outbuilding, creeps up on a horse. Britt takes a position behind a wall. Chico also finds cover behind a wall. Vin loads one gun and drops it into his holster then checks the other he has stuffed down the back of his jeans and as he steps forward to the right, camera tracking him, a bandit appears in the doorway. Vin

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turns and shoots and then keeps moving to the right firing at sleeping bandits. This scene, while filled with as much action as before, is not chopped into smaller scenes but runs as a 25-second take. Chris runs in the opposite direction through the empty doorway, the camera turning with him as he passes and following him to a wooden door. Bernardo, also running right to left, leaps onto a roof. Vin kicks in a door and shoots at those inside. Britt stands and shoots. A man runs toward the camera and dies in the middle of the screen. In the square Chris runs from left to right and dives behind the well and despatches two men as they run past. Chico runs into a building (the camera does not follow him but we hear the gunshots) and out the other side and back to his original position behind the wall—an 18second sequence with three cuts. Calvera appears outside, assessing the situation. Bernardo is on the roof. Chico goes in and out another door, a gleeful look on his face, but this time is pursued and there is an exchange of fire—12 seconds with no edits. Vin leaps over the back walls running left to right and shoots a man. We cut to a window smashing and a gun firing through the broken pane. Vin aims at the window but does not see the man who shoots him in the leg. Swiveling, Vin kills the man before falling to the ground. Chris runs into the open. Bandits return his fire. Running from left to right, he reaches the safety of a building but cannot break in and with his back to the door starts shooting until his rifle jams (a ten-second scene with no edits). Center-screen Calvera pulls out his gun and there is a quick cut so we can see him surrounded by his men whom he boldly leads away from shelter. Chico is in the square now. Bernardo fires from the roof. Calvera and his men run toward the camera and hit the dirt. Inside, Vin bandages his leg. Calvera’s men are pinned down. In long shot, Harry, who had initially refused to join the others, now returns on horseback, shooting. Chris is trapped in the doorway. Harry shoots as he rides toward the camera. From the ground, Calvera shoots. Harry’s horse falls though he gets up. Bandits fire. Center-screen, Harry is hit but staggers to the left. Vin hobbles to the right toward the door. Chris goes to Harry’s aid while Vin provides covering fire and Chris drags Harry inside. We switch from Calvera on the ground to Bernardo on the roof to Britt standing. Vin backs into the doorway. Calvera and his men get to their feet. Bernardo, hit, is thrown backward. Calvera waves his men forward, charging across the open ground. Inside Chris cradles Harry while Vin barricades the door and tosses away one gun while drawing another. Calvera and his men attempt to break down the door. Bernardo drops from roof to canopy to ground. The action stops for 30 seconds as Harry dies. Vin loads a pistol and as the door is battered Chris in close-up kneels over the corpse. There’s a two-shot of Chris and Vin reacting to the sound of glass being shattered. Chris shoots at a high window, Vin bypasses him going to the other end of the room, breaking a large waist-high window. A bandit comes at him from outside. Vin ducks and retaliates. The bandit falls revealing another behind him. Vin shoots. The other man dies. Lee runs left to right and braces himself against the wall of a house, glances inside a window, holsters his weapon, stands in front of the door and kicks it in (a 17-second take). Inside, where Hilario and his men are prisoners, Lee shoots three guards and the prisoners rush past him to the door (11 seconds). Calvera and his men ram the door but Calvera works his way around the side of the house. Freed prisoners enter the fray, racing across the square armed with chairs and spades, attacking the men trying to break down the door.

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We cut to Sotero, flanked by two men, looking astonished. Lee emerges from the house. The prisoners hack down the enemy. Lee, facing the camera, is shot and is thrown backward against a wall and we cut to a close-up of his face as he slides down the wall and lands in a heap with his head resting against the wall (13 seconds). A villager throws a knife at a bandit. A man running away from the camera is attacked by Petra who fells him with a hoe. At the well Chico turns to shoot men as they try to escape. A horse drags a man along by his stirrups. A villager is shot. A man tumbles out of a door and when he falls we see the axe in his back. A man leaps onto a horse. From behind a wall, the wounded Bernardo shoots. The rider falls. At the rear window of the house Calvera fills the frame. Sensing his presence Chris turns and shoots. Calvera returns fire but whirls backward clutching a pillar. Vin watches from the window. As Calvera slumps we see behind him his men being attacked. Another villager is shot. Chico runs out into the open and dives to the ground. A rider is shot. Chico picks himself up and jumps on a rider. Now Sotero seizes a stool. While Chico holds on, the rider is attacked. Chico, center stage, backs toward the camera and as he turns to his left we can see Sotero going after the rider. Chico pulls down another man and steals his horse. Chris emerges from the back of the house toward Calvera. The camera switches from Calvera to Chris and back to Calvera while the bandit leader utters his last words. Chris holsters his gun. Holding center screen Britt moves toward the camera. As riders pass, Britt picks them off and villagers descend on the fallen men. Britt ducks behind a wall but is shot and throws his knife into the wall. In the distance bandits ride off. Behind the wall the children approach Bernardo and after he ushers them to safety he is shot. As he staggers and falls the boys rush toward him (14 seconds) and Bernardo speaks his last words (17 seconds). Chris strides out into the open (an echo of the aftermath of the first battle and the same left to right movement) past the triumphant villagers and the dead. On horseback, Chico puts away his rifle and removes his hat, echoing the scene with Vin in the last battle, as if a transition has taken place and Chico is fit enough to see off the last of the bandits. Chris removes Britt’s knife from the wall. Irony, if one would like to call it that, has altered the tempo. Harry’s arrival, intended as triumphant, quickly goes wrong. The mercenaries have the upper hand, pinning down Calvera, until the wounding of Harry changes everything. Chris takes him inside, thus forced on the defensive. Now they are under siege, hemmed in, unable to escape. Harry’s wound causes another problem for the filmmaker. His death literally stops the film, interrupting the crescendo of battle. However, it does help, structurally, for Chris being distracted passes the initiative to the bandits and the infuriated Calvera, frustrated at being unable to get at the mercenaries from the front, goes around the back where, conveniently from the director’s point of view, there can be a showdown between him and Chris. The two main subplots, Lee’s cowardice and Bernardo’s paternal attitude toward the children, are resolved. There is an interesting twist to the Lee story. Before he enters the house he holsters his gun. Whether the director intends us to think Lee considers suicide is unclear for Lee soon starts shooting. Four deaths are difficult to accommodate in such a short space of time, given the director also has to maintain the tension of battle. Harry is given the longest time to die, partly

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because he has been given the least attention throughout the film and, greed apart, carries no emotional baggage, and partly to show how attached Chris is to his friend. (By comparison, Chris gives no thought to Vin’s wound.) The others need less time to die because their stories carry more emotional weight. The twist with Lee is that he does not die a coward. Bernardo’s is the most sacrificial in that he shows the greatest attachment to the villagers. Britt’s is the oddest since the knife he throws as he dies has not been seen since his introduction, but it is still a nice touch, as is the fact that Chris picks it up, although whether, taking this inference to its logical conclusion, Chris is a man for mementoes is another discussion. Calvera’s is the most curious death. He is the likeable villain, of course, but even so, Sturges accords him considerable humanity. Easier to have left him slumped dead on the ground, rather than give him time to utter his last, baffled words. In the middle of all this, other narrative strands are worked out. The villagers are roused to action in a way they were not in the first battle. They fight with anything they can get their hands on. Significantly, Sotero, the main proponent of inaction, has fought. Petra, too, hacks down a man. Few villagers use guns. In terms of appearances, if we discount the Chris-Harry scene, Vin again makes the most— 11 times. Chris (excluding Harry’s death) is seen nine times. That is the same as Bernardo, including his death scene. Chico is shown seven times and the others four times apiece, although Harry takes more time with his death scene. Because we know so much more about the characters, this conflict becomes an intricate jigsaw of action and emotion. The first battle is all action, but the second as evenly records emotional impact, a more difficult balance. What is least apparent to a viewer, and yet to which he most subconsciously responds, is rhythm. Direction is all about rhythm, not so much camera movement, although that plays its part, but the length of each scene, each cut, and how these are arranged. Sturges’ mastery of rhythm is no more apparent than in the final battle, when he has so much to accommodate, at times forcing the pace, at others giving characters time to breathe. Here the director’s training as an editor comes to the fore. The battle (from Chris appearing on top of the slope) lasts just over eight and a half minutes. With 106 cuts, the action, proportionately, lacks the pace of the first fight, but this is deceptive for it includes an allocation of one minute and nine seconds for the death scenes, Harry half a minute, Bernardo 18 seconds, Britt 13 and Lee eight. Other scenes are 25 seconds in length, 17 seconds, 12, 11, ten, eight, six. In other words, this battle follows a different rhythm. Still it quivers with intensity. This first minute contains eight cuts, the second minute 16, the third a blistering 27, the fourth (including Harry’s death) ten, the fifth (including Lee’s death) eight, the sixth minute 21, the seventh minute 11, the eighth just five. We can judge the ferocity of battle by the numbers of cuts. But that is not to say that the first quarter is slow by comparison to the third minute or the fifth. The distinguishing feature of this battle compared to the first is more running. Characters run both ways across the screen and toward and away from the camera. Events are easier to follow. In taking the fight to the bandits, the mercenaries must risk more, exposing themselves more often. Most scenes take place in the square with just two indoors. Characters are not restrained by their surroundings, not framed by walls or roofs or pillars. Hilario, as an individual, is less in evidence, Sturges focusing on Sotero deliberating whether to take up arms. Riders (and dust) play a reduced role since the outlaws have little

13. John Sturges: Battle Master

Each available ad adopts a different approach. The wide variety of advertising tools available to the exhibitor is discussed in Chapter 14 (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

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chance to mount. For a section of the film, the opponents are pinned down, bandits in the street, Chris and Vin inside. Sturges uses echo as a tool. Bernardo is seen in the same position on the roof as in the first battle. In a similar fashion Lee is witnessed creeping along a wall. Sturges has a particular motif. He likes to place gunmen center-screen, or slightly off-center, in commanding poses. (In the previous battle, when Chico merits such framing, it is an indication that he has made the grade.) There is a subverting of cliché. The man riding to the rescue needs rescue himself after being shot, in the process destroying whatever plan Chris has in mind. Just when it looks as if the bandits will beat the door down, Calvera catches Chico’s impetuosity bug; had he exercised patience, the siege would have gone in his favor. Composition is used less to indicate restraint, and there are fewer scenes with characters holding a fixed position although Sturges is still fond of dividing the screen. The first time Britt stands, he occupies the right hand third of the screen. There are three turning points. First is the return of Harry, forcing Chris to retreat. The second is the decision of Lee to get involved, resulting in the freeing of the prisoners who, in turn, relieve the pressure on Chris by attacking the men trying to break into the house, and their contribution inspires the other villagers to grab any weapon handy and overwhelm the bandits, driving away any lucky enough to survive. The final critical moment is the emergence of the warrior villagers, swarming across the streets with whatever weapons they can lay their hands on. They turn the tide though are too late to save Lee, Britt or Bernardo. The villagers become a cohesive force, creating the unity that will ensure they will never again have to hire outsiders to do their dirty work. Their uprising (their independence) makes redundant the surviving gunmen and they become strangers moving on, restlessness, no matter how much they pine for the settled life, too ingrained. Dramatic tradition dictates that the best endings arise from the catharsis of death. Even so, five deaths (including Calvera) are a lot of accommodate in a few minutes. These could have been spread out. Had Britt, who plays no significant part in the battle, been shot earlier (especially as he carries no emotional weight, no need for the camera to linger, or for people to gather around), the odds might have shifted in favor of the bandits. Lee dies when his redemption is complete. Bernardo’s demise, requiring the children to mourn, could not be over quickly and might have been one interruption too many in the breathless action, although by this stage the rhythm of the movie has slowed. In the final 90 seconds there are only three sharp cuts, lasting one second each. Otherwise the time between edits stretches out to four, six, seven, nine, 12, 13, 17 and 18 seconds (not in that order, of course). No one could fail to notice the irony that Bernardo and Britt die when the battle is effectively won. It is worth considering why so many had to die. Was it to drive home the idea of sacrifice or to guarantee a three-hankie ending? And if it was for the sake of realism, to avoid any unwelcome questions about how so few could defeat a larger foe, then Britt and Bernardo should have been killed in the thick of the fight. They could as easily have survived, allowing an alternative ending, Bernardo waving from a field surrounded by children, except that for such men their tragedy is an inability to change. Loss, of course, is victory’s partner and in that sense the movie remains true to itself. This is just one more scar for Chris and Vin to carry wherever they go. Men like these always ride off into the sunset—and the darkness already closing in.

14 Interlude: Renegades and Firebrands There was a bewildering choice of newspaper advertisements (known as “Mats”)—19 in total. The ads were created to fit specific sizes standard to newspapers, the width designated by the number of columns, the height calculated in lines (of type) and inches. Height was not dependent on width—two-column examples were seven, nine, 11 or 14 inches high. A space was left at the bottom for the theater to insert its name. The smaller the column width, the more alternatives were available. For these the posters most commonly adapted were the three- sheet and the billboard, sometimes taking elements from each. Some introduced new taglines or graphic images. An example of mild adaptation was a two-column, 14-inch-high ad (Mat 205). Based on the three-sheet design, the artwork inside the nu meral replaced the faces with fistfights. The tagline switched to above the numeral. Brynner’s name moved to run alongside the bottom right of the numeral.1 The five-column, 71-inch-high ad (Mat 503) replaced the original

The five-column newspaper advertisement. The faces of the stars overlay the action with a line drawing of horsemen at the bottom (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

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The six-column newspaper ad introduces different taglines and identifies the characters (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

tagline with three new ones—“Magnificent Seven who fought like seven hundred,” “Magnificent the stand they made” and “Magnificent Seven notches above the ordinary!” The word “Magnificent” stood out in capital letters. The taglines breached the artwork, two on the right and one on the left. The artwork inside the numeral showed the faces of Brynner, McQueen and Wallach but the charging bandits from the three-sheet were removed. Brynner’s name was above the title.2 Mat 402, a smaller version of this, a four-column, 39-inchhigh ad, dispensed with the horsemen.3 A bolder approach—new taglines and graphics—appeared in the six-column, 69-inchhigh ad (Mat 603). The numeral contained the action artwork including the Mexican on horseback wielding a whip. Above the numeral was the original “They were seven” tagline

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but this was supplemented, to the right of the numeral, by new copy. “The renegades among them came for gold…. The firebrands came just to taste the excitement…. And all seven came to wipe away their past!” At the foot of the poster, above the billing block, instead of the charging Mexicans were miniature life-size portraits of the mercenaries, evenly spaced across the page. Below each was a capsule description. Thus, Yul Brynner was The Leader; McQueen, The Deadly One; Buchholz, The Young One; Bronson, The Strong One; Vaughn, The Vengeful One; Dexter, The Greedy One; and Coburn, The Rugged One. Some of these clearly matched their characters but others were way off the mark. Brynner’s name, situated to the left of the title, was only marginally above it.4 The line of figures, minus the descriptions, was utilized in a two-column ad just 7 inches high (Mat 202). In another, an outline of the numeral encompassed the figures at the top, the tagline “Seven who” went underThe three-column newspaper ad overlays a numeral seven on neath and the title at the bot- the action scenes (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater tom. There was room for the Research). three principals outside the numeral.5 A single-column, 3-inch-high ad (Mat 102) managed to squeeze both the figures and Brynner’s face inside the numeral with tagline “Seven who,” then credits and title outside.6 Another six-column ad (Mat 602), this time 58 inches high, mixed elements of Mat 603 with artwork from the billboard. Retained were both the main tagline and the additional “The renegades among them” tagline. Superimposed on the numeral seven (itself superimposed on the action artwork) was a publicity photo of the gunfighters. Unlike the most famous of these publicity shots this did not have them standing in the shape of a seven.

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Instead they were grouped behind Brynner. The right hand side of the ad was dominated by Brynner’s name and face with a glimpse of the lovers at the bottom.7 Advertisements that adapted the billboard generally retained more of the original. Set over two columns and nine inches high, Mat 203 gave over virtually the entire space to the fistfight with the numeral superimposed. The tagline “They were seven” appeared at the top inside the numeral. Gone, however, was the strip of Brynner. His name was cut into the bottom central section of the artwork above the title, also centered, and the billing block.8 Something could as easily be added. The six-column, 71-inch-high ad (Mat 601) inserted three more taglines underneath the main “The Matchless Seven” heading. With words in capital letters, these were contained in narrow rectangular boxes evenly spaced out. “They rode alone—with half the west on their trail. They fought alone— in a land where only enemies stalked! Their story stands alone—among the great leg- Two-column ad that is in effect a close-up of a larger poster (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research). ends.”9 A number of smaller advertisements—five running across a single column and two over a double column—employed more basic elements of the illustration materials. The smallest, a single-column, one-inch ad, showed the gunfighters in a line as seen in the billboard, Brynner’s name, the title and a tagline abbreviated to “Seven who fought like seven hundred!” Marginally bigger, at two inches high, this single-column ad focused on three faces embedded in the numeral only

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this time the illustration was starker, the faces silhouettes on a dark background, like a horror picture. Above the title was the Brynner name and alongside that the first four of the line of gunfighters. Both ads appeared on Mat 101.10 A single-column, seven-inch-high ad (Mat 103) managed to include charging horseman, the numeral, abbreviated tagline plus above it “Magnificent,” Brynner’s name above the title and those of Wallach and McQueen below it.11 A series of single-column or double-column teaser ads mixed up the elements. All used the outline of the numeral. The three single-column ads (Mats 106–108) had, inside the top of the numeral, either the Mexican horsemen, the gunfighters on horseback or the line of seven men, with the title in the middle of the number and the worlds “Are coming!” in capital letters at the bottom. Three double-column ads (Mats 211–213) were identical except that the title and “Are Coming” were combined inside the number.12 The marketing campaign is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 17.

15 Encountering the Inevitable: Themes of The Magnificent Seven Men in professions which cannot change are forced into inevitable collision with an altered world—that, in a nutshell, is the proposition of The Magnificent Seven. It is a movie about transition and identity. It contains parallels to the platoon and heist movie. Professionalism plays a major role. The film examines the gunfighter myth. It is the seminal movie in a new subgenre—the Mexican western. Yet it is the least obvious theme at the time of release—that of American military intervention in a foreign country—that has come to dominate critical thinking. Change provides the thrust for most films. Overcoming an obstacle (love, a murder, a journey, a discovery), characters undergo a transformation that reveals, for better or worse, their true personality and forces them to a higher or lower level. The Magnificent Seven, while certainly about transition, does not conform to this idea. No character, however tempted to do so, changes at the end. And so it becomes a film about the penalties incurred by resisting change. What the characters come to terms with is the loss and regret endemic in their profession and the straitjacket—emotional and otherwise—their work forces them to don. Although not set in a specified period, it is nonetheless the time when the West begins to die. Stability is anathema to gunfighters and it is virtually impossible for the gunmen “to do anything but carry on in the old way.”1 This is partly due to the inherent nature of their profession. We must not forget, for all the solemn acceptance of their way of life, that these are men who fly close to the flames of excitement, exalting in the danger, not knowing when the bullet leaves their gun whether they have been quick enough or too slow. Although no reference is made to it, their situation is akin that of former soldiers who “found themselves with combat skills but no organized combat.”2 The film begins with transition. The villagers must change if they are to avoid constant pillage by bandits. Despite his ostensibly benevolent nature, Calvera is not a man to brook negotiation. If anything, he will take more rather than less. The easy life has vanished, the forces of law and order are closing in. His situation is mirrored in the outside world, the growth of justice creating the confrontation between Calvera and the mercenaries. For the villagers, this transformation has been a long time coming, not simply hastened by the death of a rebellious villager. Their leader, Sotero, has submitted for too long to Calvera, and 162

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Hilario decides to sidestep him. The old man’s first word (“Fight”) forces the villagers to confront reality. It is no accident that they go to a border town, where people come to start a new life. To cross a border is to accept new rules, new cultures, and to let go of the past. The villagers enter uncharted territory, one they recognize as superior, where killers can be bought rather than bought off. They bring an air of innocence, out of place with their wide-brimmed hats and small ponies. But there is something more symbolic at work here. Walter Newman’s original script signals his intentions more clearly than the completed film. If this town is American, it is an accident of geography. “Al though it lies of the north bank of the Rio Grande,” he writes, “the proximity of Mexico is in evidence.” He envisages a place where most of the buildings are traditional American construc- Even though the heading suggests Brynner does it on his own, tion, wood and shingles, with behind him are ranked the other mercenaries. others the classic Mexican adobe. Mingled in with American signs such as Camarga Bank and Camarga Hotel there are ones that say posada (hotel), abarotta (grocery) and carniceria (butcher). There are both Mexicans and Americans in the main street. In one bar they are served by an American, in another by a Mexican. This is an American town where Mexicans are not just welcome but integrated. John Sturges and/or William Roberts do not share Newman’s vision. Their town is smaller than Newman’s. There is no bank, for example, and the town is anonymous, no signs announcing the name. There is the Belmar House hotel and a saloon called 5 Leagues. Wm. Johnson is the proprietor of the livery stables, Ern Berck is the blacksmith and P. Garret owns the general store. There is a drugstore and a shop selling stoves and tinware. The undertaker Chamlee has ornate signage above his door. Mexican influence is limited to a cantina called Los Toritos (little peppers), a shop selling cerveza (beer), signs at the stockyard and the locomotive carrying the imprimatur of a Mexican railway. The impression is this town caters to foreigners passing through but not residents.

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Quite by chance, the Mexicans have come to the right place at the right time for the West has become civilized. The tighter grip of law and order spells the end of an era for gunmen like Chris. Elsewhere, there is demand for marshals, sheriffs and deputies. Something about Chris and Vin makes ordinary citizens shy away from hiring them as peacekeepers. A two-line exchange in the Boot Hill sequence explains they contemplated the possibility. “Were you elected?” Chris asks Vin, meaning did he run for office as sheriff. Vin replies, “No, I got nominated real good,” meaning he did apply but lost. This is the most significant conversation in the film, indicating a desire to ply their trade within the law. They are willing to embrace change but, deemed unfit, are forced to revert to their old ways. If this small town has attracted rather a large proportion of gunfighters, it is not by accident. They have nowhere else to go. To thrive, mercenaries require lawlessness. They are unemployed and unemployable. When this town acquires a sheriff, as it soon will, he will move them on. Once men like Chris roamed the entire West, but now, like Indians, have been driven out of their natural habitat. They are almost trapped into becoming civilized, a menial job the price of fitting in. By virtue of having come to this place, each is in transition, the only exception being Chico, who, having already changed, must change back. The Mexicans are merely the prompt. This American town, on the fringe of civilization, has not achieved its own transition, still in thrall to racists. Virtually everyone in town carries a gun, but nobody is willing to risk their own lives for the greater good. For the villagers the border town is a first stop while for the gunfighters it is the last. The gunmen cannot comprehend why they have gone from being feted to hiding from enemies or working for next to nothing. The men who want to bury the Indian are from out of town, to whom what they do is instinctive. Yet Camarga is not uncivilized. The new world has already encroached, civilization represented by travelers in ladies’ underwear and undertakers investing in expensive hearses from Denver. Where money comes, justice follows. It is indicative of the changing times that Chris and Vin are not called upon to right a more dangerous wrong, bank robbers holed up in the stables, for example, a rancher stealing water from his neighbors, a businessman swindling townspeople out of an inheritance. This is not Tombstone or Dodge. A stand is made on a point of principle and little more. When they set off for Mexico, the Americans misunderstand their mission. They are convinced they will emerge unscathed, unchanged. They will ride in, do the job, get paid and leave. They think they are at the beginning of a journey rather than at the end. Their response to the village, the inviting prospect of alternative lifestyles, reveals fragility in their emotional armor. They think being professionals protects them from regret. The Mexican village turns cliché on its head. There is a church but no priest. And little sign of the wider net of religion—nobody crossing himself or pulling out rosary beads and, critically, no burial scene. The bullfight is a joke. There are no cacti. The sombrero takes on significance when Chico dons one as disguise. The bandit is not a revolutionary. The fiesta is dark, the death of the deer echoing the killing on the hills. The point of a fiesta or wedding in action films is to be interrupted,3 but this one continues, the director cutting between the festivities to action on the hill. There are similarities between this western and the platoon movie.4 In each a disparate group of strangers, assembled by chance, will be tested in battle. The training of the villagers is handled in the same comedic fashion as generally occurs in war movies.5 There are

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similarities between the types of characters: Chris represents the austere commander, Chico the wild young kid who makes too many mistakes (whose folly in the combat movie often results in someone’s death), Vin the folksy populist, Bronson the ethnic outsider, Britt the loner, Vaughn the neurotic.6 In shifting the focus away from the individual to the group, the film embraces the platoon ethos.7 (The film is more satisfyingly interpreted in terms of the combat movie because Vietnam is the only war since 1941 not contemporaneously represented on screen.8) The platoon idea would be a fairer comparison if the Mexicans being trained played a more central part, if, for example, only one or two gunfighters had arrived and needed to turn the villagers into a fighting force. The main ingredient of a platoon at the outset is inexperience, how the recruits respond to war the driving force of the film. What sets The Magnificent Seven apart is the opposite—the gunfighters’ experience. Professionalism cannot exist without experience. Comparisons with the Green Berets are inequitable because there is no sense that these men are elite in the real definition of the word. Only Britt shows outstanding skill. This picture wastes no time on how the gunfighters react to battle. The after-battle boasting is confined to the Mexicans, a brief scene depicts Hilario’s response, and Chico is exuberant but he is like that throughout. Neither (Lee apart) is there any cowering nor (Chico apart) foolish attempts at bravado. What the outsiders have in common with soldiers is that they are more threatened by peace, unable to settle down. Also, apart from Chris being the designated leader, these are not grunts; all are too experienced to occupy the lowly rank of private. They give the impression of being at least sergeants, but more likely leaders in their own right, able to expertly judge a situation and command those who lack their professional expertise. There is a parallel in the heist movie. In a platoon movie, none are chosen; they are amateurs thrown together by random bureaucracy. But in the heist movie, a criminal mastermind picks specialists, men who excel in their jobs, each with different capability9 and knowing exactly what to do. Chris selects professionals for the job. Out of respect for Chris, they accept the others. Being chosen is an accolade. Though this is unspoken, each recruit will have assessed Chris. And even though they are unaware of it at the outset, this will be equivalent of one last big score. Professionalism—and teamwork—is a key theme. These are men who live best in each other’s company, instinctively understanding each other, in the way that soldiers prefer the simplicity of army life to the emotional complexities of home and family. It involves an inviolate code—and a certain swagger. As well as being an ideal and acquiring status, professionalism has a value.10 For these men “violence is a calling, a discipline and an art.”11 Against 30 or 40 bandits, Chris requires only seven men, one professional worth four or five bandits. In Seven Samurai, Kurosawa places great emphasis on planning for battle, mercenaries and villagers alike receiving detailed instructions. In The Magnificent Seven, that is implicit with no detailing of specific roles or tasks. These men know exactly what to do, where to go, and they move, instinctively, as a team. They rely on each other and take pride in their work. If O’Reilly is placed on the roof, rest assured there is a reason.12 In the first battle, each gunman is allocated a position that will take advantage of the planned strategy, the bandits being driven into situations where they can be mown down by the waiting gunfighters. The gunmen are so competent often they are interchangeable. The welcoming committee

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for Calvera comprises Chris, Vin and Britt, whereas at the fiesta the plaza positions are taken by Chris, Vin and Harry with O’Reilly sent up into the bell tower. These villagers are betterdrilled than their Japanese equivalents who panic, rushing off in all directions and screaming, when the bandits arrive. There is more of a sense of villagers being allocated important positions—and therefore assuming more responsibility—for the battle, their main purpose to harass the enemy in flight. Hilario is seconded to hunt the snipers. Teamwork is everything in the sniper chase, with specific action required. Even Chico’s folly in drawing enemy fire shows he knows the schematics of the situation. They move in concert, with O’Reilly giving covering fire as they take up their positions, Chris and Britt running through the archway and then up the hill while O’Reilly and Chico adopt defensive positions.13 A crucial aspect of their professionalism is that they do not train Chico. The platoon movie invariably involves a foolish young man learning the job the hard way. There is no professional interaction between Chico and the others. Nobody takes him under their wing, none of what Philip French called “Teach-In at Dodge City.”14 Unlike the army, there is no punishment for indiscipline—if Chico errs once too often, he will die. Despite the “Now we are seven” pledge, it is clear Chico is not a fully-fledged member. While others are allocated positions in the plaza, Chico is up a tree, not involved. When the alarm is raised, Chico does not go to Chris for instructions as, tacitly, O’Reilly, Vin and Harry do. Left out, he follows Chris and Britt. Chico is not given a dressing down by Britt for either sneaking up onto the hill or panicking and shooting the bandit.15 While, after the first shoot-out, he appears more accepted, he is still the intemperate youth, wiggling his finger through the bullet hole in his hat, and allowing himself to be distracted by the girl. His emotional weakness, his vulnerability to romance, prevents him becoming a true professional. The only case of genuine friendship between the men is suspect. Chris knows Harry only too well, tries to warn him off fantasies of gold. Harry returns out of a sense of camaraderie. Harry is cautious of Chris’s moral indignation, expecting disapproval if caught wheedling out of the villagers the secrets of their gold. Generally in westerns, women represent temptation, but here it is a man. The upright Chris becomes morally corrupt in lying to Harry to ease his death.16 Chris and Britt have a past, however monosyllabic, Chris entrusting Britt with the task of tackling the scouts. The gunfighter, whether legal or not, takes on a symbolism in the American west, the necessary sacrifice on which civilization depends, embracing both folklore and ancient myth.17 Spilled blood is the seed for civilization. The gunfighter begins as the intrepid frontiersman.18 The myth of the frontier is one of the oldest American myths, celebrating the entrepreneurs who subjugated the wilderness and its “savage” inhabitants. Progress is dependent on violence.19 But a man with a gun can be both good and bad, his actions excused by circumstance ( Jesse James) or alienation (The Gunfighter). It takes Shane to turn the gunfighter into the “chivalric rescuer.”20 In accepting the high and lows of their lifestyle, the film is the most representative of its time of the westerns’ continuing process of self-evaluation. Sacrifice is required to revitalize a devastated society. “A more generous reading of The Magnificent Seven recognizes its deconstruction of the gunfighter mythos.”21 A gunfighter is the most American expression of masculinity and gun itself a powerful symbol.22 While the hearse sequence and battle scenes uphold the traditional view of the gunfighter, the film, unusually, draws attention to loneliness, vulnerability and weakness.23

15. Encountering the Inevitable This should not be a film that examines identity, not when the characters are all hard-nosed, tight-lipped gunmen. They should all, by now, know who they are. But if they have any control over their lives they would not be drifting. They know what they are, but not who they are. Putting a lid on emotion does not prevent its escape. That the regrets scene is carried off with such apparent lack of emotion only serves to highlight the feelings involved. It is a measure of the trust the men have for each other that such reflection occurs. The film is surprisingly unsentimental. Chris does not fall in love with a Mexican. None of the Americans settle down at the end. Although they can reveal their deepest fears to each other, they have come too far down the road to change. Even so, emotional grenades are triggered. There is the catharsis of regret. When forced to leave by Calvera, Chris and Vin discover how much they want to stay. Love traps Chico. Lee dies because he fears cowardice, Bernardo because he has become attached to the children, Harry because friendship means more than money, Britt because principle (self-worth) is his god. The villagers, too, are wrestling with identity. Will freedom come at a price? Will it turn them into heartless Americans? Can one be both farmer and fighter? Lay down weapons when the war is over, accept the dull life of a farmer? At the climax, freedom is not achieved by guns, but by villagers using ordinary farming implements. The decision to ride back to the Virtually nothing suggested in this poster actually appears in the film.

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village after being sent packing by Calvera is the turning point in the film. The ostensible reason is to regain battered pride. But at that moment they turn from mercenaries into freedom fighters.24 They act out of “selfless idealism,” putting pride and honor before selfinterest.25 However, in an enemy this unwillingness would be interpreted as fanaticism.26 This is heroism that money cannot buy and goes beyond any contract. They are outnumbered, cannot hope to control the battleground and cannot guarantee any assistance from the villagers. In essence what takes place is a role reversal. The mercenaries have become the downtrodden. Sent away with their tails between their legs, they are at one with the villagers, the equal of those they have come to liberate. Refusal to accept the yoke of Calvera shifts the film into a higher emotional gear. In setting them free, Calvera has made them his slaves. The condition of flight is that they must not return. The bandit has marked his territory and expelled them from it. The basic freedom to roam the United States has been denied them in Mexico. The impossible has occurred. The proud words uttered in the back room of the cantina—“Men you step aside for: none” and “insults swallowed: none”—now ring hollow. In this lawless bandit country they have been forced to accept the rule of another man. If they leave Mexico, they depart as the vanquished. It is a peculiarly American torture that Calvera has visited on them, a breach of the inalienable right to bears arms. When they turn back, they are rising up against their oppressor. Previously superior to the villagers, now they share the same tyrant, Calvera. In the final battle, villagers rise up as one, even the previously impotent and treacherous Sotero, to overthrow the bandit. This frenzy of revolution, hacking down the enemy with machetes and hoes, is a world away from the first gunfight. The gunfighters do not exert control of the villagers in the second battle the way they did in the first. Every single person is involved not just those chosen by the seven and intent on murderous revenge. When it is over, the mercenaries are redundant. The villagers have made their bones. They are, in the American way, proven fighters. Having acquired battle skills they can return to the real work of the fields and the living and loving forever out of reach of men for whom killing is their life. For the gunfighters, this is not a job well done, but something on a higher plane, for which no recompense is adequate. Chris and Vin depart as professionals. No words are wasted on the men left behind, no solemn graveside scene, no maudlin remembrance of good lives ended, no rousing hymn to mark their farewell.27 What is left behind is a prophetic echo. The old man has sent three villagers to get guns. Now they possess an armory. The village is armed to the teeth, the kind of place no bandit would dare go near. Since guns are the most important currency in peacekeeping, they are now as self-sufficient as Americans. Calvera cannot understand the distinctions between the Americans and himself. He thinks of himself as a good man. He looks after his men, knows (in an earlier the draft of the script) the names of his victims. A gun entitles a man to take what he wants and Calvera is baffled the Americans have a different perspective. When he invites the incomers to share the spoils, it is not just to avoid bloodshed but because he views the mercenaries as men like himself. While it strains belief that he lets them go (ostensibly fearing revenge from their friends), it makes more sense if he considers them, in a deeper sense, colleagues. His affability is more attractive than Chris’s unbending persona, and he is on more familiar terms with his emotions.

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Similarities between bandits and mercenaries begin long before the movie opens. Calvera operates in the most northerly part of Mexico and the gunfighters in the most southerly part of the United States for the same reason. Distant from government, law and order, and civilization, these “areas remote from centers of power experienced a lack of government administration.”28 Both seek a kind of freedom, a land without constraint or disapproval. Calvera represents an alternative future—a mercenary unable to earn a living in the normal manner might be tempted to turn outlaw. Both “armies” are shown as disciplined, riding in tight formation, the Mexicans in double file rather than charging as a horde, silent as they ride, not screaming and whooping, the Americans in single file. Audience preference, and Bernstein’s rousing score, may tip the viewer in the right direction, but the way these scenes are shot is more clinical. Equally, audience reaction determines response to the two avoidable deaths at the beginning. When Calvera shoots the peasant, he bemoans the man’s stupidity, recognizing the senseless waste of life. Nobody ever blames Britt for killing the idiotic challenger in the stockyard, yet we take against Calvera. Calvera expresses regret, Britt none. Slotkin argues that gunfighters cannot vindicate their moral character unless they establish the differences between Calvera and themselves.”29 Skoble contends the gunfighters are the opposite of the bandits, and while just as poor the seven “prefer to live as honestly as possible rather than as thieves.”30 But it is not as clear-cut. The film makes “heroes out of villains,” and in so doing blurs the distinctions between good and evil.”31 The moral dubiety of heroes will become a hallmark of the Mexican western. Most interviews with participants ignored this issue but Yul Brynner confronted it in the Tucson Daily Citizen (October 15, 1960). The line of definition between gangsters and the cowboys of the old West is a very narrow one. Operating in gangs or packs the frontier cowboy of the western era acted under orders of the boss, in most cases the ranch or cattle owner. But whatever the case was, he was available for hire, on either side of the law. He was for the most part a rebel who took the law into his own hands. His heart was in his gun.

That the film carries a potent political edge is partly because the village is set in Mexico and partly the result of subsequent history. Had the mercenaries been fewer in number, they would not have been seen as such a strong force. Seven is not, in itself, an army, but for the purposes of entering a foreign country it is a larger invasion than two or three. The Americans exhibit a disregard for the sensibilities of the neighboring country by accepting the job in the first place. Recruiting such a large force is a hostile act, possibly the vanguard for a much larger expedition. What makes Calvera, a ruthless killer, draw back from murdering the Americans when he is on home soil, on the receiving end of an act of aggression? It is an understanding that the United States would not let such an act go unpunished. The powerful neighbor would need little excuse. Calvera can slaughter his own people with impunity but American lives are sacred. The political element of the film first appears in Lawrence Kitchin’s article “The Decline of the Western” in the BBC publication The Listener ( July 14, 1966). He comments: “a wild bunch intervenes in the internal politics of Mexico almost as if they had anticipated the call of Kennedy’s inaugural address.” Philip French’s Westerns takes up this theme almost a decade later.32 Jenni Calder elaborates: “In some respects the film can be seen as the purest

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justification of the more dubious aspects of American foreign policy … a democracy overthrows a dictatorship and the community is eternally grateful.”33 Slotkin takes the allegory further, interpreting the film in the context of counterinsurgency and the Green Beret, the American version of the guerrilla fighter.34 Determination to protect the weak is ample justification for Kennedy’s foreign policy.35 But Hollywood cannot embrace the realities of the dirty war. The final shootout involves a “tactical fantasy” with no villagers killed by friendly fire.36 (Although in another sense they are all combatants.) One chapter of Stanley Corkin’s 2004 opus Cowboys as Cold Warriors: The Western and U.S. History is devoted to an analysis of the film along with Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and The Alamo in an effort to examine “various strategies of conduct in the post–Korea world, each film articulating a political orientation—Gunfight a centrist vision, The Magnificent Seven a liberal and The Alamo a rightist orientation.”37 Corkin relates the Sturges film to the launch of the Russian Sputnik, the first deployment of military advisers in Vietnam and the American presidential elections which would mark the beginning of John F. Kennedy’s New Frontier, arguing that “a film that is so explicitly about military intervention in regional conflict as The Magnificent Seven must have at its core some vision of incipient conflict such as Cuba or even Vietnam.”38 He places the film in the context of Casablanca and Sergeant York in which “reluctant heroes … are lured into fighting for a just cause.”39 In the wider political arena the film pleads that an extension of U.S. power abroad can bring about social conditions throughout the world.40 Implicitly, however, The Magnificent Seven reflects on the social order from the perspective of 1960 America. There are two aspects to this. In the first, a grassroots revolt “arises spontaneously with the aid of individuals with integrity.”41 Referring to Hobbes’s Leviathan and Locke’s Two Treatises of Civil Government, author Aeon J. Skoble does not see the farmers as powerless in that they “use trade to obtain whatever they need, and what, in the Lockean analysis, they have every right to secure, their self-protection.”42 He also draws a different conclusion to most critics, claiming of the film’s ending that “one might argue that in keeping with honor and preserving a village, they achieved a victory.”43 The second aspect, of course, is one where the gunfighters are superior and the Mexicans inferior. The Americans caste-mark is their capacity for effective violence. In contrast, the Mexicans are militarily and technologically (in terms of firepower) incompetent.44 Yet, as I have noted, there is an inherent equality in the Sturges movie. In the final battle, the gunfighters are under siege, heavily outnumbered, with no room to maneuver. It is only when Lee sets free the imprisoned villagers that the tide turns. Victory is not achieved through superior technology. The villagers attack with farming implements rather than guns. Nor is the superiority/inferiority argument so concrete. The Mexicans enrolled in the gunfighter army distinguish themselves in the first battle. That Hilario accompanies Vin into the hills is a sign of equality. Nor do the Americans seek to impose their authority forever. Chris sets Hilario up to be the village leader once the gunfighters have departed. Two tyrants need to be overthrown, Calvera and his puppet Sotero. One of the unexpected twists of the script is that Calvera turns out to be tougher and smarter than Chris thinks. Often overlooked in assessments of the Mexicans as inferior is Calvera’s superiority as a warlord. He exhibits political skill in keeping the villagers subjugated, the threat of violence rather than violence itself being the key (just as a sheriff with

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a gun prevents lawlessness). His friendliness and paternalism are expressed as extensions of political understanding rather than of his character. That his approach has worked so well and for so long can be seen in the villagers’ acceptance of this yoke. When the villager rebels, it is clearly the first time anyone has issued such an outright challenge. While it would not serve the film for Calvera to be an object of ridicule, though his vanity and extravagant outfits nudge him in that direction, he proves more than a match for the American. In Seven Samurai the bandit leader continues the attack because that is his nature, he cannot give up, executing his own men when they desert, his strength lying in being unable to conceive of defeat. But all he has is brute strength and it is the cleverness of his opponents, in constructing stout defenses, that is his undoing. Initially, Calvera is different. He has the cunning to outmaneuver the Americans. He turns the tables on them, trapping them in the village. The bandit has survived as much on his wits as on the guns at his disposal. He only dies because, critically, he has misread the opposition, assuming the gunmen will be only too glad to escape with their lives. No wonder he cannot believe they have come back. He has anticipated this kind of death—“sooner or later you must answer for every good deed.” What gets him killed is his humanity. “Unelected” is the key word in examining the wider political aspects of the movie. Future interference in the politics of foreign countries would mean de-stabilizing or bringing down governments, shoring up corruption or sending in highly trained professionals akin to The Magnificent Seven. And yet it is doubtful if the skills of Chris and Vin could be harnessed to such an elite force. Not so much from a point of principle but out of self-respect. A sheriff has freedom. A soldier none. It is ironic that the film’s Mexico setting is itself the result of dubious moral action. The idea of locating the movie’s action in a foreign country is not the result of a screenwriter or director wishing to explore, however subconsciously, the issues raised above, but from venality, from Brynner’s need to avoid paying U.S. taxes.

16 The Film Nobody Remembers Your village is in mortal danger. Bandits are due back any minute. They will steal what little food you have left. What do you do? Do you (a) have a party or (b) start building defenses and learn how to fight? Apparently, for villages in Mexico, the correct answer is the first. No action film has ever suggested anything as preposterous. Logic does not always win the day in The Magnificent Seven. After the mercenaries have taken care of the bandit scouts, Chris announces they have the element of surprise. This is sheer nonsense. Calvera (Eli Wallach) has been established as a clever leader, not an idiot. What type of leader, having sent his men on a spying mission, does not consider it untoward when they do not come back? We might even ask why he bothered. He ruled this region, ruthlessly suppressing opposition, so why would he suddenly feel the need to check things out before his return? Assuming that for some reason a note of caution had been struck and he has dispatched men, surely alarm bells would be ringing at their disappearance. Calvera is forced to cover up this illogical act by admitting, when he comes back to the village, that he should have known. He might as well have slapped his head in disbelief at his folly. Nor is there much sense in Calvera letting his enemies depart. Why would this ruthless killer fear revenge from friends of the mercenaries? Even if we accept this logic, it is bizarre to let them go with their weapons. Depriving an enemy of his guns would be the ultimate humiliation and to do the opposite goes against the grain. For a film that has steadfastly avoided most western clichés, here it falls at the final hurdle. It is a Hollywood truism that when a character reprieves his enemy, instead of showing gratitude he will return and kill the character. Calvera’s honor code seems a scriptwriter’s device to set up the conclusion. Certainly Hollywood movies do not usually take into account common sense, otherwise few heroines would go down into dark cellars on their own, but, even so, having spent a great deal of time developing the bandit’s brutality, it appears perverse for him to let the mercenaries go. And no matter how it serves the story, it is stranger to break their word and return. This time it is Britt’s task to do the screenwriters’ dirty deed. “Nobody throws me my guns and says run.” Compared to the Japanese version, there is one telling—and odd—difference. In Seven Samurai, the bandits initially leave the village alone because the harvest is not in. There is nothing worth stealing yet. But in The Magnificent Seven the harvest is in—the bandits ride through ricks of corn—and the bandits ignore it, opting to go “hunting” instead. Calvera 172

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makes a big point of his problems in feeding his hungry men and yet with the village able to provide more than enough in the way of corn, he decides to wait. Where do the bandits ride off to? Presumably not the way they came in. There are only two ways into the village—from the fields, the way they arrive, or from the hills, the way the mercenaries arrive. The second time the bandits come into the village, they have taken the same route as the mercenaries. So it is conceivable the two forces could have come across each other in the hills. Calvera gives no precise time for this return and yet the gunfighters, with no idea in which direction he has gone hunting, take no precautions against accidental encounter. Who, precisely, kills Britt and O’Reilly? Britt is shot after killing four Mexicans who are attempting to flee on horseback. Another falls off wounded and is hacked down by villagers. At this point, the bandits are intent only on escape. The bandits appear to be going in the opposite direction from where Britt is standing and there are no shots of the bandits leaning back over their shoulders to aim. Nor are there any consequences to Britt being shot. No bandit is punished. We can ask the same question of O’Reilly. Who shot him? By the time he bites the dust the battle is over for next we see Chris moving out into the plaza and the gunfire is finished. The scene with the snipers is another peculiarity. With half the village to aim at, including a dozen around Sotero as he toasts Chris, it seems bizarre in the extreme that a sniper, by definition a marksman, would hit a vessel rather than the man holding it. And that the next bullets would also miss. Certainly this sudden intervention cuts short the celebrations and issues a stark warning to the villagers. But even the sniper’s presence is baffling. Would it not be more likely for clever Calvera to seek to dupe the villagers into thinking they had scared him off and then revisit the village when the inhabitants’ guard is down? If one is going to send a sniper, surely it would be with a different intention—to kill Chris in the hope that his death would encourage the mercenaries to disband. Considerable license is taken with the first gun battle. As Calvera and his men ride like crazy through the fields outside the village, how is it remotely possible for them to be picked off by Bernardo on the church roof ? The horses are going at a hell of a pace, and away from the village. Even a crack shot like Bernardo would find it difficult to hit a moving target through swirling dust. It is impossible for Chris (from the square) to even get a bead on them. Hilario? More likely, as he appears to be positioned outside the village, but this is his first time with a gun. The idea of the bandits being in mortal danger away from the confines of the village is far-fetched. In whipping up so much excitement for the viewer, the camera tracking at a furious speed to keep pace with the horsemen, Sturges makes it seem that they can be killed when, in fact, they must have been long out of range. The second battle has as many inconsistencies. The only reason for Calvera slipping around the side of the house is to facilitate the mandatory showdown with Chris. We should also be asking why the prisoners did not pause in their escape to steal the guns from their jailers, instead of arming themselves with household or farming implements. That is because if they come out firing the battle will be over in no time and they would not need the assistance of other villagers like Sotero. By the same token, we might consider why no villager has taken a gun from the dead bandits littering the place. Are the bandits not deficient in failing to notice Chico is a stranger? These men have

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spent longer together than the mercenaries. When Chico gets close, why does he not steal their horses and leave the bandits stranded, unable to attack and at the mercy of the Americans? Could Chico be so stupid as to not have considered this option? Conversely, how did the bandits sneak into the village to take it by surprise when a plot point has previously established that children were being used to warn of imminent attack? If Vin is such a crack shot with a pistol, why does he ask to borrow a shotgun? Technically, he is living up to the term “riding shotgun” but that weapon has to be discharged at close range and a gunfight usually takes place at a greater distance. By the time he drops the shotgun to reach for his pistol, he could be dead. Vin is again at fault (probably one improvisation too many) in the scene in the plaza after the bandits have been sighted. Everyone else is wearing their guns. Vin is not. When he stands, presumably the sign he is on high alert, he has his holster draped over this shoulder, hardly the best place for it should the enemy start shooting. Given that a gunman lives or dies by his speedy assessment of odds, it seems an unlikely choice. Equally illogical is the scene where Chris, in his room in the border town, responds to a knock on the door. The door opens but nobody enters. Chris goes out to investigate without drawing his gun, a shade too trusting for a man who lives by his wits. And while we are at it, why do the mercenaries allow the bandits anywhere near the village? At the start bandits come by way of the open fields where no ambush is possible, but the second arrival is through the hills, along a narrow river, rocks and hiding places on either side. Seven gunmen (thirteen if we include the six villagers allocated the weapons from the dead bandits) trained to kill could surely by ambush slaughter the enemy. In his bright red shirt at the front of his men, Calvera represents an easy target. Even if they do not wipe out everyone, they would shorten the odds in a way that equated with the original. In Seven Samurai victory is a matter of arithmetic, reducing enemy numbers until they are forced to retreat. Destroy some of the opposition in the hills, then carry on the fight in the village, would be a sensible strategy. If the villagers have been Steve McQueen, complete with sweat-stained hat, leaps into action in The Magnificent Seven (United Artists, 1960). sent to buy guns, why not go to

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a shop that sells guns? There is no inference that a shopkeeper would refuse to sell guns to a Mexican or that the weapons must be bought on the black market. It is inconceivable that a town exists where guns are in short supply. Chris’s clever line—to the effect that mercenaries are cheaper than guns—is too clever by half. Every man in the street wears a gun. The availability of weapons is essential to the West. It is unbelievable that purchasing guns would be beyond their financial reach. Equally, if guns are so expensive, so must be bullets, yet the gunmen are willing to shoot these by the belt-load. No director can dictate what the audience chooses to remember or how it will react. A classic example is Britt’s long-range shot. The audience laughter greeting Britt’s “I was aiming for the horse” works to the detriment of the line. In fact, Britt is telling the truth. He has been sent to the hills to capture a bandit, not kill them all. In missing the horse, Britt fails in his mission. In laughing the audience fails to grasp the import of the words. We cannot blame original screenwriter Walter Newman for this. He has Britt understanding his failure by adding the line “I wanted to get one alive!” but this is not in the final script. We can tell from the way Coburn speaks his line, turning away after he has spoken, that a second line is never an option. There is another, more critical illustration. Most people remember the film as ending with the words “The farmers always win.” I have referred to it myself, in the context of the “greedy” farmers, and yet these are not the last words spoken. The final lines are more reflective than that. “We lose,” says Chris, meaning men, like gunfighters, who have, in effect, in the lives they lead nothing much to live for, “we always lose.” What people don’t remember is what went wrong with this movie. Gaping holes in both structure and logic exposed glaring weaknesses. The fact that the movie went through three scriptwriters is the giveaway. Films are, of course, often rewritten, but that is more generally to do with polish and punching up certain scenes or characters. The more writers involved the more trouble is invited. The mood might abruptly shift, the plotline change, opinions about the integral worth of characters and their contribution to the story alter. Sometimes the best we can hope for is that nobody spots the flaws, the character dead ends and the sections that make little sense. The original is historical for a reason. Two reasons, actually. The first was almost philosophic. At the time the movie was made, the code of the samurai was buried deep in the past, and to bring it any closer to present day would invite unwelcome analysis. The second reason was as fundamental. Historical movies create distance. Although Kurosawa places his movie in a different sort of past to the kind Hollywood loved, dispensing with ostentation, he uses detachment to create unfamiliarity, forcing the viewer to concentrate more on the details the director considers most relevant. Despite the sets for the Seven Samurai lacking the glamour of, say, Ben Hur or The Ten Commandments, they are still constructed, and Kurosawa puts in the frame only that which he wants us to see. Of course, a western takes places in the past, but it is a very familiar past. The landscape is as well-known as the New York skyline. Almost any cinemagoer could design a western set with his eyes closed. The Magnificent Seven shows nothing we will not have seen before. The Mexican village is like any other Mexican village, the town the same as countless other towns, the hills like thousands more. Where elements of Kurosawa’s tale hinge on the village’s hilly locale the battles in The Magnificent Seven occur on less interesting flats. Where Kurosawa invents weather, pouring rain in the climactic scenes a visual feast, the Sturges film is

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played out in a boring climate. The dust of battle is not an obstacle like the rain, its main benefit cinematographic, allowing Sturges compositional options. Nothing in The Magnificent Seven is as distinctive for the viewer as the Kurosawa landscape, his impoverished village, or even the bandit armor. With Kurosawa we hold back, waiting to be taken where the director wants us to go, rather than so familiar with the Sturges background that we are apt to rush on ahead, forcing the director into little tricks to keep us in check. Original screenwriter Walter Bernstein showed good instinct in placing the story against the backdrop of the Civil War, which had a nobility few would question, and whose survivors carry with them the seeds of horror. Moral dilemma is at the heart of the best historical dramas. While the gunmen accepted the soullessness of their lives, it is quite a different prospect than if they are in danger, through their actions, of losing their souls in the first place. In other words, the stakes are not as high as they could be. The theme of saving villagers—substitute brother, wife, son, family trapped by Indians, etc.—is nothing new. Being paid to do so is but a minor twist. The initial premise that altruism is the deciding factor in the mercenaries’ decision to get involved stems from the initial action of Vin and Chris in fighting the injustice in Camarga. The do-good aspect is not stated. Each man takes on the job for a different reason, accepting the pitiful money on offer, the inference being that anything is better than the mundane alternatives. But the audience has been indoctrinated by a succession of worthy western heroes into believing that the explanation must go deeper, a rationale that appears justified by the sacrifice at the end. In this sense the script cheats. What is glossed over in assessing the main characters is that they are not the only ones to recognize injustice and try to correct it. The film twists on the pair of anonymous travelers so outraged by the sight of a dead Indian abandoned in the street that they pay for his funeral. The rest of the town may be in thrall to the racists who control it, but this shows decency is universal and that carrying a gun is not the only way to stand up for the oppressed. But good intention is not enough. Another film would have permitted the travelers to drive the hearse, either to death or triumph. And that is the main problem with the film. The motor of most movies is discovery. Had the travelers boarded the hearse, they would have made life-changing decisions. Through conflict, or perhaps a journey, the main characters would find out more about themselves. Overcoming painful discovery is what drives stories to their conclusions. It is not that the mercenaries do not go on a journey; it is that they all go on the same one. Hard men to the core, they discover they are not as tough as they think, that permitting sympathy or empathy into their lives is dangerous. But only in one case does this change cut deep, the coward Lee finding redemption in death. Otherwise alteration is skin deep, the men remaining what they have been for a long time. Certainly, they do not moan about their situation; the scene where they detail their lives does not contain self-pity, but equally it allows for no change. At the end when Chris and Vin ride off it is not to a different future, but to more of the same. Because they fight for nothing for the poor peasants, we are led to believe they have been transformed, but it is hard to consider that this is not simply an unusual episode— however magnificent—in their lives. The Magnificent Seven is an analysis, rather than an exploration, of the lives mercenaries lead. The venerated samurai profession has no American equivalent. The idea that the best upholders of justice are those who kill for a living is one of the absurdities of the western

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code, invented by a Hollywood that decided that infamous killers like Jesse James and Billy the Kid were good guys turned bad because of injustice. In terms of Western ideology, the most influential movie is not Stagecoach but Henry King’s Jesse James which preceded it. Thereafter, for every My Darling Clementine and Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, where bad guys pay the price, there are morally compromised examples like The Gunfighter and The Left Handed Gun and even to some extent Shane. The other curiosity is that for tough guys they are very accommodating of each other. One of the delights of The Dirty Dozen, for example, is how much time is given to the infighting between the condemned men, but, when the feuding is over, they have bonded into a team. The lack of needling between the mercenaries is hard to credit. Yes, they are professionals, but so is any army and the price of such machismo is a broken jaw or at least a scuffle in the dirt. There is not a better behaved group. The Dirty Dozen uses conflict to examine characters and provide moments on which the plot pivots. The Magnificent Seven pretty much goes from A to B without pausing to wonder how the movie would benefit by visiting C. Blame time constraints for the lack of character development. The element is even more curious considering the supposed offscreen tension that Sturges was keen to cultivate in the anticipation it would inform onscreen behavior. The film is short of normal narrative tension. Don’t confuse this with action beats. Normally characters are established in the first ten to 15 minutes, tensions developed, romantic entanglements set up, conflicts with a superior or junior established, an issue from the past thrown up. In The Guns of Navarone, a similar mission picture, Anthony Quinn plans to kill Gregory Peck because Peck is responsible for the death of his family, there is a traitor theme, David Niven is the junior who disparages the seniors and a power shift occurs when Anthony Quayle is wounded. Tension is not dissipated by two incipient romances. None of the seven hate each other so tension is replaced by action beats, a poor substitute for strain between characters. Remove tension and the spine of the movie suffers. Beyond Chico’s acceptance as part of the team, nothing set up in the first third of the film is resolved at the end. All the problems, Lee’s cowardice, the love story, O’Reilly and the children, begin when the film is well underway and are resolved almost before they get started. The question of whether the mercenaries can thwart Calvera does not work along traditional lines, nobody making contact with the bandits until the confrontation on the plaza. Battle is commonly used to explore character but, with the exception of Chico and Lee, we learn no more about the characters under fire, except that they are cool, than before. That Britt can shoot from a long distance and Vin can fire a rifle single-handed are almost parlor tricks. The closest we get to emotion is longing, but it is no more explored than a glance. What they want they forbid themselves to have. Stoicism runs counter to opening up. And yes, that does make this a man’s movie, lovey-dovey stuff kept to a minimum, action straight to the point, soul-searching non-existent, but it prevents us getting close to motivation. The structure is partly at fault as is the decision to dispense with the device of an older man as the recruiting agent, the part that would have gone, in the Walter Bernstein version, to Spencer Tracy. Films about pent-up emotions work best with a prying outsider. In The Dirty Dozen Lee Marvin demonstrates his tough-guy credentials in the opening scenes, but provides the audience with a moral compass to the others. The actions of a few of the killers appear justifiable, but Marvin is never taken in, and the discerning eye with

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which he observes them, the humanity which he brings out of them, becomes the director’s viewpoint, and therefore ours. Were The Dirty Dozen just killing machines we would care very little for them. The only device Sturges uses to get the audience to like his killers is to employ likeable actors. We care for Bernardo not because he has a soft spot for children but because he looks the kind of hulk that would scare them off. We care for Vin because he has an impish grin, for Lee because underneath the veneer of toughness and the gloss of the dandy are sad eyes. Chris needs Vin to express his feelings for him. The only character to express his inner thoughts is Calvera. A Spencer Tracy–type character would have stood apart from the others and, therefore, provided us with a similar distance, and perhaps from a word or a glance, we would have a different outlook on the mercenaries. For such a gritty film, reality often takes a back seat. How astonishing that among the seven there is not an alcoholic (although Lee comes close) or womanizer. They are the most model professionals ever put on screen. Their weaknesses are rarely explored. That none have emotional attachments—no abandoned wives or children—serves the plot well, in that there are no distractions, but that appears incredible. That none have money is not developed. There are conflicting reasons for them all being short of cash. Vin and Chris are convinced that the rise of civilization has deprived them of their livelihood, although Vin has enough to lose gambling. Bernardo, on the other hand, is still being offered fistfuls of dollars for his services, albeit he is broke at the moment. Would it not be more likely that the reasons all are chronically short of money is that they spend it irresponsibly, on drink and women? Temporary poverty does not eradicate permanent vice. For all the professionalism, it is also often absent. When the others are on guard during the fiesta Britt is dozing out back and Lee lounges on the porch. This is taking “coolness” too far. Having a nap is hardly in keeping with watching the village’s rear. In Seven Samurai when Toshiro Mifune abandons his post and infiltrates the enemy camp he is given a dressingdown for his lack of discipline, an essential trait of a professional, but Chico is not chastised by Chris. Falling in love is unprofessional. Men on a job cannot let their feelings get in the way. The samurai are shocked that the youngster has been carrying on with the girl. This should also go against the professional code of the gunfighters, otherwise they are the same as the bandits, taking more than they are being paid for, leaving behind pregnant women. After the first battle Vin and Chris on patrol pass Harry on guard with two villagers, but they are facing the wrong way, looking into the plaza rather than at the hills. For all the time they spend together there is no sense that they bond. Some are old friends with an established camaraderie or working relationships, and while that makes redundant the scriptwriter’s requirement to provide more character information, it also prevents us seeing them getting to know each other. Chico is an outsider for about 30 minutes of screen time and although his youthful exuberance leads him astray it is not enough to create a schism. Chris does not even know Bernardo’s real name. If the men do connect it is implicit rather than explicit. The mercenaries share a similar perspective but that is not the same thing. It is almost as if the director’s sole emotional aim is to bring these men together so that they can see they are not alone. Realizing what their profession has cost them does not make any give it up. The consequences of self-awareness, the usual trigger for dramatic change, are ignored. A whole series of internal conflicts is overlooked in a bid to create a streamlined, action-packed western. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, on the

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Chris and Bernardo appear comradely in this scene teaching the villagers how to shoot, yet Chris does not know Bernardo’s real name.

other hand, relies on the outlaws’ desire to escape their law-breaking past. Nor do the gunfighters form attachments, except the most rudimentary, with the villagers. Bernardo collects a fan club, Chico falls in love, and while they teach the villagers to fight, and share their food, the villagers remain largely anonymous. Relationships with the villagers are largely sentimental involving cute children and a traditional will-they-won’t-they love story whereas Kurosawa in Seven Samurai is more realistic. His love scenes are underscored by Manzo’s fears for his daughter and the revelation that Rikichi’s wife has been kidnapped (and raped) by bandits. And there is more overt sexuality. The wanna-be samurai discovers the girl’s gender when he accidentally brushes against her breasts. In the Sturges version her hair gives her away. The girl’s shorn hair in Seven Samurai serves to remind us of her father’s fear and her shame and also suggests unwelcome consequences for the forbidden love between the girl and the wanna-be samurai. The grasping nature of the villagers is revealed when the cache of armor is discovered and villagers are furious at having to defend homes that are not their own. Tensions between samurai and villagers are constant. Betrayal in The Magnificent Seven is overlooked. Sotero is not condemned for his betrayal, instead allowed to redeem himself. Sturges films the villagers in small groups. Hilario and his companions are always seen

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together and rarely merit a close-up. Bernardo’s boys are grouped together and are also deprived of close-ups. Petra apart, women are relegated to washing clothes and mostly filmed from the back. Economy is involved in filming them in this way and possibly an unwillingness to create further story strands, but it would not have been difficult for one villager to receive special treatment. Why not allow Hilario, who gives chase with Vin (and gets a couple of close-ups), to have a relationship with him from the beginning? What difference would it make to the story if Bernardo saves one child rather than three? And is it not surprising that Sturges refuses to follow up on the little girl who covets Bernardo’s whistle? That scene could have been given to one of the boys or she could have adopted him, thus putting herself in danger. No wonder the Mexican government was furious. Not only did the script prevent the villagers defending themselves, but once they prove capable learners, they turn treacherous, in league with Calvera to trap the mercenaries. We discover later that Hilario and his friends must have resisted, otherwise they would not be held prisoner, but their rebellion is not shown. With Hilario set up as a potential leader, it seems a shame to not let him have a proper story arc by showing his anger at Sotero’s betrayal. It makes sense for Hilario, rather than the old man, to speak the lines at the end, knowing looks passing between him and Chris, a sense of the torch being passed. Time may be the main culprit here, but more likely it is Hollywood’s indifference to Mexicans. In one respect they remain the bad guys. “The farmers always win” infers that Americans sacrifice their lives to save Mexicans. Chico is the film’s biggest mistake. That Buchholz does not become a star of the caliber of McQueen, Bronson and Coburn is not for want of trying. The producers have provided him with the perfect role, and the fact that he is not up to it is the movie’s main deficiency. He is not in the same league as Toshiro Mifune although his character displays the same reckless disregard. In Seven Samurai, the young wanna-be and the unwanted camp follower are not the same person. The Magnificent Seven gives Chico too many plot points, rather than dividing them up as in the original. Once the characters of Chris and Vin have been established, Chico occupies the central role, sidelining Vin, as he attempts to join the group and he is suddenly transformed from comedic character lagging behind to taking command in the village. He knows too much and yet nothing at all. Rather than the more obvious Chris or Vin, he is given the love interest. He is involved in tracking the bandit scouts and the reason the bandits become aware of their presence. On his own initiative he penetrates the enemy camp. For Chico to be a central rather than a supporting character is unusual in such a communal endeavor. His presence in so many crucial scenes does the film no favors. Chico is given too much to do, the others too little. Britt has one great line and two great scenes. But here’s the odd thing about Britt. His entire build-up focuses on his knife skills. And when do we see him use these again? Never. How crazy is that? Why not have him silently ambush one Mexican on the hillside with a knife and take the others prisoner? Unless to prove he is as deft with the gun as the knife, it makes little sense. What does it tell us about Britt that, in striving after “cool” (lying down, playing with flowers), he is the one taken by surprise. How unprofessional! None of the gunfighters appears on the lookout for the bandits. It hardly matters if Britt is good with a gun, the opening having established that he is better with a knife than anyone with a gun. Then having shown he is a marksman, nothing further is made of it. He does not, for example, take long-distance aim at the fleeing Calvera.

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In establishing Britt, Sturges breaks one of the cardinal rules of filmmaking. There is a standing joke that the first thing actors do on receiving a script is to count their lines to assess the size of their part. The time an actor spends on screen is generally in proportion to their importance in the picture. Britt’s introduction is the longest, by far, of all the mercenaries—a whopping four minutes, approximately one-thirtieth of the film, twice as long as the first battle. Tradition dictates that an actor given so much time at the beginning would be of considerable importance. And yet Britt has little else to do, sidelined, like Harry, during the battles. Only Bernardo and Lee have roles that provide insights into their characters. Harry injects a little comedy into the film, but his greed, even if played for laughs, makes him an object of derision. The strangest thing is that Sturges does not steal more from the best parts of Seven Samurai, namely the battle sequences. Mexico is actually known for bad weather (the rainy season postponed the shooting of Return of the Seven) so torrential rain could have been utilized. Rain is Kurosawa’s most striking visual effect and nothing in The Magnificent Seven measures up. Where the fights in Seven Samurai take place in close quarters, those in the western are more expansive. Kurosawa ensures the fighting is immediate and dramatic by having villagers erect obstructions that force the bandits to enter from particular directions, driving them, one at a time, into a kill zone. Relying on swords rather than guns dictates that the samurai must get near their victims while the Mexican bandits can be shot from a distance. The Seven Samurai villagers herd the bandits close enough to be hacked down by a mob, incidence of which only occurs at the end of The Magnificent Seven. The defenses in the western prove flimsy deterrents. If the most famous single image from The Seven Samurai is the erection of the banner, symbolizing the combined forces of villagers and mercenaries, then the next most commented upon is the sheet of cloth used to count the enemy dead. This visual device provides the audience with an idea of the odds facing the samurai and a clear picture of which way the battle was going. Chico in the enemy camp overhearing them detailing their dead scarcely carries the same weight. There is, of course, an argument that the entire first sequence of The Magnificent Seven could be deleted. Ten minutes elapse before the main actors appear. Boot Hill would be a stunning opening. The situation in Mexico is explained in precise enough terms when the villagers meet Chris. Why would that not have been sufficient? What is the purpose of the opening sequence? We meet characters who are not central to the emotional thrust of the picture. The fact that the villagers have come all this way to seek help indicates their desperation and, by extension, how dangerous the bandit is. Showing us the village early robs the director of the gift of arrival. Numerous films have benefitted from the sight of the main characters viewing for the first time the location of the main action. Sturges is no David Lean, whose ability to photograph landscape is unsurpassed, but there could have been an interesting scene as the “Seven” contemplate the insignificant village to which they have been dragged. If the first glimpse of Calvera had taken place later, would that have in any way diminished his impact? Richard Brooks, director of The Professionals, chooses not to show the Mexican bandit leader until late although his character has been described well before. The four-minute sequence of the gunfighters riding to the village is equally superfluous,

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achieving little except to set up Chico as some kind of mascot. He is only half-accepted by the group. Would it not have been more dramatic for them to arrive at the empty village, stare around in astonishment, only for the bell to ring out and Chico to appear in the tower? Imagine the impact, the fool instantly transformed. With the riding sequence removed, there would have been no sense of him being unwanted, of being the idiot tagging along. In screen terms, he would have gone from being the drunken wanna-be to man of action. As it is, it is hard to shake off the previous four minutes when he was cute as a pup. His drunk scene could also be eliminated, his first confrontation with Chris containing sufficient humiliation to resonate as far into the picture as the bell tower. Do that and Chico’s character becomes more interesting. Remove the opening sequence and the riding scenes and the film is 15 minutes shorter. It picks up instant pace, the mercenaries taking only 25 minutes, instead of 40, to reach the village. The movie ceases to be draggy and Chico becomes an essential member of the team rather than an irritant. Chico is too often in the wrong place at the wrong time. There is no reason, for example, for him to be involved in the mission to capture a Mexican. Sure, Britt’s inexperience betrays him (although in the final shoot-out Vin does not notice a Mexican) and the bandits are forewarned, but that could have occurred more naturally. The twin purposes of the sequence, to show Lee’s cowardice and Britt’s excellence with a gun, would happen anyway. Chico’s presence dilutes the action. In some sense he takes a backward step, in the space of 10 minutes going from forthright bell-ringer exposing the small-mindedness of the villagers to callow youth, with the result that his story arc goes round in circles.

17 Panic Stations The United Artists top brass had severe reservations about the finished film. They did not condemn it outright, commenting favorably on the overall quality, performances, direction, color and score. But in one essential regard this was not the film they were expecting. It was far too long. Having been sold on the idea of a “blockbuster,” UA felt it was too slow. To emphasize its concern, the communication to Harold Mirisch sent on September 15, 1960—a month before the film’s release—was signed by Arthur Krim, Robert Benjamin and the entire senior management. Unanimously agree that picture too long and requires real shortening and tightening so that it can move like an express train. At least fifteen minutes should come out to give results desired. We all believe shortening of Mexican scenes depicting Mexicans can stand considerable tightening and trimming. This includes dance scenes in village. Believe scene where Brynner and McQueen visit old man entirely unnecessary. Some of scenes between children and Bernardo overlong. Development of introduction of seven main characters should be compressed. Suggest when Brynner, McQueen and Bucholtz [sic] say goodbye after first scene of girl should end picture with commencement of ride back with girl instead of Bucholtz entering where women are shelling corn.1

This did not sound like the much-vaunted “creative freedom” of which UA like to boast. It harked back to the studio system.2 Sturges would have experienced studio interference and bristled at it, even when it improved the film.3 Glenn Lovell intimated that the view from UA was actually harsher, and that 20 minutes of cuts were required, with the implicit threat that the movie could be relegated to the lower half of a double bill.4 However, since this was a production partnership, executive displeasure at UA did not mean Sturges and Mirisch were forced to comply.5 UA had already had doubts about the picture since the proposed release plan, announced in July, had “panic” written all over it. The studio took an extraordinarily bold step with its release of The Magnificent Seven, “striking a new note,” was the way it was put, “in the distribution of a costly picture.”6 As explained before, release patterns were pretty much sacrosanct. From today’s perspective, films took a rather leisurely route, heading out like a long, slow wagon train on a journey that could last up to a year (roadshows took longer), big cities first, then smaller ones, moving from city centers into neighborhood theaters and into smaller towns that still changed programs two or three times a week. Nobody had come up with anything better. The prestige of a launch in a major cinema in a key city was considered crucial to a movie’s prospects. How quickly it fanned out depended on a 183

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number of factors including the studio’s cash-flow situation and demand from exhibitors. Even so, it was a long-held belief (anathema to the modern studio) that the longer a movie took to reach its core audience, the better it would do. The previous year independent producer Joe Levine had startled the movie universe by pushing out 600 prints of Hercules all at once.7 The industry thought he was mad. He was not. Hercules, starring Steve Reeves, finished an astonishing joint 11th in the annual rankings for 1959,8 its rentals of $4.9 million (a gross of around $9.8 million) placing it behind Rio Bravo but ahead of The Horse Soldiers, both of which had cost considerably more. It beat other Hollywood big-budget films like Inn of the Sixth Happiness, Vincente Minnelli’s postwar drama Some Came Running starring Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, James Stewart in The FBI Story, The Buccaneer and Burt Lancaster and a star-studded cast including Oscarwinner David Niven in Separate Tables. In 1960 Levine repeated the trick for Hercules Unchained, but the novelty factor did not work so well the second time around and, although profitable, the sequel polished off only $2.5 million ($5 million gross) in rentals, coming in 33rd for the year.9 But Hercules (and Godzilla10 before it) cost peanuts and these sword-and-sandal movies were new, and not expected to last, while westerns were as old as Hollywood itself. UA convinced itself this technique represented the future. It was inevitable a major studio would follow in Levine’s footsteps, but more likely for a low-budget genre picture to which a studio had unwisely committed and which might return its costs over a couple of weekends before the public realized it had been sold a turkey. If a flop, it would be termed an “experiment,” the loss not enough to cause heads to roll. Taking a chance on a major release was a different ball game. Still, UA stepped up to the plate, trying to justify its decision in announcing a saturation release of 950 prints—“the first time saturation has been used on a picture of this quality”—with an advertising budget of $800,000 and the minimum expectation of a $6 million gross (about $3 million in rentals).11 Saturation meant the film would simultaneously play in first-run theaters, neighborhood theaters and maybe drive-ins at the same time. The company came up with a twist on the Levine method. Instead of opening nationally, there would be a series of regional saturations, going from area to area in three-week waves.12 This strategy made sense, or sounded as if it did. A thousand prints going out nationally was bound to leave gaps, but concentrate that number on a much smaller area and nobody of any significance would be left out. The only problem was that everyone in the industry knew what saturation booking really meant. The strategy was used “for pictures of poor quality to skim off the curious before bad reviews or negative word of mouth took effect.”13 In 1960, saturation, whether nationally or by area, had become a common tool for films of dubious quality or without the kind of star commensurate with a proper first-run release. It was also done occasionally in the hope that regional success would prompt wider national uptake. The Last Voyage had launched in the Los Angeles area in February,14 Atlanta was treated to 265 prints of the reissue of The Ten Commandments in April15 the same month as My Dog Buddy went out in 150 prints in Texas, Louisiana and New Mexico.16 In May 60 prints of The Wicked Go to Hell went to Pennsylvania17 and 100 prints of The Giant of Marathon were working the regions.18 Thunder in Carolina (100 prints)19 and Brides of Dracula20 went wide in June while in July Levine unleashed 600 prints of Hercules Unchained

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nationwide (including 250 in New England.)21 Apart from The Ten Commandments in reissue, none of these films was remotely in the same league, either in terms of budget or production quality, as The Magnificent Seven. This was not, in fact, the first time United Artists had experimented with saturation. Man of the West had gone out in 700 prints, without registering success.22 The Horse Soldiers had also used saturation, although that was well into the first run.23 Nor was UA the only major in 1960 to consider it. In August Paramount experimented in Detroit with Jerry Lewis’s The Bellboy. The cinema spread was one first-run theater and 26 neighborhood theaters including drive-ins. The logic was to go immediately to those areas where most people lived. “Results … prove conclusively that there is no advantage either to the distributor or the cinema owner in that In the wake of Hercules, other films jumping on the saturation bandwagon included ocean-going drama The Last Voytype of multiple run. This partic- age (MGM, 1960) which headlined Robert Stack, star of television’s The Untouchables. ular experiment was a flop.”24 But when it came to saturation nobody could match the master—Joe Levine. And unfortunately, Levine was launching Where the Hot Wind Blows (originally going by the more innocuous title of The Law) starring Gina Lollobrigida in the middle of The Magnificent Seven campaign. “Get set for the kind of male-female explosion you haven’t seen in years,” ran the teaser ads. He was advertising on 248 television stations and round the clock on radio. He boasted of reaching 168 million magazine readers. There was a hit single from the Ames Brothers. Nothing was more attractive to exhibitors than “another million dollars in showmanship from Joe Levine.”25 The first wave of The Magnificent Seven release, beginning October 12, went out in the south and southwest, in cities like Atlanta, Charlotte, Dallas and New Orleans “because outdoor pictures did proportionately better in these areas.”26 This would be followed by the Midwest on November 4 and both coasts on November 23.27 Each wave would be preceded by a two-week newspaper campaign, personal appearances by the stars, teaser trailers, department store tie-ins, music promotions on radio and television and radio campaigns.28 Around 60 prints would be reserved for first-run screens in key cities. There was no guarantee the

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film would be ready. Mirisch could not deliver a print before September 18 and it would be another two days before cinema owners could view it. United Artists distribution chief W. J. Heineman was concerned. “This might be a trifle close. If you can’t get October 12 then get the 19th or 26th. We don’t want to lose the possibility of getting good bids on the picture and would rather sacrifice the early playing time for proper terms.”29 Timing was critical. The studio wished to avoid bad weather and Christmas. Heinemann instructed that “territorial playdate commitments (with theaters) should be made as soon as possible with terms to be arranged after they have seen the picture.”30 As television and radio advertising was very expensive, Heineman cautioned “it is wasted unless you have a substantial number of important bookings.”31 Once the movie had played three or four weeks in each area, the studio would yank the prints and move on, denying the movie word of mouth. No matter that the process appeared well thought-out or that the advertising budget was high or that the studio was extremely optimistic or that if the western did as well as expected it would be an undeniable hit, returning double its cost within months, it still seemed an odd way to go about releasing one of a studio’s biggest pictures of the year. But there were good reasons. In the first place, there were doubts regarding Brynner’s appeal to the core male audience. Brynner had an undeniable ability to attract media attention and, unlike many movie stars, was a man with many outside interests and strong humanitarian views. On completion of The Magnificent Seven, he took a sabbatical to work with the United Nations.32 A famed photographer, he stood in for Inge Morath33 as the stills photographer for two weeks on the set of Aimez-Vous Brahms in October and the release of The Magnificent Seven would coincide with a heartfelt book of photo journalism, Bring Forth the Children,34 about dispossessed children in camps in Germany, Austria and the Middle East. He had been involved in a film for the United Nations, Men Without a Country, about the Gaza Strip, which had been snapped up by CBS.35 But a man with a soft center was not necessarily, bearing in mind this was 1960, a persona that would appeal to the average western fan. More critical was that Brynner had declined in popularity. The year had been set to be one of Brynner domination. There were three in the first three months—Solomon and Sheba, the romantic comedy Once More with Feeling and the reissue of The Ten Commandments.36 (Hollywood generally reissued big hits on a seven-year cycle but the current success of Ben Hur was too tempting to ignore.) The Magnificent Seven and another romantic comedy, Surprise Package, were to follow. If all went well, it would show an actor at the height of his powers, in a range of different roles, and reverse the decline of the previous years when his last four pictures had placed 31st, 21st, 52nd and 70th. At first, it looked as if he would conquer the box office. Not roadshown and therefore immediately accessible, Solomon and Sheba had filled a gap for those who could only dream of getting to see Ben Hur. It would turn into the sixth most successful film of 1960.37 Once More with Feeling had been launched in February in an attempt to capitalize on the Biblical epic. The public did not take to the Stanley Donen romantic comedy co-starring the relatively unknown English actress Kay Kendall and it would finish the year at the opposite end of the box office spectrum—54th in the rankings.38 That corresponded to one hit out of the last half-dozen, not the ratio required of a star. Part of the problem was that his films

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appealed more to women than men. As if to test which gender valued Brynner most, the comedy Surprise Package and The Magnificent Seven were scheduled to go head to head. Such clashes were common as the main movie seasons were shorter than they are now. Few actors worked solely for one studio so there was no way to control when their films were released. Even John Wayne could not avoid conflict, North to Alaska bundled into cinemas at the same time as The Alamo. Initially, The Magnificent Seven had been penciled in for release in November, one of the busiest months, taking in Thanksgiving and a prelude to Christmas. But UA lost confidence in the western’s ability to compete. Hollywood was in the grip of cultural change. Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho had indulged pub- A rarely-seen studio pose of British actress Kay Kendall, Brynner’s love interest in Once More with Feeling (Columbia lic demand for the lurid, the Pictures, 1960). She had previously co-starred with Rex Harshocker playing to packed houses, rison in Vincente Minnelli’s The Reluctant Debutante. creating the kind of box office frenzy encountered once in a generation. Distributors Paramount had used the limited release techniques generally associated with roadshows or arthouses, driving expectation up to unheard-of levels. Hitchcock had broken down the barriers. The shower scene, combining slaughter and nudity, was the most daring sequence ever seen in mainstream American cinemas. As if that had unleashed inner desires in audiences, now a horde of other movies queued up to explore taboos. If The Magnificent Seven did not get out quick, it would crash into a series of films with controversial content. While low-budget or foreign movies specialized in sensation, now major studios had joined in. The most popular subject was the call girl. These ranged from MGM’s Butterfield 8 with Elizabeth Taylor intoxicating Laurence Harvey and Paramount’s The World of Suzie Wong with William Holden falling for Nancy Kwan, to Jules Dassin’s small-scale Never on Sunday with Melina Mercouri, Girl of the Night (“A Truth Torn from New York After Dark!”) starring Anne Francis, and Gina Lollobrigida in Go Naked in the World. Burl Ives dealt with drug addiction and alcoholism in Let No Man Write My Epitaph (“Ripped Raw and Roaring from Real Life”). If the public had responded in

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such overwhelming numbers to Psycho, would it not be willing to delve deeper into hidden desires than a western, however well made, could provide? The second development was the growth of the extended run, when movies stayed at cinemas for an eternity. Roadshows were one thing, but now, any major hit—Ocean’s 11, Strangers When We Meet, Psycho, It Happened in Naples—was held over in cinemas for weeks on end. That meant a drastic reduction in available first-run houses. The best venues were reserved for the most commercially viable product. Movies that might last only two or three weeks were relegated to the least prosperous cinemas. By the time The Magnificent Seven was released, theaters in key cities would be devoted to roadshows Ben Hur, Sunrise at Campobello and Spartacus and reissues of This Is Cinerama and Cinerama Holiday. Shortly afterward, if it hung around in cinemas long enough, The Magnificent Seven would come up against Exodus and The Alamo. There was every chance that the life would be crushed out of The Magnificent Seven, caught between roadshows halfway through their run and those just starting out, and the wealth of highly-anticipated movies set for the year-end. Millions of teenagers awaited Elvis Presley’s comeback vehicle G.I. Blues, directed by Oscar-winner Norman Taurog, while a million others were expected to line up to see Fabian in High Time with Bing Crosby and directed by Blake Edwards. Reigning box office queen Doris Day was back in Midnight Lace. Spencer Tracy tore up the courtroom in Oscar favorite Inherit the Wind. It would take astute handling of the release pattern to avoid any or all of these potential hits. That was why The Magnificent Seven found itself crammed into a relatively short

Doris Day undertook a change of pace for the suspense drama Midnight Lace (Universal, 1960). To promote the film, Universal sent out a six-minute short featuring the actress modeling clothes from the film. A 16mm version was sent to department stores.

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window. If first-run venues were scarce, it would bypass those and go straight into local theaters, which, so the argument went, badly hit by the roadshows and extended first runs that had cut off the regular supply, would embrace a movie as solid as The Magnificent Seven. No one would be short-changed, this would be no rip- off, definitely not a sword-and-sandal movie blown up out of all proportion. But the first review, from trade magazine Variety, on which exhibitors relied for commercial as well as critical appraisal, suggested otherwise. “Two-thirds sizzling, one-third fizzling,” was the verdict. “The last third is downhill, a long and cluttered anti-climax of verbal thunder about fear and courage.” The reviewer complained that “contrived maudlin elements are introduced in a bid to shape some philosophic meaning” but British poster for Cimarron (MGM, 1960), a remake of the conceded there was “a heap of studio’s 1931 Oscar-winner. The use of charging horsemen fine acting and some crackling here was more appropriate than in The Magnificent Seven since one of the pivotal scenes in the film is a charge across good direction from Sturges the prairie. Maria Schell had co-starred with Brynner is The mostly in the early stages.” Wal- Brothers Karamazov. This was advertised in Films and Filmlach was “colorful and arresting,” ing magazine. Buchholz “auspicious,” McQueen had an “appealing ease” and Brynner “exhibits anew the masculine charm that has won him so many femme fans.” The critic was less impressed with Vaughn. Bernstein’s score was “pulsating.”39 Walter Mirisch claimed otherwise40 but in general reviews were mixed, thumbs down (“pallid, pretentious and overlong”) from the New York Times and thumbs up (“classic”) from the Los Angeles Times. Time found the direction no more than competent but praised the script.41 The reviews introduced an unforeseen problem, especially in the smaller newspapers whose critiques were generally straightforward. Critics insisted on reminding readers of Seven Samurai, unknown to, and unseen by, the vast majority of film fans. Those familiar with it—the arthouse mob—would turn their noses up at an action western. Virtually every review began with a mention of the Japanese film. Nothing could be more off-putting to

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the ordinary American than to be told about a western based on an obscure Japanese film— as if Americans needed help to make westerns. Worse, in Seven Samurai the Japanese performed heroic feats. This was at a time when the Japanese were still hated. Americans who had fought in the Pacific in World War II found this impossible to reconcile. Successful films about the Japanese—Sayonara, for example—were in a romantic vein. Reviews, intended to clarify, generated confusion. Prior to the 1980s, mass marketing of films did not exist. Film promotion was undertaken by local theater owners who placed advertisements and provided press releases to local newspapers. The studio came up with the campaign, but relied on cinemas to implement it. To enable cinemas to maximize marketing, studios created pressbooks (also known as manuals). They were large—A3 rather than A4. The one for The Magnificent Seven ran to 12 pages containing the posters and advertisements previously discussed as well as plot summaries, press releases, lobby cards, stills, material for marketing to television and radio42 ($75,000 was spent on 5,000 radio ads featuring the voices of the cast43), accessories and ideas for tie-ins with retail outlets and competitions. The core of any campaign was the poster. This was always in color whereas the advertisements, given the print limitations of local newspapers of the time, would appear in black and white. One of the principal instructions for the poster designer was to create something that would be as arresting in black and white as in color, hence the use of different typefaces and the shading of lettering and various graphic devices. In the main, it was up to local cinemas to pull in the customers. Naturally enough, many of the ideas suggested in the pressbook revolved around the number seven—a sevenday, seven-hour, seven-cent or 7 a.m.–7 p.m. sale. “The Magnificent Seven Rules for Safety” targeted the police. A one-week (“Magnificent Seven-Day”) vacation in Mexico aimed to involve travel agencies, Cuernavaca being a well-known destination. A bit more far-fetched was a plan to connect with seven resort hotels or with real estate offices for a “Magnificent Seven” lot for homes. Disc jockeys could promote the seven best tunes of the week or hold a competition around movies with the number in the title. Another suggestion was serving a seven-layer cake on opening night. To capitalize on the McQueen connection, theater owners were encouraged to cooperate with the local CBS station or affiliate showing Wanted: Dead or Alive. The poster was ideal for art competitions. Eli Wallach had recently modeled menswear for Cardinal Clothes, with advertisements in Esquire and Gentleman’s Quarterly (the original GQ ), so department stores got in on the action too.44 Material prepared for television included a 60-second highlights spot and two 20-second spots, both in 16mm, plus glass slides to go with the visual ads. The radio ad comprised a double-faced (double-sided) record of varying lengths that comprised a folk song–style jingle with guitar accompaniment. As an audio-trailer for the lobby, publicists had also devised an LP (78 rpm) for continuous play. This contained narration, sound effects and music. Also on the record were interviews with Brynner and McQueen.45 Accessories included lobby cards (two measuring 22 by 28 inches or a set of eight at 11 by 14 inches), window cards and insert cards.46 Exhibitors were encouraged to use fourpage leaflets, known as heralds, the back page reserved for advertising to help defray the cost. The pressbook suggested a variety of “stunts” such as hiring “seven attractive girls (if possible all blondes, brunettes or redheads) to hand out leaflets in the streets.”47 Life-sized

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displays of Brynner and McQueen for sale were suggested.48 A display of record sleeves of the single (“headed for the top of the hit list almost immediately after release”) was another possibility especially as the sleeve contained scenes and credits.49 There was no shortage of advice. “Contact music stores, record counters and department stores for maximum displays. Also contact disc jockeys for major playing time on the airways during your run. Use record sleeves for window streamers. Also, be sure to put the record on a lobby juke box for continuous play.”50 Managers could invest in deluxe promotional valances or three-piece streamers 15 feet long to dress up the front of the cinema. To stir up advance interest, badges (“The Magnificent Seven are coming!”) were recommended for ushers.51 Not all of this came free. Studios passed on the task of printing and distributing these marketing tools to National Screen Services which charged as follows: cut-out black-andwhite lobby display $9; color cut-outs $16; and black-and-white life-size cut-outs $16 and $24 for the color version with an extra $3 for an easel. A special composite featuring various ads was available for “a special low price.” QQ Title Card Co. in New York charged between $5 and $7.50 for a glass slide for television ads. National Flag and Display Co. demanded $1.50 per running foot for valances, $12.50 for three-piece streamers and 60 cents for usher badges. Cato Show Printing Co. supplied the heralds at a cost of $12.50 per thousand. Some items were free. Compliments of United Artists Exploitation Dept. were the records containing the radio, lobby and interview material.52 Press releases for local consumption were included in the pressbook, cinemas expected to pass them off as their own. Much of the material was based on Brynner, especially in cities where the stage show of The King and I had played, allowing journalists to re-use old interview material. The movie was promoted as “gunslingers vs. outlaws.” The main press release covered the story of the film with a few lines on each character and included the iconic still of the seven taking aim with rifle or pistol. Publicists did not let the facts get in the way of a good story. Apparently, Buchholz spoke seven languages and for the movie acquired an eighth, “the language of the Old West.” Another article concerned the difficulties Brynner had in rolling a cigarette with one hand when in fact he smoked a cigar throughout. And it was John Sturges, according to publicists, who taught the actors how to draw. A bit more far-fetched was the notion that “numbers in titles mean luck or togetherness”—or box office success, quoting such examples as The Three Musketeers, Three Coins in a Fountain, Twelve O’Clock High and Stalag 17. Scraping the barrel was an item claiming Shirley Temple appeared in the movie. The article went on to explain that one of the children in the film was called Shirley Temple Velasquez. The idea that an earlier script had given Brynner a love interest originated here with a publicity shot of Brynner and Rosenda Monteros. The way his hands were placed on her shoulder gave the impression they were lovers.53 The pressbook contained a few notable errors. According to the summary of the film, the raid on Calvera’s camp took place before the argument with the villagers. The summarizer claimed the gunfighters drove off Calvera’s horses and that, subsequently, Calvera was able to lure the gunfighters out of the village on a ruse.54 In the section of the pressbook dealing with the official billing, Walter Newman was given sole credit for the screenplay, although on the same page sole credit was also attributed to William Roberts.55 With Brynner engaged

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on good deeds elsewhere, it was left to McQueen to fly the publicity flag. In a move that smacked of desperation, he was despatched to tour universities. “I was immediately impressed by the students’ intelligent attitudes as regards to pictures,” he said.56 One of the curiosities (from today’s perspective) was how much latitude exhibitors were given to create their own marketing and advertising campaigns. A cinema chain or individual theater might employ its own marketing specialists or wish to target a different audience segment, take a different approach, emphasize a particular cast member, or know more specifically what kind of advertising locals responded to. Use of the materials and slogans from the pressbook was optional rather than compulsory. As there was every chance that exhibitors would cannibalize the advertisements, instructions for official billing were laid down. Brynner’s name had to be as big as the title and positioned above it. The names of Wallach, McQueen and Buchholz were to be equal in size to that of Brynner, though the first two would always appear below the title and the latter would be positioned sixth in the credits. In between McQueen and Buchholz were Bronson and Vaughn, although their names were half the size. Neither Coburn nor Dexter was given a poster credit although Elmer Bernstein was. Main actors had both names on the same line, but the first names of Bronson and Vaughn were squeezed in above their surnames. William Roberts preceded Sturges on the credits, both names limited to 40 percent the size of Brynner’s—indicating that the director was far from being a marketable element. The names of John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock and William Wyler routinely went above the title. Exhibitors could not promote the face of McQueen at the expense of Brynner. If any actor’s likeness was shown, then Brynner’s had to be shown too. McQueen and Wallach were equal. If Wallach was shown, then McQueen had to be shown too. Bernstein was guaranteed mention in two of the largest ads and in all trade ads if full billing was used.57 In San Bernardino the Baseline cinema reinvented the entire picture—“Savage hordes of kill-crazed bandits (hungry for women, gold and blood lust) against the flaming guns of the Seven.” Unusually, Sturges was singled out for promotion—“From the same talented director who gave you Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Bad Day at Black Rock.” The poster added: “In the same fine tradition as Shane. An epic tale you won’t forget.” And also, for no discernible reason, “Filmed in Oacalco area Mexico.”58 The owner of the Baker cinema in Lockhart must have been thinking of another film entirely to approve the following tagline: “A message picture handsomely mounted outdoor social drama.”59 In Troy, New York, it was “Great Music!”60 The Corsicana Palace theater highlighted McQueen—“The Bounty Hunter of Wanted: Dead or Alive in an Exciting Role following Never So Few.”61 The Queen in Salt Lake City went for the personal touch: “A show we know you will enjoy—action, suspense and a very different Yul Brynner.”62 Most inventive of all was The Granada in Mount Vernon. Women wanted to love them, children wanted to protect them, farmers wanted to help them. They became The Magnificent Seven. In blazing color. Steve McQueen TV’s Wanted: Dead or Alive. Charles Bronson TV’s Man with a Camera. Eli Wallach at this best. And introducing new star Horst Buchholz. Cold as steel … they have hearts of gold.63

The Liberty in Kalispell, Montana, used the tagline “Flaming with Fury! Crackling with action!” which was also used by the Paramount in Anderson.64 The Red Raider in Lubbock augmented that advertising copy with reference to Steve McQueen as “TV’s own big

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star of Wanted: Dead or Alive.”65 The Lincoln in Port Angeles, Washington, worked in this variation: “Wild adventure in a land of flaming fury.”66 A different kind of poster promoted the film at The Manor in San Mateo. The figures of Brynner and McQueen were taken from photographs used for the life-size lobby cut-outs with the tagline “They lived, breathed and worshipped adventure for its own sake.”67 The Palace in Childress came up with “Living was a gamble when life was cheap.”68 The Lawton venue in Lawton, Oklahoma, highlighted “guns start blazin’ today” and at the forefront of the poster placed a crouching female, not Monteros, in a provocative pose.69 The Ukiah cinema in the town of the same name in California sold The Magnificent Seven as “the rip-roaring drama of adventurous men at their toughest … sharing life, love and mortal danger.”70 The Wilson in Tyrone, Pennsylvania, presented it as the “slashing saga of savages on horseback.”71 Although the pressbook provided details on the gunfighters’ characters, these were fleshed-out for prospective audiences attending the Orpheum in Madison, Wisconsin, where it featured “for seven magnificent days.” Brynner was identified as a “drifting unemployed gunfighter.” Of the McQueen character it was said, “His chosen occupation—killing for pay.” Buchholz was an “inexperienced Mexican gunslinger.” Bronson “would rather kill for $20 than chop wood” and the tag “the newspapers said he had been killed” was reserved for Robert Vaughn. Dexter and Coburn were omitted.72 Above the usual artwork, the Helena in Marlow, Indiana, helpfully numbered the actors (1. Yul Brynner; 2. Steve McQueen; and so on) although they only included six, omitting Buchholz.73 Although in bigger cities the supporting feature tended to be a genuine B film, smaller cities and towns relied on a current or recent film. The Rialto in Pasadena went with the drama Let No Man Write My Epitaph,74 and at the Encino Theatre in Van Nuys it was Disney’s innocuous Pollyanna.75 The Lyric in Tucson ordered Jerry Lewis as The Bellboy.76 The Sunset View Chicora in Kittaning, Pennsylvania, opted for the British horror film Village of the Damned.77 But the Schines Oswego went for a repeat of the previous year’s Timbuktu starring Victor Mature and Yvonne De Carlo and directed by Jacques Tourneur.78 The Brin in Appleton, Wisconsin, showed the war film Hell to Eternity.79 Drive-ins, specializing in triple features, found links, however faint, to the main movie. The Magnificent Seven was shown at the New Claco in Kansas City with an adaptation of the George Bernard Shaw play The Devil’s Disciple—the connection stars Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas who had headlined Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Westerns were the obvious tie-in. The same week in Kansas City the Heart added Heller in Pink Tights (plus the British film Sapphire), and the 63rd Street completed its program with a reissue of Doris Day musical-western Calamity Jane and Atomic Submarine.80 The Border Town in Laredo picked Shane and Man of the West.81 The Rio in Yuma went one better and ran it on a quadruple bill, supported by Gunfight at Dodge City, Seminole Uprising and Jesse James.82 The supporting film and the various modes of advertising worked toward the same end result, generating interest in the picture. The question was—would it succeed?

18 Showdown at the Box Office Ever heard of Freckles ? How about The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come ? They had four things in common. Both were directed by Andrew V. McLaglen (later responsible for McLintock and Shenandoah), were adapted from bestsellers, were remakes and came from the same studio, Associated Producers, which made B films with a budget ceiling of $600,000 for Twentieth Century–Fox. Other movies on its slate included Desire in the Dust, Squad Car and Secrets of the Purple Reef. 1 Gene Stratton-Porter wrote Freckles as well as Laddie and Keeper of the Bees. Freckles was turned into a silent film in 1912, 1914, 1917 and 1928. A sound version appeared in 1935. (Laddie and Keeper of the Bees were each filmed three times.) Set in lumberjack country, Freckles boasted no stars—leads Martin West and Carol Christensen were making movie debuts. Variety reckoned it was “strictly for the juve trade” and while it might appeal to the Saturday and Sunday matinee crowd it would struggle elsewhere.2 The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come by John Fox, Jr., was a Civil War drama, filmed twice before in 1920 and 1928. The big attraction this time around was the debut of pop star Jimmie Rodgers whose hits included “Kisses Sweeter Than Wine” and the number one single “Honeycomb.” Co-star Luana Patten was a former Disney child star from Song of the South (1946). Beyond a measure of audience awareness of the books and hopes the pop star’s fans would turn out in droves, the two films had little going for them. What else they had in common was unexpectedly upsetting The Magnificent Seven box office applecart. The western got off to a good start. A sneak preview in Encino in mid–September was reported as “boffo,” i.e., a hot ticket.3 Whether the rest of the United States would have the same reaction would be tested when the movie opened in Chicago, Washington, Denver and Baltimore (figures reported in Variety on October 19). Like most major cities in America, Chicago was still playing host to William Wyler’s Ben Hur. Everything about the film was phenomenal: it had the biggest-ever budget, taken a year to make, set unprecedented ticket prices—and delivered, collecting a record 11 Oscars including Best Film and Best Director (Wyler’s third), and looked set to rival Gone with the Wind as the most successful movie of all time. In its 43rd week, it was being hotly pursued by the Walter Lang musical Can Can, starring Frank Sinatra and Shirley MacLaine, in its 26th. The new kid on the roadshow block was Stanley Kubrick’s highly-anticipated, $12 million-Spartacus starring Kirk Douglas. The other major opener, Let No Man Write My Epitaph, a sequel to Knock on Any Door, concerned attempts to prevent a juvenile delinquent following his father to the electric chair. That British comedy Please Turn Over, starring Ted 194

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Ray and Leslie Philips, was entering first run was due to it sharing producer Gerald Thomas with Carry on Sergeant. Other newcomers were Private Property with Kate Manx as the wife whose husband took the film’s title literally, the comedy The Poacher’s Daughter and Swedish director Ingmar Bergman’s Lesson in Love. The Bing Crosby musical High Time was in its second week. Lined up for a third session were Marilyn Monroe and Yves Montand in George Cukor’s Let’s Make Love, British star Dirk Bogarde as classical composer Franz Liszt in Song Without End, also starring Capucine and directed by Charles Vidor (Gilda), a reissue of The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima (1952) and Delbert Mann’s gripping drama, and surprise hit, The Dark at the Top of the Stairs starring Robert Preston and Dorothy McGuire. In Chicago The Magnificent Seven was booked into the 1,400-seat Roosevelt (ticket prices 90 cents–$1.80). It was no surprise that the gladiator epic beat the western with $27,000 to $23,000. But the western did not come in second; it came in third. Controversy won the day—Let No Man Write My Epitaph sizzled with $34,000. High Time was fourth on $21,000, followed by The Dark at the Top of the Stairs ($18,000), Song Without End ($18,000), Ben Hur ($17,000), Can Can ($15,000), Please Turn Over ($13,000) and The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima ($11,000). Of the stragglers, Private Property was the pick with $6,200. Still, a third place finish guaranteed the western a holdover. But the second week saw the arrival of The Alamo and Surprise Package. Surprisingly, the Sturges picture’s $19,000 pulled in $1,000 more than The Alamo, but the Brynner alternative claimed $25,000. In its third week, The Magnificent Seven’s $13,500 was beaten by both, Surprise Package with $17,000 and The Alamo with $17,800. A three-week run, while good business, was disappointing compared to the five weeks of Dark at the Top of the Stairs while even Please Turn Over managed four. In Washington, The Magnificent Seven moved into the 1,850-seat Keith ($1–$1.40). In its way was Desire in the Dust which aimed to cash in on the trend for steamy movies set in the Deep South such as Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and The Long, Hot Summer. Raymond Burr (television’s Perry Mason) played the “big Daddy” and the plot involved rape, fratricide and hints of incest. This was the worst kind of opposition, deriving acres of publicity from a Legion of Decency condemnation. Ben Hur was in its 31st week, Psycho its 12th, Song Without End and foreign import Magdalena both The Dark at the Top of the Stairs (Warner Bros., 1960) turned in their fourth and the British into an unexpected box office obstacle in Chicago. Shirley comedy School for Scoundrels Knight was nominated for Best Supporting Actress. The screenwriting team of Harriet Frank, Jr., and Irving Ravetch had writ(based on Stephen Potter’s ten The Sound and the Fury and later wrote Hud, Hombre, The One-Upmanship) its third. Cowboys and Norma Rae.

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Second weeks had been accorded Dark at the Top of the Stairs and writer-director Hall Bartlett’s war film All the Young Men with Alan Ladd and Sidney Poitier. Roadshow Sunrise at Campobello with Ralph Bellamy as President Roosevelt was also in its sophomore week. The Magnificent Seven was one step away from the top, its $14,000 (shared by The Dark at the Top of the Stairs) beaten by Ben Hur’s $16,000. Desire in the Dust spun $13,000, Sunrise at Campobello $10,000, Song Without End $9,000, Psycho $6,000, School for Scoundrels $6,000 and All the Young Men $5,200. The western was retained for a second week of $10,000, a third of $9,000 and a fourth of $8,000. Surprise Package was launched during the third week, but the comedy, playing a 458-seater, generated $6,500 although meriting a holdover of $5,000 followed by a disappointed $2,000. The Magnificent Seven had to make way for another United Artists film, Inherit the Wind. A four-week run was auspicious. The rival Brynner movies went head to head in Denver. Also making an entrance were two controversial movies. J. Lee Thompson’s I Aim for the Stars, about Werner von Braun who invented the rockets that blitzed London during the war, had brought people onto the streets in protest. Come Dance with Me, a blackmail mystery starring Brigitte Bardot, contained scenes as sensational as Roger Vadim’s And God Created Woman, the all-time foreign top-grosser. With Bardot posing provocatively on the poster one exhibitor had previewed the film for taxi drivers, hoping thus to more easily reach the target audience. All foreign movies came with a lurid tag, at least in the minds of moviegoers, for they were exempt from the Production Code, the self-regulating censorship body, and, therefore, might contain flashes of nudity. Showing them in arthouses made them more acceptable. The most talkedabout long-runner was not Ben Hur (27th week) or Psycho (ninth) but British comedy Carry On Nurse in its 22nd session. Another niche being cleverly exploited was the Disney “truelife adventure” documentary Jungle Cat, in its second week. At the 2,100-seat Paramount (90 cents–$1.25), The Magnificent Seven emerged as the week’s champ with $16,000, ahead of Surprise Package ($12,000), I Aim for the Stars ($10,000), Ben Hur ($8,000), Psycho ($7,000), Jungle Cat ($4,200), Come Dance with Me ($4,000) and Carry on Nurse ($2,200). It beat Surprise Package in its second week, $11,500 to $10,000, but neither movie was retained. In Baltimore, with only two other competing new films—All the Young Men and Magdalena—The Magnificent Seven, opening at the 2,800-seat Stanton (90 cents–$1.50), was favorite to win the week. At least that was the theory. But the war film, bolstered by good reviews and considerable interest in rising star Sidney Poitier, had been punching above its weight and if Magdalena (“The most innocent girl in town with every sin in the book!”) repeated its record-breaking performance in Boston it could easily cause an upset. A German import, Magdalena had attracted widespread condemnation to the extent that newspapers censored advertisements. The usual long-running suspects included Ben Hur (29th week), Can Can (22nd) and Psycho (13th). Third weeks beckoned for Jungle Cat and the nudist camp drama For Members Only, while it was the second time around for Sons and Lovers, The Dark at the Top of the Stairs and There’s Always a Price Tag, a French crime number starring Michele Morgan. The theory held insofar as The Magnificent Seven saw off the war film and the German import, but it was outdone by The Dark at the Top of the Stairs which lifted $9,000. The western was second with a “fairish” $8,000, followed by Ben Hur ($7,600), All the Young Men ($6,500), For Members Only ($5,000), Can Can and Psycho (both $4,000)

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with the others hovering around the $2,000 mark. A second week dipped alarmingly to $4,000. The first week of first runs in the key cities was no more than promising. Despite avoiding most of the big-budget new releases, the western had been unable to dominate, topping the week’s rankings just once, finishing second twice. The biggest disappointment was the film’s inability to dig in for an extended run. As worrying was the western’s difficulty in shaking off low-budget opposition. The next engagements were in Cincinnati and Toronto (figures reported October 26). Surprise Package had opened in Cincinnati the week before to $8,200 and was held over. The low-budget Alan Ladd western One Foot in Hell and Song Without End were the other mainstream newcomers while the unknown quantity was Girl of the Night, which had felt the wrath of the censors much to the exhibitors’ delight. A couple of British films were in holdover, Peter Sellers in I’m All Right, Jack entering its sixth week and Carry On Nurse shifting to a new cinema. With $10,000, The Magnificent Seven at the 3,100-seat Albee (90 cents–$1.25) was runner-up to the 32nd week of Ben Hur at $13,500. Girl of the Night plucked $7,500, Song Without End $7,000, One Foot in Hell $6,500, Surprise Package $6,000 and the British pair around $1,500 each. The Albee management was not impressed and curtailed the run. A fortnight later, the unheralded low budget The Day They Robbed the Bank of England walked off with $11,000, giving an idea, perhaps, of the disappointment felt. Although Butterfield 8 and The World of Suzie Wong would vie with each other for the most provocative feature produced by a major, the early season candidate for that title had been Strangers When We Meet, with Kirk Douglas getting adulterous with Kim Novak (Vertigo). Because it had exploded at the box office in New York in the summer, it was late reaching Toronto. Directed by Richard Quine, it had collected excellent reviews from those who cared about excellence and dreadful reviews from those more interested in morality, an ideal combination from the box office point of view. Traditionally, British films played well here and, although Song Without End was a Hollywood production, star Dirk Bogarde was well known to local audiences through the Doctor comedy series and dramas like A Tale of Two Cities and the Canada-set Campbell’s Kingdom, and that presented the possibility of this film, in its third week, posing a greater threat. High Time was in the mix. Ben Hur had been running here for 45 weeks, Can Can for 30, French director Alain Resnais’ arthouse sensation Hiroshima Mon Amour for 17, another seamy drama, From the Terrace starring Paul Newman for 13, School for Scoundrels ten, Jungle Cat four and, in its sophomore week, beatnik tale The Subterraneans starring Leslie Caron and George Peppard. The Magnificent Seven hitched itself to the 2,745-seat Loews ($1–$1.75). But western fans were in short supply and it trooped in third with $10,500, behind Strangers When We Meet at $16,000 and the Bogarde film at $15,000. Next came High Time ($10,000), Ben Hur ($9,000), Can Can ($7,000), The Subterraneans ($7,000), From the Terrace ($4,500), Jungle Cat ($4,000), School for Scoundrels ($3,500) and Hiroshima Mon Amour ($3,000). Despite holding up in its second week with $9,000, the western was dumped in favor of Butterfield 8 which showed what box office power was all about by posting $25,000. When movies were released in this fashion, one week jostling another, it was tempting to draw speedy conclusions. In this case, any summary would indicate a film already in decline

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and the possibility that its best results might already be behind it. The next month was make or break and included several cities which had already shown Surprise Package. It was going to run into the other two major contenders for the western fan’s dollar, The Alamo and North to Alaska. Now the movie went out wider (figures reported November 2)—to Buffalo, Cleveland, San Francisco, Pittsburgh, St. Louis, Seattle, Portland and Kansas City. Unless a reissue, studios hated double bills because they sucked away at their carefully honed inventories and forced them to share the box office. Exhibitors loved them because they provided better value for the money. The public was never sure what it liked. Some cities dared not break the habit. The lower part of the double bill was invariably inferior, without even sensation to recommend it. Walking Target was one such movie, a crime drama starring Joan Evans and made by Robert Kent Productions which specialized in this level of product, releasing eight that year. It was partnered with The Magnificent Seven at the 3,500-seat Buffalo (70 cents–$1) in the city of Buffalo. The only other new opener was a low-budget double bill—Desire in the Dust and Squad Car starring Vicki Raaf. Girl of the Night, in its second week, was coupled with a reissue of The Notorious Mr. Monks (1958) starring Vera Ralston, once a top box office draw opposite John Wayne in The Fighting Kentuckian (1949). Roadshows, by length and prestige, were exempt from such pairings and so, occasionally, were Disney films, on the grounds that a shorter program suited its younger audience. That explained why Ben Hur, in its 33rd week, and Jungle Cat, in its fourth, did not follow suit. But it was not the reason why The Dark at the Top of the Stairs went it alone. The rationale was, simply, that it was considered strong enough by itself. But few first-run cinemas were happy showing quickly-made derivative B movies and the hunt for cheap substitutes sent Hollywood back to the vaults. The only problem was that—with the exception of Gone with the Wind and Disney’s feature-length cartoons— reissues were anathema to exhibitors. First-run houses only used reissues in an emergency, such as when a new film flopped and something was needed to fill the gap before the next major booking arrived. There had been some successes—A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) had been revived in 1958, both Shane (1953) and the Biblical epic Samson and Delilah (1950) in 1959. Predictions of a $4 million gross in 1960 for The Glenn Miller Story (1954) proved wildly optimistic but Cecil B. DeMille’s The Greatest Show on Earth (1952) had redressed the balance. The safer bet appeared to be double bills, ideally two films featuring the same star. The back catalogue of Marlon Brando, along with William Holden, the biggest male attraction, had been pillaged. Cinemas welcomed various permutations of On the Waterfront (1954), Guys and Dolls (1956), The Young Lions (1958) and Sayonara. In Buffalo exhibitors opted for On the Waterfront coupled with the controversial The Wild One (1953), originally banned in many cities. It turned out any old Brando was preferable to a new Brynner. On the Waterfront/The Wild One was the week’s surprise winner with $14,000. It was humiliating to come in second to a pair of oldies. For the record the western scooped $10,000, ahead of The Dark at the Top of the Stairs and Girl of the Night (both $8,000), Desire in the Dust ($5,000), Ben Hur ($4,500) and Jungle Cat ($1,500). Needless to say, the western was not held over. The Alamo opened the same week in Cleveland as The Magnificent Seven which moved into the 3,700-seat State ($1–$1.25). But that was not the only obstacle. Midnight Lace was

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also in town. Since Doris Day was the official box office queen that would normally be game over. But this was a darker film (she was being stalked) than her normal anodyne fare and might put off regular fans. On the other hand, the more adult storyline might fit better the mood of the times. Song Without End was opening as was another reissue double bill, Oscar winners Gigi (1958) and Around the World in Eighty Days (1956). Ben Hur was celebrating its 40th week and in their second were the British comedy The Captain’s Table, Hiroshima Mon Amour and a Russian adventure in the tradition of Hercules called The Sword and the Dragon. The most expensive western ever made, John Wayne’s The There was no stopping Doris Alamo (United Artists, 1960) went head-to-head with The Day; she powered to the top of Magnificent Seven in Cleveland. This advance trade adverthe weekly chart with $18,000. tisement makes no bones about the film’s ambition, tagging it “A World Event.” Wayne had begun work on the movie Nothing separated The Magnifi- nearly a decade before when it would have been made for cent Seven and The Alamo, both Republic (Hannan Collection). registering $12,000. The composer biopic scored $10,000, the double bill $7,000, Ben Hur $6,000, the Russian film $6,000, Hiroshima Mon Amour $2,300 and the British movie $2,200. The State was under too much pressure to hold onto the western, but it enjoyed a move to the 2,700-seat Stillman ($1– $1.50) where it ran for a fortnight, making $5,600 and then $5,000. In San Francisco, Surprise Package, in a double bill with Prime Time, was in its second week (the first lodging $13,000) when The Magnificent Seven, again teamed with Walking Target, took over the 1,151-seat United Artists ($1.25–$1.50). The western faced more new movies—five—than it had encountered before. The Alamo topped the menu. Underwater adventure September Storm, filmed in widescreen wanna-be Stereovision, starred Joanne Dru (Red River, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon). College Confidential, about a sex survey, was billed with Italian import Head of the Tyrant (“A spectacular story of brute force crushed by the softness of a beautiful dancing girl!”) featuring wanna-be sex symbol Isabelle Cory. Girl of the Night found an ideal partner in Violent Women about female prisoners on the run. Crime thriller Key Witness, starring Jeffrey Hunter, was shored up by the reissued Tunnel of Love (1958) starring Richard Widmark and directed by Gene Kelly. Also in reissue was Cinerama Holiday. Even in its 45th week Ben Hur remained a threat, Sunrise at Campobello was in its fourth week and Song without End its third.

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Ben Hur demonstrated its superiority in no uncertain terms—racing to $16,000. Tied second on $14,000 were The Magnificent Seven and the Cinerama reissue. Fourth was Girl of the Night ($13,000), and then The Alamo ($12,000), September Storm ($8,000), Song without End ($7,700), Key Witness ($7,000), Surprise Package ($7,000) and College Confidential ($6,000). Although described by Variety as “shaping bright” in its first week, the Sturges picture fell flat in its second with just $7,500. Italian sexpot Gina Lollobrigida, who had recently been successful in Solomon and Sheba, provided the unlikely opposition in Pittsburgh where The Magnificent Seven played the 3,000-seat Penn ($1–$1.50). Her fans had the choice of not one but two movies. In Where the Hot Wind Blows she starred as a prostitute entangled with the wrong client. Fast and Sexy was a spicier new title for the two-year-old Anna from Brooklyn directed by the Oscar-winning Vittorio De Sica (Bicycle Thieves), which doubled with I Aim for the Stars. Ramping up the controversy was the second week of Girl of the Night, although, to stem the tide of immorality, The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima (1952) was in reissue while Jungle Cat was in its third week and Ben Hur its 41st. The western scored only its second number one opening of the campaign with a “snappy” $14,500. Ben Hur was closest at $12,000 followed by the newest Lollobrigida ($10,000) and Girl of the Night ($8,000), with the others no better than $4,000. It held over for nine days for another $10,000. There was a shock in St. Louis, courtesy of Freckles. Despite The Magnificent Seven opening at another huge cinema, the 3,600-seat State (60–90 cents), Freckles led the field with $12,000. The Magnificent Seven took $10,000, barely scraping past Gigi/Around the World in 80 Days at $9,500. College Confidential with a reissue of The Blackboard Jungle chalked up $9,000, Ben Hur $8,000 in its 23rd week and Sons and Lovers $2,700 in its second. The Magnificent Seven was held over for a further $8,000 but was then put to shame by Surprise Package, coupled with the Caribbean mystery Secrets of the Purple Reef starring a pre–Dr. Kildare Richard Chamberlain and a young Peter Falk, with an excellent $16,000. Seattle provided no significant improvement. In fact, The Magnificent Seven opened in a theater that had previously been closed, the 2,200-seat Music Hall ($1–$1.50). Ben Hur raced home with $8,000 in its 39th week, The Magnificent Seven rustling up a “mild” $6,700, Song Without End $6,000, Desire in the Dust/Secrets of the Purple Reef $5,000, Psycho $5,000 in its 10th week and Jungle Cat $4,000 in its third. There was a brief holdover, one week, for $5,000. Portland was there for the taking, Song Without End the only other newcomer and Ben Hur in its 41st week. The rest were reissues—a double bill of the musical High Society (1956) starring Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly and Dream Wife (1953) starring Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr plus the Hitchcock pair Dial M for Murder (1954) and Strangers on a Train (1951). Ben Hur trampled the opposition with $13,000. The Magnificent Seven did not come close, taking in a disappointing $7,100 at the 1,536-seat Orpheum ($1–$1.49). Song Without End orchestrated $6,500 and both reissues $3,000. There was further consternation in Kansas City. The top spot went to Song Without End ($9,000) followed by Girl of the Night ($8,000). Ben Hur in its 39th week placed third with $7,500. Supported by B film Squad Car, the western reached just $6,500 at the 3,300seat Midland (75 cents–$1). It was only just ahead of Albert Zugsmith’s Sex Kittens Go to College coupled with Bluebeard’s Ten Honeymoons starring George Sanders ($5,500). Bringing

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up the rear were Ocean’s 11 ($4,500 in its tenth week), I’m All Right, Jack ($2,200), Carry on Sergeant ($1,200 in its third) and Come Dance with Me ($1,200 in its sixth). With Philadelphia, Minneapolis and Indianapolis (figures reported November 9) next on the agenda, it was imperative that matters improve. In Philadelphia it faced the year’s two most expensive releases—Spartacus, also opening, and The Alamo in its second week after an initial $12,000. The Magnificent Seven pulled in to the 2,200-seat Fox (99 cents– $1.80). It was also the second week for Midnight Lace and Surprise Package ($10,500 in its first) and the third for Sunrise At Campobello. Noticeably absent for the first time in the western’s campaign was Ben Hur. For whatever reason, The low-budget box office challenger from nowhere was British Magnificent Seven clicked, post- A horror film The Village of the Damned (MGM, 1960). Ironiing its best figures since Chicago cally, it starred George Sanders whose autobiography had three weeks before, its $21,000 poked fun at Brynner. enough to warrant first place. Neither was Spartacus a disappointment with a fighting $18,000. Midnight Lace zipped up $13,000 and The Alamo held well with $10,000, the same as Sunrise at Campobello while Surprise Package fell to $6,000. If anything, a second week promised to be tougher with the arrival of Butterfield 8 and North to Alaska. In the face of a whopping $33,000 from the Elizabeth Taylor and $13,000 from North to Alaska, The Magnificent Seven crumbled to $12,000, while The Alamo fell by a marginal $500. The Sturges film’s third week of $11,000 beat both Waynes. The good form continued in Minneapolis where it scored a “torrid” $13,000 at the 2,200-seat State ($1–$1.25), beating Surprise Package hands down although the other Brynner film’s $6,000 was acceptable since it opened at a 1,000-seater. The only newbie was a sci-fi double bill of Japanese import Battle in Outer Space/Ten to the Moon which came in at $5,000. The rest of the dance card was holdovers. The reissue This Is Cinerama whipped up $9,500 in its 11th week, Ben Hur $8,500 in its 39th, The Dark at the Top of the Stairs $7,000 in its fourth, Song Without End $6,000 in its second, Come Dance with Me $5,000

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in its fourth, Let No Man Write My Epitaph $3,300 in its second and Can Can $3,000 in its eighth. Surprisingly, The Magnificent Seven departed after a second week of $9,000. Its replacement North to Alaska delivered a “socko” $23,000. The western came down to earth with a bump in Indianapolis placing third with a meager $5,500 at the 2,427-seat Loews (75 cents–$1), overtaken by This Is Cinerama with $10,000 in week six and Ben Hur with $9,000 in week 38. The other openers fared as badly, Sunrise at Campobello $5,000 and Song without End $4,500. Two number one spots in three cities—was this the change in fortunes The Magnificent Seven required to bust through the box office ceiling? Detroit (figures reported November 16), Boston and Los Angeles (November 30) and Louisville ( January 21) were the last scheduled stops on the release tour. But this late in the season there was no way to avoid the big guns. In Detroit it ran straight into North to Alaska and Midnight Lace, both opening. The Magnificent Seven at the 2,961-seat Palms ($1.25–$1.49) was supported by Cage of Evil, another Robert Kent production. Where the Hot Wind Blows, paired with drifter tale The Girl in Lovers Lane, was the fourth opener. Spartacus, Butterfield 8 and Jungle Cat were in their second weeks, Ben Hur in its 39th, Windjammer its 11th and Song Without End its fifth. It would take a superhuman effort from The Magnificent Seven and an improbable slump from the others for the Sturges picture to top the weekly rankings. Neither proved possible. Spartacus was the dominant force with $25,000, the Taylor melodrama next with $23,000, Midnight Lace third with $20,000. John Wayne won the western shootout with $19,000, The Magnificent Seven just behind with $17,500. Windjammer shot the breeze for $15,500 while Where the Hot Wind Blows had a scorching $14,000. Ben Hur took in $11,000, Song Without End claimed $6,000 and Jungle Cat $5,000. Despite landing in just fifth position, the western was held over for another $13,000 but North to Alaska went up, not down, to $19,500 and when the respective exhibitors ran the rule over the westerns, it was the Wayne that was kept on and the Brynner let go. Boston looked just as tough, although there Spartacus was in its fifth week and Butterfield 8 its third. Midnight Lace and North to Alaska, supported by Secrets of the Purple Reef, arrived at the same time as The Magnificent Seven which for company had The Boy and the Pirates. The Sturges film checked into the 1,900-seat Pilgrim (60 cents–$1.10). But all eyes were on G.I. Blues, Elvis’s first film since being drafted. Also in the line up was Esther and the King, which, while Biblical, lacked the dimension and budget of Ben Hur or Solomon and Sheba, although director Raoul Walsh had a pedigree, responsible for classics like White Heat (1949). Night of Love, a 1954 Bardot film originally called Concert of Intrigue, was coupled with Sin of Desire. And the city bristled with holdovers. Ben Hur had passed the one-year mark, the reissue of Cinerama Holiday was in its third week, Please Turn Over its fourth, I’m All Right Jack its sixth, Song Without End its ninth, Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru its third and Where the Hot Wind Blows its fourth. The Magnificent Seven got lost in the melee. G.I. Blues took in $26,000, Ben Hur $18,000 while the trio North to Alaska, Spartacus and Midnight Lace each took in $17,000 and Cinerama Holiday $15,000. The Magnificent Seven came in an abject seventh with $10,500, just ahead of both Butterfield 8 and Esther and the King with $10,000. Please Turn Over registered $8,500, I’m All Right, Jack $8,500, Song Without End $7,200, Where the Hot

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Wind Blows $6,500, Night of Love/Sin of Desire $5,800 and Akira Kurosawa’s Ikiru $3,000. A one-week reprieve brought in $8,000. In Los Angeles there already existed a local version of saturation release known as multiple run. The number of cinemas involved was dictated by advertising costs. Showing a movie in a range of cinemas for one week was cheaper than a movie bouncing from venue to venue over a period of weeks. Multiple run was initially invented to create bulk bookings for films that would never qualify for the first-run treatment—Ten Who Dared/Police Dog had shown in 22 L.A. theaters and drive-ins earlier in the month. Increasingly, the system was being used to send a major film simultaneously into first-run theaters, drive-ins and neighborhood theaters. The Magnificent Seven scheduled a multiple run of two first runs—the 2,213-seat Orpheum (90 cents–$1.50) and the 1,106-seat Hawaii (90 cents–$1.50)—plus eight neighborhood theaters and eight drive-ins. The only problem was North to Alaska had the same idea and would run the same week in 22 houses (four first-run theaters, ten neighborhood theaters and eight drive-ins). The Sturges film was supported by Walking Target, the Wayne by Murder Inc. about the mobster Lepke. The opening deck was stacked—G.I. Blues, Midnight Lace, Jules Dassin’s low-budget smash Never on Sunday, Please Turn Over and Esther and the King making their debuts and there was a reissue of Hitchcock’s North by Northwest with shipwreck saga The Last Voyage starring Robert Stack and Dorothy Malone. Otherwise, it was holdover heaven—52nd week for Ben Hur, third for Carry On Nurse, fourth for Butterfield 8, fifth for This Is Cinerama, The Alamo and Can Can, sixth for Spartacus, and ninth for Sunrise at Campobello and Song Without End. North to Alaska won the day in first run, totaling $30,000 from its quartet. Spartacus made $28,000, Ben Hur $27,000, G.I. Blues $27,000 and The Alamo $25,700. In sixth spot was The Magnificent Seven with $23,000. Butterfield 8 took in $21,000, Midnight Lace $20,000, This Is Cinerama $19,000, Never on Sunday $12,000, Esther and the King $10,000 and Please Turn Over $9,000. At the back were Can Can with $7,100, Carry on Nurse $7,000, Song Without End $7,000, Sunrise at Campobello $4,500 and North by Northwest $2,200. John Wayne also triumphed in the battle of the multiple run. Given it commanded more theaters, that was inevitable, and it romped home with $167,000, a per-cinema average of just over $7,500. The Magnificent Seven delivered $140,000 for a marginally higher average of $7,800. Both were retained. North to Alaska had both the better gross and average with $120,000 from 21 units compared to The Magnificent Seven’s $100,000 from 22. In first run the Sturges film earned $19,000 in its second week, $10,900 in its third and $7,500 in its fourth. North to Alaska’s gross halved in its second week to $15,000. There was a bizarre re-appearance at the 1,000-seat Uptown (all seats $1.25) in Minneapolis in the week before Christmas. It played a split week with a double bill of musical comedy Chartroose Caboose and the Abbott and Costello reissue The Wistful Widow of Wagon Gap (1947). The trio shared $1,500. One final humiliation awaited in Louisville (figures reported January 21, 1961). At the 3,000-seat United Artists (75 cents–$1) it was beaten by The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come, which spirited away $7,000. Second place with $6,500 was no consolation for the western. Please Turn Over laughed off $4,500, a reissue double bill of Female on the Beach

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(1955) starring Joan Crawford and Saskatchewan (1954) starring Alan Ladd took $4,000 and Fred Zinnemann’s Oscar-nominated The Sundowners $3,500 in its fifth week. Conspicuous by its absence on the first-run release schedule was New York. United Artists justified this unusual exclusion by claiming that westerns did not play well on Broadway (the generic name for the city’s first run). But this was patently untrue. In 1959 both Rio Bravo and The Horse Soldiers had put in sterling performances and receipts earlier in the year for The Unforgiven could hardly be classed as a disaster. Certainly, a city center exhibitor might be troubled by the prospect of sharing the movie with a host of neighborhood theaters, but nobody had complained in Los Angeles. In New York arthouses were a ready alternative to the main theaters—the Doris Day comedy Make Mine Mink had run for several weeks at the Baronet and if cinemas in this sector could tolerate Swiss Family Robinson there was no reason why they would not agree to host The Magnificent Seven. Nor did UA’s reluctance extend to The Misfits, John Huston’s modern western. That opened at one of the city’s biggest houses, the Capitol, to a $70,000 first week and a $71,000 second. The lack of a first-run showing in New York counted as a monumental slap in the face. The owners of the firstrun cinemas in the biggest movie-going city in the U.S. shunned the western. Other reasons were given—no available screens, for example, what with the demand for roadshows and the influx of hot films like Butterfield 8. But that did not explain why the less expensive The Dark at the Top of the Stairs found a ready home. Instead, The Magnificent Seven went straight into neighborhood theaters on a double bill with a time travel adventure, The Boy and the Pirates, directed by Bert Gordon (The Amazing Colossal Man).4 The initial release, punctuated by number one openings in Denver, Pittsburgh, Philadelphia and Minneapolis, was characterized by red faces and bursts of head-scratching. While it was no disgrace to surrender the top spot to roadshows like Ben Hur and Spartacus or Midnight Lace and G.I. Blues or even to an unexpected success like The Dark at the Top of the Stairs, how could one explain being beaten by low budgeters such as Freckles (St. Louis), Village of the Damned (Indianapolis), The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come (Louisville) and Girl of the Night (Kansas City)? Was it possible that the demands of the audiences differed so much from city to city that a publicity campaign that worked in Denver failed miserably in St. Louis? Was first run compromised in certain areas by saturation? How could the marketing gurus have got it so wrong? Because if this was not a mistake, if this was because of human error or miscalculation, then it meant The Magnificent Seven had genuinely found its true level. Which meant it was a flop. Variety ranked it 38th in the annual box office league.5 This was based not just on existing rentals, which came to about $1.3 million, but on projected revenues which added about another $1 million. This equated to a gross of about $4.6 million, so far from a success, once marketing was added to the negative costs, that it would require an impossible $2 million–$3 million gross from its remaining 20 percent of bookings to break even. Its end-of-year figures came nowhere near Ben Hur (the number one picture of 1960), Can Can (second), Butterfield 8 (ninth), G.I. Blues (14th) or melodrama Strangers When We Meet (17th). It was beaten by Jungle Cat, High Time and Hell to Eternity and finished marginally ahead of All the Young Men. The other Brynner films were a mixed bag, Solomon

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and Sheba taking seventh place, but the others barely registering, Once More with Feeling 54th and Surprise Package 67th. As feared, the western genre ran out of steam in 1960. The Unforgiven was the only other western on in the year’s rankings, placing 20th. (The Alamo and North to Alaska fell into the 1961 category, taking fifth and 13th place, respectively.) Cimarron came in 30th, Flaming Star 40th. Heller in Pink Tights and Sergeant Rutledge failed to chart. Apart from North to Alaska, more a comedy western rather than a traditional oater, none were financially successful. The Magnificent Seven proved not to be in the commercial league as The Searchers, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Rio Bravo or The Big Country, but more in line with the less distinguished Last Train from Gun Hill, The Bravados and The Hanging Tree. Saturation release was not entirely to blame, although faith in that idea was certainly misplaced. By now enough shady showmen had used that system as a means of dumping low-budget stinkers on an unwitting audience for the public to have cottoned on and it was possible that sending the western out in such a blaze of publicity had been its undoing. Sword-and-sandal epics and low-budget horror movies did not need to consider the hereafter; they were only interested in the here and now, in how quickly they made money. Until this point, the distinguishing feature of saturation had been that the advertising cost more than the film. The nature of saturation decreed that a film would vanish instantly. Word of mouth invariably worked against such films. When moviegoers started spreading positive word about The Magnificent Seven, it was too late; the film had been yanked from screens. Executives involved in the film claimed to have optimistic expectations for The Magnificent Seven, expressing disbelief at the lukewarm response as if the fault lay with an unappreciative public. But the reality was that United Artists lost faith in the picture. Saturation was seen as a way of salvaging what looked like a box-office disaster. Nobody would gamble on a film of this size unless risk was the only option. Had there been genuine excitement that this was a film that would revolutionize the genre, the simplest thing would have been to find enough critics who agreed, and identify enough smaller theaters willing to hold the film long enough until it picked up speed, a device that had been used by studios since the 1930s to back their hunches. One did not have to look far for other reasons for the film’s failure. To western fans, Yul Brynner, better known as a musical star or an actor in dramatic films, represented an unlikely choice for the lead. Or the blame could lie with the pre-release PR. The report that received most coverage was that the film had been censored by a foreign government6 (not an ideal way to promote a film to freedom-conscious Americans) and that Brynner had got divorced and married within five days (guaranteed to offend the moral majority). Brynner had been accused of cheating Anthony Quinn. Nor did Brynner’s humanity help. His CBS special was very widely reported, in many cases with long features. Whether it was a question of taste or revenge, none of the syndicated columns—Dick Kleiner for NEA, Robert Musel at UPI and Cynthia Lowry of Associated Press—made reference to the western, although Musel gave a plug to Surprise Package. Steve McQueen was ill-advised in publicity matters. The tough guy was quoted as saying, “I’m just as much of a coward as anybody else.”7 The bulk of the coverage of McQueen in the run-up to the film’s opening centered on him making his singing debut on television,8 and claiming that he had curbed his wild ways and was giving up racing,9 which only served

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to alienate his macho fan base. McQueen had even told Mike Connolly of his time in the Marine Corps, “I stayed away from trouble.”10 He took a similar line with another interviewer. “I wear a bloody tie and I’m quieter. I talk about giving up racing. I’m trying to be a sensible human being.”11 Journalists were not afraid of taking a pop at him. Patrick McNulty, on hearing that McQueen’s now considered racing “too risky,” commented, “A few months ago nonconformist McQueen would have sneered at such sentiments.” McNulty added that McQueen was “too short in the saddle” to be a screen cowboy.12 Another article was simply headed, “Steve McQueen Turns Chicken.”13 Or the finger could be pointed at Sturges. Apart from Bad Day at Black Rock and Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, the director exhibited little box office prowess. His last two westerns had been dismal and Never So Few—25th in the 1960 chart—would be counted a failure. He did not command the following of John Ford, Anthony Mann or Howard Hawks. Even though his films were not box office big hitters, Budd Boetticher probably had a more faithful following as his films invariably starred Randolph Scott or Joel McCrea, two of the genre’s stalwarts. Another reason was The Alamo. Not so much that it was a much bigger film with the biggest current western star, but that it presented the public with a baffling contradiction. If John Wayne had spent two years, and many more millions of dollars in production and marketing than The Magnificent Seven could afford, in making a film that presented Mexicans as bad guys, how was the public to get its head around a film that presented them as good guys? In one film the Americans were trying to kill as many Mexicans as possible, in the other trying to save every single one of them. Or was it more fundamental? The genre was on the slide. Instead of raising the western to new heights, The Magnificent Seven, as a result of flawed thinking over its release, might have helped kill it off.

19 Redemption Even though saturation had failed to produce the required results stateside, United Artists decided to repeat the plan in the United Kingdom, aiming to hit 60 percent of its potential audience within two months. Mirisch told cinemas it was “doing a Levine.”1 Reviews were mixed. “Neurotics on horseback” was the verdict of The Observer while The Sunday Telegraph compared the ruthless bandits to the Inland Revenue. The Times found “much to commend” and The Financial Times deemed it “a surprise success.” The Daily Express tempered its verdict: “with 15 minutes cut out of the middle it would have been one of the tensest westerns for a long time.” The Monthly Film Bulletin, published by the British Film Institute, called it a “Freudian western” and while finding the self-sacrifice hard to stomach pronounced the film “both impressive and likeable.” There were opposing views on the acting. The Tribune complained about “several feeble performances and far too much dithering … [and] the anguish of watching McQueen muff scene after scene.” Richard Whitehall of Films & Filming was more impressed. “American film acting at its best…. For sheer style in movie making Hollywood hasn’t sent us anything like this for a long while…. Has a masterpiece begot a masterpiece?” The film opened at The Pavilion in London’s West End on April 14, 1961, and went out on general release a few days later with 90 prints for key cities and the first leg of a wave of London cinemas on the Odeon circuit.2 It was up against Gold of the Seven Saints on ABC theaters. It had been a good month at the cinema. The Stanley Donen comedy The Grass Is Greener had broken records at Odeons and Gaumonts in Birmingham, Leeds, Nottingham, Sheffield, Liverpool and Cardiff.3 Swiss Family Robinson had made $138,000 in its London circuit release, breaking the previous record by 22 percent and setting new highs in 74 theaters.4 The Magnificent Seven shattered the Swiss Family Robinson record. From 35 Rank cinemas in northwest London it took in $192,000.5 It set individual records at most Rank cinemas.6 At The Pavilion it collected $20,000 in its opener, an astonishing sum for a movie that could be seen more cheaply the same week at one’s local cinema, and was beaten in the week’s rankings only by Ben Hur.7 Where in the U.S. it had limped out of key cities after just two or three weeks it was retained at the Pavilion for two months. It was the same story all over the world, although there it went down the more traditional route of opening first in big cities then fanning out to smaller cinemas. In Italy it ranked 12th for the year behind Ben Hur, Spartacus and Psycho but ahead of North to Alaska, 207

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Butterfield 8, Can Can and The Apartment.8 It had excellent results in Hong Kong.9 It did not open in Japan until June, but then it took in $240,000 in its first five days at three cinemas,10 close to the city’s record, ultimately ranking the number one Hollywood picture for the year with $722,00, nearly double that of runner-up The Guns of Navarone with $397,000 and films like North to Alaska, Exodus and Spartacus.11 In the entire Asian market, among American imports, it was seventh for the year,12 and went one better among movies shown overseas for G.I.s in American-run cinemas.13 In Germany it was the second best performing American movie behind Ben Hur and ended up beating Psycho, Spartacus and The Alamo.14 In France, a haven for westerns, it was ranked at the top with North to Alaska and The Alamo.15 In fact, it would go on to change the thinking about the potential for movies overseas. The general rule of thumb for successful genres like westerns was that they could be expected to gross the same again abroad as domestically, although studios received a smaller percentage of the box office. The Magnificent Seven turned this on its head. Harold Mirisch explained that “if you take all our pictures you would find that 55 percent of our take, maybe 60 percent, came from American audiences.” Westerns were the exception. The domestic gross of The Magnificent Seven was doubled abroad.16 Agent Irving “Swifty” Lazar noted a similar trend in the Far East.17 And this was just the start of an extraordinary one-film revolution. Over the next few years, The Magnificent Seven blew away deep-rooted attitudes as to how and where, after initial release, movies could make money. At its most basic, this was the result of the Mirisch brothers’ need to generate revenue from any conceivable source. The reality was that, domestically, its first tranche of films had produced just two domestic hits, Some Like It Hot and The Apartment, and it was struggling to sustain that level of The box office fight-back began in London. To the astonish- success. In 1961, none of the ment of Hollywood, The Magnificent Seven (United Artists, three films for which it was solely 1960) broke box office records in the U.K. At the Pavilion it had its longest run in any first run cinema so far. The stream- responsible—Kirk Douglas in Town Without Pity, William Wylined ad made the movie more dynamic.

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ler’s The Children’s Hour and Billy Wilder’s Horst Buchholz starrer One, Two, Three—made any money. The losses were astronomical, outstripping Mirisch’s previous worst performer, The Horse Soldiers. William Wyler’s The Children’s Hour starring Audrey Hepburn earned only $1.52 million in rentals against a negative cost of $3.5 million incurring a total loss of $2.78 million. 18 The muchhyped Billy Wilder comedy One, Two, Three was covered in red ink—a $1.56 million loss.19 Although costing just $1.4 million, Town Without Pity sank without a trace leaving a negative stain on the balance sheet of $780,000.20 The $1 million profit generated by The Apartment was not enough to stem the flow.21 Mirisch’s only other hit, West Side Story, was not only a joint venture with Seven Arts, thus limiting profits, but also bound up in a complicated cross-collateralized deal with Two for the Seesaw and By Originally, the Mexican title of The Magnificent Seven (United Love Possessed.22 1960) was going to be (translated into English) The Just as strange as the for- Artists, Seven Magnificent Ones but this was changed to Seven Men eign reaction to The Magnificent and One Destiny (Siete Hombres y un Destino). This design Seven was a domestic undercur- was an adaptation of “The Magnificent One” poster. rent. The flop simply refused to die. This was way before the golden age of reissues which dated from 1964. Those that were given a second outing were the top-grossing hits of previous years, not mediocre performers like the western. In 1961, The Magnificent Seven was back in first run in Los Angeles23 and Cincinnati.24 United Artists was always eager to milk any movie so the following year it turned up in double bills with The Horse Soldiers, The Misfits and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance.25 The odd thing, given the combined running time of four hours-plus meant fewer showings, was that the double bills did surprisingly well. And at long last it was given an airing in a New York first-run cinema where it collected $11,000.26 The tally was $7,000 in Washington.27 In 1961 and 1962 it was almost never out of cinema and so ubiquitous it was equally at home (mainly as the support) with new films as with reissues.

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Westerns and action films it was shown with included The Commancheros starring John Wayne, The Horse Soldiers, North to Alaska and The Alamo, Gregory Peck in The Big Country, Marlon Brando in One Eyed Jacks, Burt Lancaster in The Unforgiven, The Guns of Navarone28 and Thunder Road. There were musicals, comedies and romances such as Bob Hope in The Facts of Life and The Road to Hong Kong, Doris Day in Pillow Talk, Light in the Piazza, Billy Wilder’s The Apartment, Elvis Presley in Follow That Dream and G.I Blues, The Trapp Family,29 Cary Grant in The Grass Is Greener, Cash McCall, and Clark Gable and Sophia Loren in It Started in Naples. Then came the dramas—A Cold Wind in August, If a Man Answers, Paul Newman in Paris Blues, The Dark at the Top of the Stairs, Spencer Tracy and Frank Sinatra in The Devil at Four O’Clock, Brando in The Fugitive Kind and Where the Hot Wind Blows. If Disney favorites were a good fit—Swiss Family Robinson30 and The Parent Trap— so, too, was horror in the form of The Stranglers of Bombay,31 The Pit and the Pendulum and The Village of the Damned. On top of that were the reissued David and Bathsheba, the number one film of 1951, Legions of the Nile and The Three Worlds of Gulliver. And this was just a sample; there were many others. Sometimes, the film was booked for an entire week, other times for three or two days. United Artists received fixed fees rather than a percentage for these showings, but no matter how small they soon added up. The western’s surprising popularity started Mirisch thinking about turning the movie into a television series. This was not the first big screen–small screen switcheroo—the Audie Murphy television western Whispering Smith, debuting in 1961, was based on the 1948 Alan Ladd movie32—but it was by far the most ambitious. The parallels between movie westerns and television westerns remained close. If 1960 and 1961 had proved disappointing for movies, they were calamitous for television. A number of popular series were coming to the end of their natural life. ABC’s The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp, one of the earliest successes, on air since 1955, was on its last legs as was ABC’s Sugarfoot (started in 1957), CBS’s Dick Powell’s Zane Grey Theatre (1956), NBC’s Bat Masterson (1958) and Wanted: Dead or Alive (1958). For a genre that had been expected to produce sure-fire winners, some series were remarkably short-lived. Stagecoach West and The Westerner did not survive the 1960 season. Two series begun in 1959—Deputy and Shotgun Slade—were dumped in 1961.33 The cull was set to continue in 1962 and terminated series would include NBC’s Tales of Wells Fargo (on air since 1957), ABC’s Maverick (also 1957), ABC’s Bronco (1958), NBC’s Lawman (1958), NBC’s The Outlaws (1960) and NBC’s Tall Men (1960). Gunsmoke remained the number one show on Saturday, the biggest night of the week, and some innovations were picking up steam. The first color western, Bonanza, had been launched in 1959 along with Rawhide, and although these would rank among the longest-running television shows ever, the former running for 14 seasons and the latter for seven, confidence in the television western was at an all-time low. It was clear that the high volume of series produced would become a thing of the past. Ratings domination looked set to go the same way.34 In the midst of this carnage something unprecedented occurred. A series—Wagon Train, started in 1957—dumped by one network (NBC) was picked up by another (ABC). It was not quite as straightforward as that. MCA’s Revue Productions which made the program had asked for millions of dollars for a package that comprised one more series and reruns of the 189 previous episodes. Considering the cost of repeats too high, NBC turned down the offer only to watch in astonishment as ABC met the asking price.35

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With something new required to revitalize the genre, Mirisch, toward the end of 1961, pitched the idea of a 90-minute version (the first show running that length) of The Magnificent Seven, costing $185,000 an episode (more if in color), to NBC. The show would go out on a Wednesday night at 7:30 p.m. The initial order would be for 30 episodes—a total budget, in other words, of over $5.5 million—plus a guarantee of at least 20 repeats bringing in another $40,000 each.36 Sam Peckinpah would act as executive producer at a salary of $2,000 per week (rising to $2,250 in year two and $2,500 in year three) and profit participation. He had been signed up as executive producer, with responsibility for overseeing all elements of production for the entire series. Sturges agreed to direct a maximum of five episodes at $3,500 an episode and become creatively involved with Peckinpah on the scripts.37 Acting in a supervisory capacity Mirisch would earn up to $2,750 per episode. In addition, there would be another $1,000 an episode in royalties to Mirisch-Alpha. Furthermore, Mirisch anticipated that the episodes could also be released theatrically abroad. Sturges would get the largest share of the pie, allocated 30 percent ownership of the series, with United Artists and its television division Ziv due 20 percent, Mirisch’s own television company also 20 percent, NBC 20 percent and Peckinpah the remaining 10 percent.38 Mirisch required UA’s approval. United Artists did not acquiesce. First was the question of Mirisch devoting time to the series which UA felt should have been spent concentrating on the movies for which it was contracted. Second, there was a question of money—was Mirisch contemplating using the cash UA assigned to cover its overhead? Third, UA believed the division of ownership unfair. Last, and more pertinent, UA argued that any revenues from a television production of The Magnificent Seven should be cross-collateralized against the costs of the other Mirisch-Alpha films, namely the western and the forthcoming The Great Escape.39 Mirisch pointed out it was already engaged in television with no detrimental effect on its movies and that, rather than absorb overhead for purposes for which it was not intended, had actually returned $150,000 of unused overhead and salary.40 Nobody appeared to realize they were up against a deadline. Anxious to counter the threat of ABC—intent on running Wagon Train in its traditional Wednesday night slot—NBC turned to Revue41 which came up with the ground-breaking 90-minute The Virginian, based on the 1946 movie starring Joel McCrea. It launched in September 1962 and settled in for a nine-year run. The Mirisch-UA wrangle, combined with the inability to come up with an acceptable pilot, delayed The Magnificent Seven project. All through 1962 nothing tangible was produced. One might also have asked why they bothered persevering. The Virginian apart, there was no sign of a significant revival of television westerns. The high of 20 series in primetime of a few seasons before was a distant memory.42 For the season beginning in September 1963 only two of the leaders from five years ago—Gunsmoke and Wagon Train—had survived plus Rawhide, Have Gun—Will Travel, and Bonanza. A newbie, The Travels of Jamie McPheeters starring Dan O’Herlihy and Charles Bronson,43 did not offset the year’s casualties, The Rifleman and Cheyenne. To combat the threat of The Virginian, Wagon Train was being stretched to 90 minutes, shot in color and moving to Monday night,44 and longer versions of Gunsmoke and Rawhide were under consideration.45 That the idea got a second wind at all was due to the sale of the movie to television. The Magnificent Seven set an unwelcome record for the fastest sale of a new big-budget movie to television. Just a year after it had officially completed its initial run,46 the movie

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was sold to television. Commentators were perplexed that Brynner had just banked $750,000 from his 10 percent share of the gross profits while the producers were forced into a fire sale to break even on the movie.47 The $400,000 price was on the low side.48 (The next year the seven-year-old Bridge on the River Kwai would fetch $2 million.49) The movie aired on Sunday, February 3, 1963. It was sponsored, either ironically or deliberately, given Brynner’s shaven head, by Vaseline Hair Tonic.50 But Sturges was livid at the cuts made to fit the movie into the given time slot. “Anytime I have a picture that has made money, I will refuse to put it on television to let it be hacked up. But we have no squawk. They paid for The Magnificent Seven and had to reduce it for time. The answer lies in either refusing to sell it or waiting for toll [pay] tv.”51 With the movie acting as a trailer, the idea of a series was revived. Sturges backed out and refused to allow his name to be used in the credits. Mirisch also walked away from active involvement and Peckinpah dropped out, replaced by Leslie Stevens of Daystar, the producer of The Outer Limits.52 However, both Sturges and Mirisch retained their rights to ownership, which was now evenly split among the five parties, with a royalty of $750 per episode for Sturges and $250 for Mirisch. UA balked at the prospect of handing over 40 percent of the profits to people no longer actively involved.53 There was also the question of whether Yul Brynner and Al Morheim (now employed as a story editor on The Outer Limits) would also be due a share—clauses in their deals specified “other income from the property.” Frank Reel of United Artists Television made no bones about his longer term aim. “It is our desire to minimize the amount we have to pay for rights and to make sure we get all the rights once we have concluded our agreement.”54 UA was annoyed at sharing the proceeds at all because, in a stock swap in 1962 that valued Mirisch at $1.8 million, Mirisch had transferred the negatives of its first 20 films, including The Magnificent Seven, to UA. Arthur Krim wanted Sturges’ share to go into the cross-collateralized pot of The Great Escape.55 Legal investigation confirmed that between them Mirisch and Sturges would be entitled to half of the profits from a television sale and that both Morheim and Brynner would be entitled to part of the proceeds.56 Sturges refused to cross-collateralize. A month later, Krim decided to ignore Sturges wishes.57 Mirisch argued that such action would jeopardize its relationship with Sturges.58 Its appetite whetted by the success of The Virginian, NBC was in the market for another 90-minute western, resuming negotiations with Mirisch by May 1963. Stevens, with time on his hands after ABC cancelled Stoney Burke starring Warren Oates, was back in the driver’s seat.59 When CBS, already forced to play catch up with NBC, entered the picture NBC dropped out. Initially, to cover the bigger costs of bankrolling the longer show, CBS insisted Yul Brynner head the cast, otherwise it would drop to a 60-minute show.60 When Brynner did not oblige, CBS did not carry out its threat.61 Daystar announced a 90-minute television series to roll in October with John Fante and Frank Fenton writing the script.62 Warren Oates was signed to play a character called “Cat” Painter.63 Demand for the show received a further boost when Marlboro cigarettes paid “a hefty sum” to use a few bars of Bernstein’s music in a commercial.64 Until then, the theme tune had been underutilized. The score had been nominated for an Oscar but lost out to Ernest Gold for Exodus. United Artists had started releasing singles of film themes primarily as a publicity device. Surprisingly, these hit home with the public and a piano duet by Ferrante

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and Teicher of the Exodus theme had sold 500,000 copies before the film opened and double that afterward. Over 400 singles of various film themes had entered the charts, generating total record sales of 14–16 million. Sales of individual albums topped 500,000.65 In addition, free airplay amounted to millions of dollars of free publicity. Themes to other UA films, The Apartment and John Huston’s western The Unforgiven, had also done well as did The Alamo. The soundtrack to Never on Sunday had spent a year in the charts and the theme song was credited with increasing the film’s appeal. Often, there were multiple versions of film themes available at the same time— “The Green Leaves of Summer” from The Alamo spawned 20 versions (and there were two version of The Ballad of the Alamo), The Sundowners had six and Never on Sunday nine.66 Since Bernstein was con- The Spanish poster made bolder use of the numeral seven. tracted to competing label Capitol, UA had plumped for a guitar instrumental by Al Caiola to coincide with the movie launch.67 But it did not enter the charts until mid–November, weeks after the film’s initial release, too late to bolster its attraction, and was not a great success, generally stuck in the middle to lower echelons of the charts. In February 1961 Bernstein had been given the green light from Capitol to do a single, but, since too much time had elapsed since the film’s release, that, too, went nowhere.68 The public associated Caiola more with the song than the composer. In October it was the standout in Caiola’s album Hit Instrumentals from Western TV Themes,69 and the following year it was included in his album Solid Gold Guitar70 and he recorded with an orchestra known as The Magnificent Seven.71 Oscar nominations for Summer and Smoke, To Kill a Mockingbird and Walk on the Wild Side enhanced Bernstein’s reputation and he recorded a one-hour television special, Music for the Movies, shown in March 1962. The success of The Great Escape, starring McQueen, Coburn and Bronson, in summer 1963 sparked further interest in The Magnificent Seven and later in the year another idea

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revived interest in the original film. United Artists had struck gold with the Bond films. Not once, but twice. After the success of Dr. No and From Russia with Love it planned a third. The Bond films destroyed the belief that sequels could only gross 60 percent of the original after the second Bond had doubled the gross of Dr. No and Goldfinger made more than both films put together. UA began a one-company campaign to ramp up sequels. The Bond films inspired UA to contemplate a second Inspector Clouseau and—after A Shot in the Dark exceeded the revenues of The Pink Panther—later a third.72 The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night was quickly followed by Help! It was even trying out a Jean-Paul Belmondo spy series that began with That Man from Rio (the screenplay was nominated for an Oscar). A sequel Return of the Magnificent Seven (truncated to Return of the Seven) was mooted. Walter Mirisch arranged to meet Yul Brynner’s agent on November 22, 1963, to discuss the possibility. The Kennedy assassination postponed that.73 The project was announced in January 1964.74 The television premiere of The Magnificent Seven did not kill cinema demand. The opposite held true. Its versatility made it the ideal supporting feature, popping up as the second feature to the western Geronimo at the Garden City Drive-In,75 the war film The Victors at the White in Fresno76 and the kids picture Summer Magic at the Lyric in Yuma.77 It fell into the cycle of endless recycle, playing with Dr. No at the New 50 in Kansas,78 It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World at the 84th drive-in in Lincoln,79 Nebraska, The Pink Panther at the “77” drive-in at Harlingen,80 A Shot in the Dark at the Circle in Florence,81 and Muscle Beach Party at the Mimbres in Deming.82 Somebody could not resist pairing it with Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.83 It was triple bill fodder, billed below Duel of the Titans and Flight from Ashiya, at the Circle in San Antonio.84 In some cinemas it was the sole attraction. In others it topped the bill, backed by the likes of Terror at Black Falls at the Park in Kansas.85 The Aladdin drive-in in Ottawa, Ontario, paired it with Magnificent Obsession.86 For its grand re-opening in 1964 the Strand in Salinas offered a triple bill of The Magnificent Seven, Sean Connery (even though in a small part) in Hell Drivers and Robert Mitchum in Thunder Road.87 The success of the Marlboro commercial inspired the Great Bend drive-in to exhort customers to “hear the million-seller.”88 Cinemas continued inventing alternative advertising slogans. The Starlite Drive-in in Des Moines billed Steve McQueen above Yul Brynner and the advertising copy read: “Riding! Fighting together! 7 who fight like 700 save a small farming community from bandit raiders.”89 The River View drive-in at Pasco showed a Steve McQueen triple bill of The Magnificent Seven, The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery and The War Lover.90 Some towns and cities booked it several times a year. In Emporia, it was shown in 1961 in January with Portrait in Black as support, in February as the support to The Misfits and June as the support to The Facts of Life. The following year, it returned to support Sergeants 3 (April), The Road to Hong Kong ( July), Judgment at Nuremberg ( July) and The Manchurian Candidate (November).91 Pasadena hosted three showings in 1961, a double bill with The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery (April), on its own (May) and as the support to Sitting Bull ( June). The following year it returned in February and October in a double bill with The Big Country as well as with The Last Days of Pompeii (March) and as the main feature in a triple bill comprising Paris Blues and Young Savages (September). In 1963 its triple bill companions were Diamond Head and El Cid (May) and it supported Mr. Sardonicus ( June) and

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was teamed with a reissue of The Misfits (September). In 1964 came a Seven Brides for Seven Brothers double bill (August) and a triple bill in October with Follow That Dream and Sergeants 3.92 The Humboldt in Iowa chose to celebrate New Year’s Eve with The Magnificent Seven/That Funny Feeling. The cinema defended its choice by referring to the western as “one of the most popular movies we have ever played.”93 Jane Fonda provided an unlikely boost for the picture. Returning from a trip to Paris she told reporters she was amazed at “the way they feel about American pictures—pictures we often ignore—particularly our westerns, to them Ride the High Country is a masterpiece, and also The Magnificent Seven.”94 Touring Russia in 1965, Robert Vaughn was recognized on the street thanks to The Magnificent Seven.95 Interest never flagged. A reissue in Germany went over well.96 There were 16mm showings of the film in schools in the U.S.97 In Britain, re-launched at the 550-seater Studio One in London, it took nearly $7,000 in its opening week and $4,000 in its sixth.98 In Africa, an expanding market, the American Motion Picture Export Association announced The Magnificent Seven was one of its most successful movies.99 In November 1964, the two separate Anthony Quinn lawsuits were heard. Quinn asserted that in January 1958 he and Brynner had orally agreed to buy the rights to Seven Samurai from Lou Morheim and to jointly obtain financing from United Artists and share the subsequent profits.100 But in November 1959, claimed Quinn, Brynner had, through Alciona, transferred all assets of the partnership with Quinn, including the screenplay and related contracts, to UA and Mirisch-Alpha, and such a transfer “violated their partnership agreement.” No provision had been made within the transfer for Quinn to share in the profits. Quinn’s demand for $150,000 was based on a salary of $15,000 a week for 10 weeks to cover the work he had done, and he also wanted 7.5 percent of the profits.101 To bolster its defense, United Artists’ lawyer Sol Rosenthal of Kaplan, Livingston, Goodwin and Berkowitz, employed the legal principle of “mitigation of damages” which meant that if Quinn, during the period for which he was expecting to be employed on The Magnificent Seven, earned the same amount elsewhere, then he would not be entitled to compensation.102 The lawyer argued that Quinn had not been financially penalized since he was paid $150,000 by Universal for Portrait in Black (filming from December 11, 1959, to February 15, 1960) and the same amount for The Guns of Navarone (March 21, 1960, to May 27, 1960), the combined periods more than covering the time when he might have been involved in the western.103 In the case against Brynner, Quinn lost, the judge decreeing that the oral agreement had not reached the stage of being a legally binding document.104 Quinn fared no better against United Artists.105 But Quinn had won in a different way. Thanks to the Jean Anouilh play Becket on Broadway in 1960 and his Oscar-nominated role in Zorba The Greek he was at last a bona fide star, top-billed for the rest of the decade. In the chart of the 1960s top 100 movie stars106 (by U.S. box office earnings) he was ranked 56th. Brynner abandoned his directorial ambitions but continued with the production side of his business. The gladiator movie was out of the question after Spartacus. As well as reviving The Mad King,107 Alciona developed a $2.5 million Aztec adventure The Mound Builders (Kings of the Sun) and in 1961 this became the first of three projected co-productions with Mirisch, to be distributed by UA.108 Their second joint venture, announced the following year, was the $4 million Elephant Bill to be filmed in Ceylon.109 All three movies encountered

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Taras Bulba (United Artists, 1962) was filmed in 70mm. In Britain, Tony Curtis was considered the bigger star so his name was billed first. Ironically, Litvak, director of Five Miles to Midnight, had been set to direct The Magnificent Seven. The producer was Harold Hecht after his split with Burt Lancaster.

difficulties and he settled for Escape from Zahrain, directed by Ronald Neame (Tunes of Glory). Released in 1962, it ranked 57th for the year. The Cossack epic Taras Bulba did better the next year, finishing 30th with an unprofitable $3 million rental ($6 million gross approx.), but failed to go into profit. In 1964 Kings of the Sun, directed by J. Lee Thompson, was another dismal flop, under $1.5 million rental ($3 million gross) for 48th in the annual chart.110 Despite tinkering with an adaptation of the play Portrait of a Murder and The Story of a Cheat, that was the end of Alciona. Brynner’s career went steadily downhill. In 1964 the Japanese-American co-production Flight from Ashiya, directed by Michael Anderson (Around the World in 80 Days), did not make the annual U.S. chart, which meant its gross was below $2 million, and nor did the Stanley Kramer western Invitation to a Gunfighter. Despite this, he still considered himself a top attraction and in 1964 demanded $400,000 to play Genghis Khan.111 The film’s producers turned him down. He was considered that year for Battle of the Bulge112 and Elephant Bill resurfaced as Bandoola.113 He was lined up opposite Marlon Brando for The Day Custer Fell. None of these ideas materialized.114 He and Brando did work together the next year for the spy film Morituri, but he was second-billed. Nor did the film resonate with audiences, taking only $2.6 million and ranked 69th.115 So the sequel to The Magnificent Seven offered a tremendous chance to restore his name.

20 Magnificent Seven the Musical In April 1965 John Sturges and Elmer Bernstein announced they were going to turn The Magnificent Seven into a musical with the intention of opening on Broadway in autumn 1966. Brynner was offered the lead and there was no doubt the prospect of the actor returning to the scene of former glories would have been a stunning publicity coup, but the idea died.1 The sequel took a surprisingly long time to reach the screens. At one point it looked as if McQueen would reprise his role. Initial reports suggested the film would feature the members of “the original cast who weren’t killed off.”2 Shortly afterward, McQueen was mentioned in connection to the sequel.3 According to Brynner’s son, Rock, McQueen had promised during the filming of the original to take part in a sequel.4 McQueen told Rock he was impressed by his father’s perfectionism.5 A few months before his death, McQueen wanted to settle old grievances. Ask Yul to forgive me. I was always grateful for what he did. He transformed my career and, with it, my life. Then we had some stupid argument when I wouldn’t appear in Return of the Seven and I never saw him again.… I never stopped feeling bad about it because there is no doubt The Magnificent Seven was the film that made me a star.6

Bonanza producer David Dortort was signed by Mirisch to produce the sequel with a script by Denne Bart Peticlerc.7 It was due to go in front of the cameras in Mexico on March 1, 1965.8 Petitclerc was replaced by Larry Cohen9 and Walter Grauman (633 Squadron)10 was assigned the director’s chair. The schedule was pushed back a week and then a month until someone realized that an April–May shoot coincided with the rainy season11 in Mexico and the shoot was postponed. Burt Kennedy, who had made Rounders with Henry Fonda, came on board as writer (although the film also credited Cohen) and director.12 The movie finally got underway in February 1966 in Spain.13 Elmer Bernstein initially refused to write the score but then reconsidered14 and just as well because it won another Oscar nomination. But that generated a row because he was nominated for adapting his own music.15 Return of the Seven, costing $1.78 million,16 was virtually a remake. The story involved the three surviving members plus four new recruits saving a village from a psychotic Mexican rancher. UA attempted to repeat the first movie’s magic by casting up-and-comers, mostly culled from television. Robert Fuller from Laramie filled the boots of Steve McQueen while Spanish small-screen favorite Julian Mateos those of Horst Buchholz. Some of the others seemed custom-made—Claude Akins, who had been in Rawhide, as broody as Charles Bronson, 217

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Portuguese Virgilio Texeira as suave as Robert Vaughn. Warren Oates, another television refugee with roles in The Virginian and Rawhide but also Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee, came in as a girl chaser and Jordan Christopher, in his second movie role after The Fat Spy with Jayne Mansfield, was an old-fashioned ingénue. Of these only Oates, and to a lesser extent, Christopher, would capitalize on the opportunity. The actors playing the Mexicans were of a more solid caliber, both making unforgettable appearances in later classic films, Emilio Hernandez as Mapache in Sam Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch and Fernando Rey as the drug kingpin in The French Connection. The poster proclaimed, “Between the law and the lawless…. Seven again…. Magnificent again.” Reviews were poor. Vincent Canby in the New York Times complained it was “a mixture of spraying bullets and philosophical twaddle,” adding that the original was “no great shakes either.”17 Variety complained about everything. A plodding, cliche-ridden script … word of mouth relegates this dull United Artists programmer to low case status in lesser action situations … it might as well go directly to the tube…. Under Burt Kennedy’s limp direction, players walk through their predictable dialog…. At fadeout, Brynner and Fuller ride away from an overproduced carnage, never to return, one hopes.18

It did not follow UA’s new rule of sequels. Revenue was down, not up, on the original. It registered in the national top ten for only one week.19 In New York in October it took in $158,000 from 24 cinemas in five days, way behind How to Steal a Million in its second week ($245,000 from 28 cinemas). In Los Angeles it was $130,000 from 29 houses.20 It came up against a box office powerhouse called The Professionals starring Burt Lancaster and Lee Marvin. In Toronto, where the sequel took $32,000 from eight theaters, The Professionals earned $34,000 from four. In Washington, The Professionals took $35,000 against Return of the Seven’s $15,000. In Pittsburgh Return of the Seven was beaten by Texas Across the River and in Louisville by Walk Don’t Run which was in its eighth week. Overall, the film produced rentals of $1.6 million (about $3.2 million gross) for 70th spot in the annual rankings.21 That prompted a reissue for The Magnificent Seven in a double bill with the sequel. Unusually, it was the older film that received first billing.22 Eyebrows were raised in 1967 when, on the basis of what was perceived as a mediocre performance, UA announced a second sequel, Quest of the Magnificent Seven (later re-titled Guns of the Magnificent Seven),23 to be directed by Vincent Fennelly24 but the company explained that the domestic gross for Return of the Seven did not reflect its overall box office prowess. Including reissues, The Magnificent Seven had by now grossed $15 million abroad25—doing especially well in Japan, Germany, France, Italy and the U.K. It was an astonishing revelation. For it meant that between 1963, when Brynner had been paid his share of the existing gross, and 1966, when Return of the Seven appeared, that the original movie—adding the domestic gross of around $4 million to the sum of $15 million just mentioned—had taken more in the last four years than it had in its first three years. Apart from Gone with the Wind and Disney animated features, this was unheard of. The Wizard of Oz and It’s a Wonderful Life had built up their reputations after being shown on television again and again, not from the paying public. To do so well long after its original showings, The Magnificent Seven must have struck a deep chord. Return of the Seven was expected to total $4 million in rentals from foreign markets (it came in lower than that with $3.4 million26). When Guns of the Magnificent Seven (with

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Return of the 7 was pulverized at the box office by The Professionals (Columbia, 1966) which had arrived virtually unheralded. The Burt Lancaster–Lee Marvin film involved an “invasion” of Mexico by a team of crack mercenaries. This was a five-column ad from the pressbook. Exhibitors were given fewer advertising options than with The Magnificent Seven, limited to the tagline “Excitement,” the bandolero motif and the main characters. Note that all the actors were billed above the title (Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research).

George Kennedy in the Brynner role) was released in the U.S. in 1969 it was to poor reviews and markedly inferior box office. It was up against True Grit and The Wild Bunch, each a milestone in its own way. After six weeks in national release, it had grossed only $277,00027 whereas the John Wayne Oscar-winner had wrapped up $2.4 million in eight weeks and the Peckinpah bloodbath $1.3 million in seven weeks (figures all gross, not rental). Reviews were largely dismissive, complaining that, unlike other series movies like the Bond, Pink Panther or Dollar films, it was the same story all over again. Variety disagreed, calling it a “handy follow-up.”28 “All the magnificence of a dead burro,” said Howard Thompson in the New York Times. And there was another controversy over the score. Critics pointed out that it was exactly the same music as in the other two. UA conceded that there was “very little original music” in Guns of the Magnificent Seven and that it utilized music from the previous films.29 “We’ve found there’s still a market for these pictures,” said Mirisch.30 But it was following the old law of sequels, of diminishing returns, and Guns of the Magnificent Seven, on a budget of $1.36 million, would finish with rentals of $1.5 million in the U.S. and $2.5 million abroad.31 Undeterred, in 1970, UA announced a third sequel, The Magnificent Seven Ride, to be made for under $1 million.32

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UA was quick to capitalize on its back catalog—a double bill of Guns of the Magnificent Seven and Return of the Seven out the same year,33 a triple bill of all three a few years later.34 The original was reissued in first-run cinemas in Italy and France. In Paris, it topped the box office charts in its opening session, beating the anarchic comedy M*A*S*H.35 For the 1969– 70 Paris season, the reissue of The Magnificent Seven placed tenth among U.S. imports, generating around $400,000, ahead of John Wayne’s new films The Undefeated and True Grit and beaten only by the likes of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, M*A*S*H, The Wild Bunch and Midnight Cowboy.36 In Japan, the movie had taken another $1.3 million since 1961 (nearly twice the original amount) and now ranked 14th on the all-time list of Hollywood titles.37 There was another reason for the movie’s continuing success—the all-star cast. Reissues boasted of “Seven Magnificent Men in One Magnificent Movie!” In 1970 nobody could afford the star-studded line up. Five of the seven had become international stars. Steve McQueen was the first to make the breakthrough, winning leading roles in a series of small films, nothing so expensive that failure would count against him. Tempting as it is in retrospect to imagine that these early films sparked the box office, in reality none did well enough to register in the annual chart of the top U.S. moneymakers. For a couple of years he remained below the radar but in 1962 two of his movies charted, Hell Is for Heroes coming in at 66th with rentals of $1.3 million (approx. $2.6 million gross) and The War Lover 69th on rentals of $1.2 million ($2.4 million gross).38 The Great Escape dramatically increased his profile. The war film had been intended to follow The Magnificent Seven but the star’s previous altercation with Tom McDermott, producer of Wanted: Dead or Alive, came home to roost. In June 1960, months before the release of the western, Walter Mirisch was reportedly in talks with McDermott to negotiate a release for McQueen.39 As this would have meant rearranging the production company’s autumn production schedule and, more likely, bearing in mind McQueen’s behavior the previous year, the request was denied. Just as The Magnificent Seven began filming, McQueen, eager to get into production on his own account, purchased the rights to Fernando Leveya’s novel The Beauty and the Matador40 to be made by what would be the first in a series of independent production companies, Scuderia Condor. The Captain Must Die, about three veterans seeking revenge on their commander, was also in his sights.41 In October Sturges announced he would be reteaming with McQueen for a remake of The Vivacious Lady to star Debbie Reynolds, McQueen and Robert Vaughn.42 But none of this trio made it to the starting gate. MGM, which had a three-film deal with McQueen, wanted to extend this pact to seven films in seven years. First on their slate was an adaptation of Broadway flop The Golden Fleecing (The Honeymoon Machine) in 1961.43 By that time the 94 episodes of Wanted: Dead or Alive were entering syndication, the series boasting a 24.7 Nielsen rating average.44 Still on the acquisition trail, in 1961 McQueen bought The Wilderness of Monkeys,45 a novel by Peter Barry and Bob Kaufman, the Charles Livingston play Time Before Time46 and the George Samuels short story Troika.47 By 1963 he bought the Ferris Webster script for The Wild Bunch and was offered a role in a film by Michelangelo Antonioni.48 Carl Foreman chased him for The Victors49 but the schedule clashed with The Great Escape. United Artists’ doubts about McQueen’s ability to carry that picture on his own was reflected in its efforts to attract star names. In June 1960, Sturges was reported as hoping to

20. Magnificent Seven the Musical team McQueen with Frank Sinatra and Laurence Harvey.50 In February 1961, Dean Martin and Jack Lemmon were being mooted51 and in December Warren Beatty was a possible.52 Richard Harris was signed53 but later dropped out. United Artists did not consider McQueen a big draw and he was paid only $100,000.54 The Great Escape became the thirteenth highest-grossing film of 1963, raking in just over $4.5 million in rentals ($9 million gross) in the U.S.—better than Charlton Heston in 55 Days at Peking, Hitchcock’s The Birds, Jack Lemmon in Days of Wine and Roses, Paul Newman in Hud and newcomer Sean Connery in Dr. No.55 Coupled with foreign rentals of $6.5 million, the $3.75 millionbudgeted film made a profit.56 The follow-up Soldier in the Rain was extensively promoted and his appeal was consolidated when Love with the Proper Stranger placed 20th in 1964, ahead of Burt Lancaster in Seven Days in May, Paul Newman in The Prize, Peter O’Toole and Richard Burton in Becket and Sean Connery in Hitchcock’s Marnie.57 The gross— $7 million (rentals $3.5 million)—was less important than the fact that this was not an action film, but a romance, connecting McQueen for the first time in a big way with the female audience, who ignored films like The Great Escape. Norman Jewison’s The Cincinnati Kid in 1965 provided another iconic career-defining role and, although it placed just 36th in the year with rentals of around $2.5 million (about $5 McQueen’s disastrous follow-up to The Magnificent Seven was the comedy The Honeymoon Machine (MGM, 1961). In Britain it was coupled with an Agatha Christie Miss Marple film, Murder She Said. This was co-star Brigid Bazlen’s movie debut and she only made two other films, King of Kings and How the West Was Won (Hannan Collection).

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million gross), it was one of the most talked-about movies of the year, a cult film in the making. It did better than movies by more established stars such Frank Sinatra in None but the Brave, Paul Newman in The Outrage, and Gregory Peck in Mirage. The big advance, in terms of marquee value, came in 1966 with two top-grossers. Nevada Smith broke the magic $5 million rental barrier in U.S. (grossing about $10 million) coming in 18th for the year. It was the top western of 1966, beating more established stars like Dean Martin in Texas Across the River, Burt Lancaster in The Professionals, James Stewart in The Rare Breed, Marlon Brando in Appaloosa and William Holden in Alvarez Kelly. It was also ahead of The Battle of the Bulge, The Agony and the Ecstasy, Khartoum, Born Free, and The Spy Who Came in from the Cold. Its box office took second place to acting kudos in The Sand Pebbles, for which he received his only Oscar nomination. It was much more expensive, coming in at $12.1 million.58 The roll continued with The Thomas Crown Affair (16th in 1968 with a $12 million gross)59 culminating in the stratospheric performance of Bullitt which ranked third in 1969 with a $32 million gross.60 In the 1960s top 100 movie stars chart61 he came in 13th with two films (The Sand Pebbles and Bullitt) in the 1960s top 100 movies.62 He went on to become a global superstar after giant hits like Papillon (1973) and The Towering Inferno (1974). He died of cancer in 1980, aged 50. Robert Vaughn, the second of the “Seven” to become an international star, achieved that through television. The Man from U.N.C.L.E was one of the most widely shown series of all time across the world, running in the U.S. from 1964 until 1968. The spin-off movies also did well, especially overseas, but apart from the thriller The Venetian Affair in 1967 he was unable to parlay that into a career as a leading man. Even so, he was still a name that registered and Soldier in the Rain (Allied Artists, 1963). After the success of by 1968 he had appeared as The Great Escape, this received major promotion. It was made by McQueen’s company Solar. Comedian Jackie Gleason (The McQueen’s nemesis in Bullitt. Hustler) was billed ahead of McQueen (Hannan Collection). He enjoyed a late career surge in

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Britain, starring in the BBC television series Hustle and in 2014 the London West End stage production of Twelve Angry Men. Eli Wallach went on to achieve greater fame in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Since that was in regular reissue as often The Magnificent Seven, for a time, he achieved cult status. Thereafter, he was a confirmed character actor with roles in The Godfather Part III (1990) and Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps (2010). Alternating between movies and television, he received five Emmy nominations, won Best Actor at Cannes in 2004 for King of the Corner and an “honorary” Oscar in 2011. Initially, movie-wise, The Magnificent Seven had not done much for James Coburn. Television remained his main source of income with roles in Bonanza, Perry Mason, Rawhide, The Rifleman and Klondike before he teamed up with McQueen, twice, in Hell Is for Heroes and The Great Escape. After that, he moved up in the movie world with roles in Charade, The Americanization of Emily and Major Dundee before receiving second billing after Anthony Quinn in A High Wind in Jamaica and then top billing on the back of the spy boom. In 1966 Our Man Flint made him an instant star, the movie ranking ninth for the year, earning rentals of more than $6.5 million (gross $13 million) at the U.S. box office.63 In the New York Times that year Gloria Steinem called it crossing “the magic line between actor who works a lot and star.” It was a busy year—he also starred in the Blake Edwards comedy What Did You Do in the War, Daddy ? which ranked 47th with a $2.2 million ($4.4 million gross)64 and the misfire Dead Heat on a Merry Go Round. The following year In Like Flint plundered $5 million in rentals ($10 million gross)65 and he was also the lead in comedy The President’s Analyst (48th with $2.7 million in rentals, $5.4 million gross)66 and western Waterhole 3 (52nd with $2.4 million rentals, $4.8 million gross).67 By the end of the decade, he was a big enough name to be offered a guest role in the satire Candy and starred in Duffy and Hard Contract. He placed 55th in the 1960s top 100 movie stars chart68 with one film (Our Man Flint) in the 1960s top 100 movies.69 He won a Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Affliction in 1999. He died in 2002. Hollywood’s faith in Horst Buchholz proved misplaced. He never recovered from the flop of One, Two, Three. His Hollywood career was short-lived. He lost out on a part in Lawrence of Arabia and after making Nine Hours to Rama (1963) was a spent force and returned to Europe, continuing to work in Germany, primarily in television, and was praised for his performance in Italian film Life Is Beautiful in 1997. He died in 2003. Charles Bronson was the last to make the big time. He received second billing in Master of the World in 1961 and X15, but only made up the numbers in Thunder of Drums and Kid Galahad, spending the rest of the time prior to The Great Escape in 1963 working in television shows like Laramie, Hennesey, The New Breed, The Untouchables and Have Gun—Will Travel. Things did not improve much after The Great Escape, except that his movie roles strayed from the hard man persona. After featuring in the Rat Pack comedy western Four for Texas, he was a hippie in The Sandpiper with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, played a key role (though way down the credits) in Battle of the Bulge and was “excellent as an earthy boarder”70 in This Property Is Condemned which featured an early starring role for Robert Redford. He turned down parts in the first two Sergio Leone Dollar films, the Clint Eastwood role in A Fistful of Dollars and the Lee van Cleef role in For a Few Dollars More.71 In 1966 he was in the CBS pilot Dundee and the Calhouns and over the next year appeared in episodes of The Fugitive, The Big Valley, Rawhide, I Spy and The FBI.

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When he was cast in The Dirty Dozen in 1967, there was no reason to suppose that this film would provide the breakthrough. He was in bigger demand in Europe after the success there of Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West (a flop in the U.S.) and the Frenchmade Adieu l’Ami (1968) and Rider on the Rain (1970) before Death Wish (1974) turned him into a global superstar. He alternated between westerns and crime films and retained a loyal following even as his career wound down into made-for-television films. He died in 2003, aged 81. Brad Dexter moved into production, working with Sinatra until they fell out over The Naked Runner (1967). He also produced Lady Sings the Blues (1972). His last acting role was in 1988. He died in 2002. Rosenda Monteros won only a few Hollywood roles including Tiara Tahiti (1962) and She (1965) and was mostly seen in Mexican films and television. Brynner’s career went into tailspin—he was in the anti-drug movie Danger Grows Wild, the spy films The Double Man directed by Franklin Schaffner (Patton) and Triple Cross, Villa Rides, the $3 million British film The Long Duel, The File on the Golden Goose, and the Yugoslavian epic The Battle of the River Neretva. Even cameo appearances in prestigious productions like The Madwoman of Chaillot starring Katharine Hepburn and directed by Bryan Forbes and Cast a Giant Shadow did not do well. Had the idea of playing Aristotle Onassis with Maria Callas in Tosca,72 Carlo Ponti’s Bismarck,73 or The Monte Carlo Mob 74 to also star Sean Connery and David Niven, seen the light of day, he might have enjoyed more success. Up to 1968 his asking price remained $250,000 despite his last six films grossing an average of $2.8 million in the U.S. While recognizing that he still had some pull in Europe, Variety bemoaned, “The very physical magnetism that put him on top in the mid– 1950s is still there but it has found little outlet in a series of routine actioners with barely a hint of sex or romance.”75 It was British newspaper advertisement for Nine Hours to Rama a Hollywood anomaly that an (Twentieth Century–Fox, 1963) starring Horst Buchholz. The film was banned in India after the producers had been per- actor without a hit in years conmitted to film there. tinued to star in films and be

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well paid for doing so. None of his movies in the 1960s made the top 20 and many failed to reach the top 50, but he continued working, although he occasionally took second billing, and had a brief resurgence in the 1970s with films like Catlow and Westworld. He died in 1985. It is easy to imagine that in The Magnificent Seven he was overshadowed by all the other actors who went on to superstar status. But for anyone viewing the film for the first time, and certainly after repeated viewings, he is not just the one who holds the film together— he was the movie’s icon, the black-clothed gunfighter, taking on jobs almost for principle, as sharp with his wits as he was with a gun, a team leader in a era of Western hero soloists, cool enough to light a cigar before he went into a fight. Brynner summed up Chris thus: “There are two clean things about him—his gun and his soul.”76 The first reference is obligatory, the second outrageous. Could we ever imagine John Wayne talking about a character’s soul? There was always something about The Magnificent Seven that could never quite be explained. Brynner just did. John Sturges went on to become one of the biggest directors in Hollywood, although his box office was patchy. By Love Possessed (unranked in 1961), starring Lana Turner, was a complete change of pace. The Frank Sinatra Rat Pack comedy western Sergeants 3 (17th in 1962 with $4.1 million in rentals)77 and romantic drama A Girl Called Tamiko (61st in 1963 with $1.3 million in rentals)78 preceded his biggest-ever box office hit The Great Escape and were followed by an adaptation of Alistair Maclean’s The Satan Bug (unranked in 1965). Two westerns followed, the misconceived comedy The Hallelujah Trail (79th in 1965)79 with Burt Lancaster and a sequel to Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Hour of the Gun (unranked in 1967). Alistair MacLean beckoned again with Ice Station Zebra and he finished the decade with the space drama Marooned ($4.1 million in rentals for the 33rd spot).80 In the 1970s he directed John Wayne in McQ, Clint Eastwood in Joe Kidd, Charles Bronson in Chino (The Valdez Horses), and Michael Caine in the World War II thriller The Eagle Has Landed before hanging up his megaphone. Elmer Bernstein, who picked up his second Oscar nomination for The Magnificent Seven, collected 11 more, winning for Thoroughly Modern Millie (1967).81 One nomination was for True Grit. He died in 2004, aged 82. The Mirisch brothers mixed big budget ventures like Hawaii (1966) directed by George Roy Hill and Norman Jewison’s musical Fiddler on the Roof (1971) with comedies like the sequel-friendly The Pink Panther (1964) and Oscar-winning fare such as Norman Jewison’s In the Heat of the Night (1967)—and its sequels—and augmented those with a rash of lowbudgeters of The Thousand Plane Raid (1969) variety. In 1975 Mirisch took another stab at a television series based on The Magnificent Seven, hooking up with Universal Television to create a one-hour pilot for CBS but the project was killed.82 Its final feature film was Arthur Hiller’s Romantic Comedy in 1983 starring Dudley Moore. In 1997 The Magnificent Seven finally reached the small screen as a Movie of the Week for television. This acted as a pilot and the following year came the first of 22 episodes starring Michael Biehn as Chris and Eric Close as Vin.83 To United Artists a fourth film was a given. But The Magnificent Seven Ride was made in 30 days on a budget of under $1 million and shot entirely in Hollywood with interiors at the Goldwyn studio and exteriors on the Universal backlot and the Twentieth Century– Fox ranch. Released in 1972 (starring Lee Van Cleef in the Brynner role), it finished off the

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sequels idea. Variety called it a “low-grade programmer.”84 In its opening week in August it only took in $110,000 in 26 cinemas in New York.85 By the next month it was already being double-billed. Combined with Return of Sabata (Lee Van Cleef ) it did well in some places, $45,000 in one week in one cinema in Chicago.86 But, in general, not well enough. Doublebilled with Chato’s Land, starring Charles Bronson, the same month in one cinema in Cleveland it was yanked after just two days.87 In London, it lasted just three weeks in the West End at The Pavilion (earning just $6,000 in its final week—less than the reissue of The Professionals in its seventh week at the Odeon Marble Arch).88 Its U.S. box office was meager, rentals of just $735,000 ($1.4 million gross) plus $2 million in foreign ($4 million gross).89 Yet the original continued to excel. Demand for the triple bill—even though two had been televised—was such that there were first-run engagements in New York and Chicago at the end of January 1971. In New York, it played two cinemas, the 1003-seat Victoria ($2–$3) where it took in $8,000 and the 600-seat 86 St. East ($2.50–$3) which earned $5,500.90 At the 830-seat Clark ($2–$3) in Chicago it pulled in $7,500.91 Neither result made a dent in the weekly box office chart and it is hard to know how many of its customers came for the original or the triple bill. The package played neighborhood theaters and drive-ins across the country. In Britain in 1974, The Magnificent Seven returned to the scene of its original triumph, earning $9,936 in its opening week at The Pavilion followed by $7,506.92 In September a Steve McQueen double bill of Thomas Promotion for The Satan Bug (United Artists, 1965) relied Crown Affair/The Magnificent heavily on John Sturges’ name and his association with the hit The Great Escape. George Maharis was best known as the star Seven earned $2,336 at the 117of television’s Route 66. His two previous starring roles, in seat Scene 3 in the West End, a the Delbert Mann comedy Quick Before It Melts (1964) and proportionately better result.93 the drama Sylvia (1965), did nothing to suggest he was a box In 1976 the all-time list of office draw. And so it proved. The Satan Bug was flop. Sturges foreign movies in Japan headed later returned to Alistair Maclean territory for Ice Station Zebra (Hannan Collection). by Jaws ($16 million) and The

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Towering Inferno ($12 million) placed The Magnificent Seven as the top- rated western, with a lifetime gross of $2.1 million, just above The Alamo and considerably ahead of The Professionals.94 Ranking 24th overall it was higher than The Great Escape and Bullitt. In the same year in France, a chart comprising the top foreign movies since 1958 placed it ninth.95 Easily the top western, it outgrossed Goldfinger, The Jungle Book, War and Peace, 101 Dalmatians, Lawrence of Arabia, From Russia with Love and Once Upon a Time in the West. Its only superiors were Bridge on the River Kwai, The Longest Day, The Ten Commandments, Ben Hur, The Guns of Navarone, Dr. Zhivago, West Side Story and The Aristocats. In 1977 The Magnificent Seven Ride went out in the U.S. as the support in some areas to the new thriller Audrey Rose.96 In Rome in 1980 a first run of the Still going strong in Italy in 1980, the Brynner–Monteros original locked up $2,900 for “romance” took center stage in the Italian poster. The charging horsemen were also more dominant in European posters. one week.97 The British rock The designer had taken some liberties with clothing, giving group The Clash turned a re- one character a green shirt and another a red one. mixed version of Bernstein’s theme song into a hit single called “Magnificent Dance”98 and the original music made the top ten of music from United Artists films used for advertising jingles.99 To boost the industry in the sluggish summer months, a 10-day outdoor movie festival was held in Rome. The top film with more than 7,000 tickets sold was a triple bill of The Magnificent Seven, Once Upon a Time in the West and Raoul Walsh’s 1948 western Colorado Territory.100 Walter Mirisch bought the film rights from UA in 1983 and planned a remake to be released by Universal the following summer with Walter Hill (The Long Riders) directing a screenplay by Hill and Larry Gross.101 In 1994 Mirisch made another attempt, this time for United Artists, enlisting Lawrence Kasdan (Silverado) as director with Mark Kasdan and Terry Swann on screenwriting duties.102 In 2002 Miramax and MGM contemplated a contemporary version of Seven Samurai.103 More recently, Tom Cruise circled a remake with Matt Damon, Kevin Costner and Morgan Freeman.104 Nic Pizzolatto (True Detective) was

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hired to write the script before handing it over a year later to John Lee Hancock (The Blind Side). In 2015 Denzel Washington signed on as star. Quentin Tarantino’s planned The Hateful Eight was reputed to be a spin on The Magnificent Seven. An annual fan convention, M7.com, focusing mainly on the original The Magnificent Seven film and the television series, was launched in Los Angeles. At the time of initial release, The Magnificent Seven represented a bold gamble by the Mirisch brothers with an out-of-favor star and director and an unproven supporting cast in a genre that had lost its way. The film flopped in the U.S. but the overseas response more than made up its poor domestic showing. Gradually, the film found its niche among American cinemagoers. But Mirisch did not have the golden touch. The vast majority of its films lost money. Of its first 20-picture deal with United Artists, only five movies made money domestically—three from Billy Wilder (Some Like It Hot, The Apartment and Irma La Douce) and two from John Sturges (The Magnificent Seven and The Great Escape).105 Accounts showed that The Magnificent Seven had generated U.S. rentals of $2.25 million and overseas rentals of $6.27 million which had amounted to a profit of $321,600.106 Of the three “Seven” sequels only Return of the Seven made a profit, and not much at that, just $37,000, on its theatrical showing.107 Guns of the Magnificent Seven lost $605,000108 and The Magnificent Seven Ride $21,000.109 Network television and syndication netted Return of the Seven an extra $2.23 million, Guns of the Magnificent Seven $1.16 million and The Magnificent Seven Ride $1.05 million, wiping out the red ink.110 Once all deductions were made, taking theatrical and television together, the first sequel was sitting on a profit of $588,000, the second $595,000 and the third $236,000.111 As for The Magnificent Seven, it sailed majestically into one golden box office sunset after another. Add the string of reissues at home and abroad, the sequels, the series, and ancillary revenue from television, cable, video, and DVD, and, in all likelihood, The Magnificent Seven could lay claim to being one of the most successful movies ever made.

21 Legacy Ever since critic Andrew Sarris consigned John Sturges to the “Strained Seriousness” category in his landmark 1968 study The American Cinema1 … he has been more or less ignored by the American critical community. While the reputation of many of his peers, like John Ford and Anthony Mann, has increased in stature over the years, Sturges has been pushed further and further to the margins to the point where he is rarely written about, discussed or mentioned in the pages of film journals or histories.

So wrote Jim Hemphill, reviewing the Glenn Lovell biography of the director in 2009.2 Sturges was one of a catalogue of directors to fall foul of the new wave of American criticism that spearheaded the auteur theory which had originated in the 1950s French movie magazine Cahiers du Cinéma. In fairness to Sarris he did not swallow these views wholesale, in particular resisting the temptation to canonize minor talents. He lamented the magazine’s habit of assigning reviews to critics favoring a particular director, thus ensuring no admired director was ever panned, a practice copied in Movie magazine where Lawrence of Arabia was never reviewed because nobody on the staff liked David Lean.3 Sarris had introduced the auteur theory to the United States in Issue 27 of Film Culture in 1962 and was self-effacing enough to note that he had been writing for that magazine for seven years without inciting controversy. The seeds of his book were sown in the following issue, when he began to analyze directors, alive and dead, from the perspective of whether they had “a personal vision of the world.” It is also worth pointing out that Sarris was the first critic to champion Howard Hawks in an English-language magazine, a two-part article in Films & Filming in 1962, the only time any magazine in Britain or America had assessed his career. Hawks had also been omitted from all major critical histories of film. The article began: “Howard Hawks is the least known and least appreciated giant in American cinema.”4 Sarris’s book established a new “Pantheon” comprising Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, D.W. Griffiths, Robert Flaherty, Fritz Lang, Howard Hawks, John Ford, Alfred Hitchcock, Ernst Lubitsch, F.W. Murnau, Max Ophuls, Jean Renoir, Josef von Sternberg and Orson Welles.5 Had he been content to create a new world order for directors that would have seemed reasonable enough for an ambitious critic but to elevate his gods Sarris felt obliged to diminish, and in several cases destroy, the reputations of others. Few escaped his withering scorn—best off were those in “The Far Side of Paradise” section, deemed to fall short of greatness due to “fragmentation of personal vision or career problems.” These were strange 229

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bedfellows. According to Sarris, Cecil B. DeMille, Blake Edwards, Samuel Fuller, Frank Capra, Anthony Mann and Otto Preminger were on an equal footing.6 “Lightly Likeable” were Michael Curtiz, Franklin Schaffner, Henry Hathaway and Alexander Korda, described as “talented but uneven with the saving grace of unpretentiousness.”7 Causing greatest offense was the “Less Than Meets the Eye” category that lumped together Oscar winners like John Huston, Elia Kazan, David Lean, Carol Reed, Billy Wilder, William Wyler and Fred Zinnemann, condemned as having “reputations in excess of their inspirations … the personal signature to their films was written with invisible ink.”8 “Strained Seriousness” was reserved for “talented but uneven” directors who had committed “the mortal sin of pretentiousness. Their ambitious projects tend to inflate rather than expand.” Keeping John Sturges company in this division were Richard Brooks, Jules Dassin, Richard Fleischer, Norman Jewison, Stanley Kubrick, Sidney Lumet, Robert Rossen, Franklin Schaffner and Robert Wise.9 Sarris was not one to spare a director’s feelings.

Critic Andrew Sarris was instrumental in building up the reputation of Howard Hawks in America. The Big Sky (RKO, 1952) was his western follow-up to Red River. Originally, he had wanted Gary Cooper for the lead. Female lead Elizabeth Threatt, who did not speak in the film, won the role thanks to her turquoise eyes, backed up, according to the pressbook, by “125 well-distributed pounds of eye-appeal of a different sort” (Hannan Collection).

It is hard to remember why Sturges’ career was ever considered meaningful. Long before The Magnificent Seven, John Sturges seemed to be striving, albeit unconsciously, to become the American Kurosawa, tortured, humorless and selfconsciously social…. How naïve it was, for example, to deduce that Sturges had solved the problem of Cinemascope by his allegorical groupings in the aforementioned Bad Day at Black Rock…. Even in the era of Mystery Street, The People Against O’Hara and Escape from Fort Bravo, the director’s easily acquired reputation as an expert technician was incomprehensible…. Sturges’ stock-intrade for superficial visual analysis is the wasteful pan…. Sturges should work exclusively in the serious if not solemn action genre.10

The book’s publication coincided with a Hollywood revolution, The Graduate, Bonnie and Clyde and Easy Rider dealing a death blow to the old

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guard, with the new generation of Scorsese, Coppola, Altman and Spielberg lying in wait. Sarris did not maintain that all directors were auteurs. “Indeed,” he said, “most directors are virtually anonymous.”11 While he accepted that even great directors made bad films, he remained unforgiving of the directors whose careers he had so casually dismissed. “What is a bad director but a director who has made many bad films?”12 The Sarris book also popularized film criticism and in its wake emerged Jim Kitses’ Horizons West.13 This seminal 1969 study examined Anthony Mann, Budd Boetticher and Sam Peckinpah. (A revised version of “the western through the lens of its major directors” added John Ford, Sergio Leone and Clint Eastwood.) Sturges found it impossible to force his way into a critical consciousness that revered directors in some cases with a quarter of his output. According to Six Gun Mystique14 in 1970, the top directors of westerns were John Ford, William S. Hart, Anthony Mann, Sam Peckinpah, Budd Boetticher, Samuel Fuller, Henry Hathaway, William Wellman, Michael Curtiz, Raoul Walsh, Fritz Lang, Allan Dwan, Arthur Penn, King Vidor, Nicholas Ray, Richard Brooks, Marlon Brando, George Roy Hill, Sidney Pollack and Don Siegel. Once again, Sturges was conspicuous by his absence. This was in spite of some of the directors valued above him having made far fewer westerns—Brando had helmed only one, as had (at this stage) Sydney Pollack. Richard Brooks had directed two and Fritz Lang three. But it is not true that Sturges was dismissed out of hand in the post–Sarris apocalypse. Fellini was a fan. UPI reported in April 1971 that the Italian director had wired Brynner to say he had tried to see The Magnificent Seven on reissue in Rome, but the queues were too long. Various writers took exception to the Sarris judgment. Writing in 1971, Gordon Gow rated Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Last Train from Gun Hill as the best westerns of the decade,15 ahead of the classic triumvirate of Shane, High Noon and The Searchers. Sturges brought to [Gunfight at the O.K. Corral ] it a style of his own…. Earp depicted as a sad man who seemed to regret the violence of his profession…. The compositions and patterns of movement had an affinity with painting and ballet.”16

Budd Boetticher was venerated by the new breed of film critics. Seminole (Universal, 1953), set in the Everglades, starred Rock Hudson, Barbara Hale and Anthony Quinn. Future television favorite Hugh O’Brian had a supporting role (Hannan Collection).

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The following year, John Baxter called The Magnificent Seven “in every sense a film of importance … audiences responding to its violence and mythological power.”17 But Lewis Beale objected to it its moral tone.18 In 1973 Philip French placed The Law and Jake Wade in his top 20, but not The Magnificent Seven.19 Jenni Calder in There Must Be a Lone Ranger (1974) commented that The Magnificent Seven had been “hailed” on original release “as something new and real.”20 Du Pre Jones, analyzing the director’s career in 1974, vigorously rejected the Sarris verdict. I hope Sarris will one day clarify his argument which seems to me fanciful and insupportable; Sturges, I think, is one of the directors least affected by intellectual self-importance…. If John Ford and Sam Peckinpah are in their different ways the masters of the western film, there is still plenty of room for an Anthony Mann, a Henry Hathaway and a John Sturges.21

However, Jones did not advocate Sturges as an overlooked genius of the Howard Hawks variety. His overall verdict was less than enthusiastic. “Sturges’ career consisted of a long apprenticeship of almost uninterrupted mediocrity followed by … a series of action films of high professional quality…. Sturges’ chief talent is that of showing men getting shot.”22 One aspect of the Sarris book was overlooked. “Talented but uneven” still meant “talented.” If the body of work did not stand up to closer inspection that did not exclude the possibility, as shown above, that particular films would have inherent merit. Despite critical opposition or apathy to the bulk of Sturges’ work, The Magnificent Seven would continue to echo down the decades and at least in part for the reasons to which Sarris objected— social or political comment. The distinguishing feature of the pro–Sturges lobby mentioned above was that their comments were printed in British publications. Another transatlantic divide worked in Sturges’ favor. In Italy The Magnificent Seven was influential in establishing the subgenre of spaghetti westerns, seen most vividly in the Dollar films of Sergio Leone. The main reason for this was cultural. Or non-cultural, if you will. For Americans, the western was more than a genre; it was history. The events, or versions of them, depicted in westerns actually occurred. For Europeans, this West was an exercise in style every bit as artificial as musicals. Italian novelist Alberto Moravia pointed out that there was no west in Italy, no cowboys and bandits on the frontier, no gold mines or Indians or pioneers. If the Hollywood western was mythical, he argued, “the Italian one is born from a myth about a myth.”23 The Magnificent Seven made a lot more sense to those looking beyond the traditional western. The film’s impact on the Italian and European western was soon apparent and not just in the rash of rip-offs such as The Magnificent Three (1963), The Magnificent Stranger (the original title of A Fistful of Dollars, 1964), Seven Guns from Texas (1964) and Seven Guns for the MacGregors (1965). The influence would have demanded further critical comment except that most American critics of the time derided spaghetti westerns. Christopher Frayling explained that the films of Leone (who idolized John Ford) relied heavily on aspects of The Magnificent Seven. For example, the traditional western confrontation was between cavalry and Indians or homesteaders and ranchers, whereas conflict in The Magnificent Seven was between Americans and Mexicans. The bounty hunter and the hired gun were central to Leone films. Frayling identified the semi-parodic “hard” dialogue, the group that “specialized” in killing, the Mexican location, and the Boot Hill sequence as influencing “the form and shape of the Italian western movement.”24

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The Man with No Name could as easily have been called The Man of Few Words in a direct nod to the laconic characters Vin and Britt. Leone hired Eli Wallach for his third western, Charles Bronson his fourth and James Coburn his fifth. He also wanted Wallach and Bronson for Duck, You Sucker.25 The Magnificent Seven introduced a new kind of hero in the mercenary and new levels of violence. Howard Hughes in Once Upon a Time in the Italian West pointed to the direct influence of the Sturges western in films as diverse as The Return of Ringo (1965), Death Rides a Horse (1967), Sabato (1969) and Adios Sabata (1970).26 The mercenary’s transformation into bounty hunter, borderline legal but motivated only by money, ensured that doing good was relegated to a by-product of making money, a concept that appealed to global audiences. Brian Garfield (author of the filmed novels Death Wish and Hopscotch) launched a spirited attack on Sarris in 1982. “Nothing is harder to kill than a bad idea whose time has come,” he wrote. “[Sam] Fuller is a director whose excellence eludes me … most westerns are made by families, not by soloists.”27 But he did suggest that The Magnificent Seven, considered by many buffs a minor classic, might have become “a major one if it weren’t for the obvious obligation to compare it with the Kurosawa film.”28 Beyond that, re-evaluation of The Magnificent Seven was a long time coming. Other comments of the time were chilly. “As producer-director John Sturges was more intent on showing off his lethal skills, the development of their self-sacrificial idealism seems contrived,” was the verdict in The United Artists Story (1986).29 The BFI Companion to the Western (1988) declared that “what lingers in the mind is style not substance.”30 Joan Mellen’s book Seven Samurai dismissed the western as “an embarrassment,” taking issue with Sturges’ attempts to equate the gunfighters with samurai. “The very mention of money and gratitude betray the spirit of Seven Samurai.”31 Richard Slotkin32 was not the first to mention the counterinsurgency theme. Philip French33 and Jenni Calder34 both predated him. Nor did Slotkin, as previously mentioned, include the views expounded in his “Radical History Review” article in his first edition of Gunfighter Nation in 1992. So it was not until the close of the twentieth century, four decades after the film’s release, that the theme developed any currency. It received a chapter in Stanley Corkin’s 2004 opus Cowboys as Cold Warriors,35 three pages in American Cinema in the 1960s,36 published in 2008, and a chapter in The Philosophy of the Western37 in 2010. Among more traditional works devoted to the western, The Magnificent Seven was one of 27 movies allocated a chapter in Howard Hughes’ Stagecoach to Tombstone: The Filmgoers’ Guide to the Great Westerns (2008). The author judged it “the most influential western of the sixties.”38 In the last few years, re-appraisal of another kind has taken place. Critics, no longer weighed down by the cult of Kurosawa, began to view The Magnificent Seven in a different light. Writing in Time in 2010, Glen Levy said “it’s well nigh impossible” to choose between Seven Samurai and the Sturges western. He judged that the casting, the charisma of The Magnificent Seven’s stars, the set pieces and the score “may just tip the balance in its favor.”39 The unchallenged highest rank of westerns—the updated “Pantheon”—is still reserved for the triumvirate High Noon, Shane and The Searchers with The Magnificent Seven belonging on a revolving second tier that at any time could include Red River, Rio Bravo, The Wild Bunch, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Clint Eastwood’s The Unforgiven and Once Upon a Time in the West. Among westerns in Empire magazine’s top 500 movies40 it was ranked 12th, the Western Writers of America placed it ninth41 and an Italian poll fourth.42

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Among directors, Sturges was highly rated by Quentin Tarantino (Pulp Fiction), John Sayles (Eight Men Out) and Lawrence Kasdan (Silverado). John Carpenter (Halloween) referred to him as “a candidate for one of the last century’s most underrated directors.”43 Directors as diverse as Steven Spielberg ( Jaws), Clint Eastwood (The Unforgiven), William Friedkin (The Exorcist), Kevin Costner (Dances with Wolves) and John Frankenheimer (Seven Days in May) have acknowledged his influence.44 Paul Thomas Anderson (There Will Be Blood ) claimed that one could learn more from listening to the director’s audio track for Bad Day at Black Rock than 20 years at film school. But it took until 2013 for the merits of The Magnificent Seven to be recognized by the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress. The Magnificent Seven set the trend for ensemble movies like The Dirty Dozen, the vogue for films with little or no romance, gold versus good (the spaghetti western), films set in Mexico and realistic violence. The buddy movie (Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid ) began here. More obviously, it instigated the subgenre of westerns focusing on mercenaries. Most emphatically, it was the first of the movies to spell out the beginning of the end of an era, an idea that The Wild Bunch would take to a bloodier conclusion. It reveled in contradiction, which would become the benchmark of the great westerns to follow, every ounce of glory matched by an inch of loss, honor more restricting than liberation, men living by a code which removed them from the more rewarding aspects of existence. Without the philosophic facets of the screenplay, much ridiculed at the time, the movie would not have resonated so much with the public. The more the film was shown on television the more it was liked by the public. The term “The Magnificent Seven” became beloved of headline writers very soon after the film opened. The earliest general use I can find was in 1961 when the police arrested a group of criminals who called themselves The Magnificent Seven.45 Since then the phrase has entered the general vocabulary. Apart from the various title rip-offs, several movies such as the sci-fi Battle Beyond the Stars (with Robert Vaughn) used the same storyline and films like the comedy Three Amigos were a riff on the original. If not the most critically-admired western of all time, The Magnificent Seven can certainly lay claim to being the most loved. Its premiere on American television went unheralded but, along with The Wizard of Oz and Casablanca, it remained the film seen most often by the most people,46 among the most frequently shown movies, and easily the most popular western, on American television. It was adored by television and satellite schedulers for the most practical of reasons—it always pulled in a good audience. Most men of a certain age recalled with nostalgia the first time they saw the film. That rarely occurred with High Noon or The Searchers. It possessed an evocative spirit that was impossible to match, least of all explain. If anyone wanted conclusive proof of the position The Magnificent Seven held in everyone’s hearts, it came from an unlikely source—the British television network the BBC. Tightfisted television networks abroad had been a major reason why the original had continued to play in foreign cinemas year after year. More than a decade after its release, networks in those countries refused to pay more than $15,000–$20,000 for top movies. In the early 1970s Britain still operated a five-year window for showing movies on television, but because of the derisory amounts offered by television U.S. distributors withheld movies like Bridge on the River Kwai, El Cid, The Great Race and The Magnificent Seven. But in 1974 a ratings

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war broke out between the British television stations and movies became the battleground. The BBC paid $5 million for libraries of films from Paramount and United Artists including The Magnificent Seven which it planned to premiere at Christmas.47 When the ratings were announced for Christmas Day and Boxing Day, The Magnificent Seven was ranked second with the quiz show The Generation Game, behind the comedy Some Mothers Do ’Ave Them, but ahead of The Queen’s Speech. Its viewing figures spoke for a generation, fans who had coveted this movie for over a dozen years, and their children, and their partners sick to death of hearing about it, everyone who was aware of the movie that so many people praised to the skies. That Christmas, The Magnificent Seven drew an astonishing television audience of 22.5 million viewers48—around 40 percent of the country’s population. At a conservative estimate the numbers of people who have seen the film over the years would easily surpass the population of the United States. When the film’s mercenaries crossed the border, the moviemakers crossed another border, leaving behind the traditional western of John Ford and Howard Hawks and clearing the way for the movies of Leone, Peckinpah and Eastwood. It did more than simply bridge the eras; it built the bridge.

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Appendix: Seven Samurai Reissues Seven Samurai had as resurgent an afterlife as The Magnificent Seven. The boom in Japanese movies, kicked off by Rashomon and Seven Samurai, continued for more than a decade in the U.S. In 1962 the Japanese studio Toho, whose films earned about $2 million in America,1 set up a distribution company2 and planned to build a new 800-seater in Honolulu.3 The next year Toho took a five-year lease on the 299-seat D.W. Griffith cinema in New York, renaming it the Toho Cinema, and opened with Kurosawa’s The Bad Sleep Well to complement its 700-seat La Brea in Los Angeles.4 After acquiring the 320-seat Rio in San Francisco, it launched a summer Kurosawa retrospective5 which included the premiere of the 1949 Stray Dog. Seven Samurai was revived on a regular basis—in May 1964, for example, enjoying a three-week run at the Toho Cinema (ticket prices $1.50–$2) in New York, raking in a “surprisingly good” opener of $5,500 (figures reported in Variety, May 6). In San Francisco it holed up for a fortnight at the Toho Rio, starting off with $5,000 (figures reported December 16) and returned for another fortnight in January 1965, beginning with $3,500 (figures reported January 20). But Toho was having a hard time making a profit on new films—of 30 premieres in 28 months in New York only 10 made any money—and the cinema (another one in Chicago lasted only a few months) closed with subsequent new offerings restricted to one-off showings at film festivals.6 In 1970 Donald Richie staged the biggest-ever retrospective of Japanese films at the New York Museum of Modern Art7 with most shows playing to capacity audiences and on March 10 the following year the Bijou cinema in New York began a five-week Films of Japan festival, including six premieres, among them Kurosawa’s Dodeska Den. Marketing innovations employed included promoting samurai movies as action rather than as art films and offering a package of five movies for $5 to boost mid-week programs, thus attracting a younger audience. The movies ran for one, two, three or four days. A second series kicked off on April 15, and by the end of that season the cinema was grossing $17,000 a week. Complete packages of films, running for 10 or 20 weeks, were offered to cinemas in a dozen cities.8 Seven Samurai coupled with Tod Browning’s Freaks, took $8,000 at the 460-seat 3 Penny Cinema ($12.5–$2) in Chicago in June (figures reported June 30). At the end of the year the full 210-minute version received its first showing in the U.S. but, surprisingly, there 237

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was less interest and it ran for only three days at the Bijou in New York.9 Lorrimer published the screenplay, translated by Donald Richie.10 The film was shown on PBS on Sunday, February 4, 1972.11 In 1975 Toho reissued the full 3½-hour version with a new four-track magnetic stereo sound in Tokyo for a two-week roadshow presentation and attracted an astonishing 46,000 patrons paying $159,000.12 A slightly reduced version, running 203 minutes but with the new soundtrack, was reissued in America in December the following year but acquired only sporadic showings.13 However, it became a stalwart of the 25-strong Landmark Theatre chain of U.S. revival houses, and in 1980, kicking off a season of samurai films at the Broadway in Seattle,14 it generated a “rousing” $7,300 (figures reported September 24). The same year French audiences, previously restricted to a 135-minute print, saw the 200-minute version for the first time.15 In 1980 Kagemusha earned $4 million at the U.S. box office and in 1982 Seven Samurai was named the third best film of all time in the Sight & Sound critics poll16 (held once a decade). Landmark bought the rights from Toho and spent $24,000 on a completely new four-track stereo soundtrack and prints, and this time with a running time of 208 minutes. It also created new trailers, posters and advertisements. San Francisco was chosen for the test screenings. All the main newspapers reviewed the picture and, by coincidence, Toshiro Mifune was in town and able to grant interviews.17 It was a resounding success. The first week (figures reported May 4, 1982) at the 1,627-seat Castro (all seats $4) grossed $29,000, making it the number one film in the city. The holdover week produced $17,800 and it was retained for a third week of $14,600 before moving to a smaller art cinema. All told in San Francisco it grossed $99,000. But Landmark held onto their gem for another six months before putting it into a wider release starting with New York where it opened on December 17 at the 300-seat Cinema Studio 1 ($4–$4.50). Up against much tougher commercial prospects like Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie, Sophie’s Choice and Paul Newman in Sidney Lumet’s The Verdict, it was never likely to repeat the San Francisco chart-topping experience, but it was a surprising success for an oldie. Its $15,900 first week (figures reported December 22) was considered outstanding for a revival, but it soared in the second week to $20,800 and its third week of $18,000 was still better then the opener, a remarkable achievement, and proof of the potency of word of mouth. The next fortnight it brought in $14,100 and $15,300. A special one-week engagement in Los Angeles in January at the Nuart (all seats $4) broke the house record with $11,914 in three days and also set a single-day high (figures reported January 11) and moved over for six weeks at the 250-seat Monica II (all seats $4), beginning and ending the run with $6,000. Throughout 1983, it played all over the United States. In February it opened in Philadelphia, Chicago, Cleveland, and Seattle, in March it was Pittsburgh’s turn, in April Washington, and in July Kansas City. In Cleveland the 313-seat Colony ($4) was good for $11,500 (figures reported February 9) and $7,000. Philadelphia was phenomenal at the 450-seat Ritz Three 2 ($4) with its opening week of $7,800 (figures reported February 23) being just about the lowest of the six-week run—the second week was a scorching $17,500 followed by $10,400 and a final week of $8,600. The third week in Chicago at the 765-seat Biograph ($4.50) earned a “socko” $16,000 (figures reported February 23). It played one week at the 360-seat

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Broadway ($4) in Seattle (figures reported February 23) followed by a fortnight the following month at the 439-seat Harvard Exit ($4) with a $10,000 debut (figures reported March 30) increasing to $10,800 in the sophomore week. In Pittsburgh, the first week (figures reported March 23) at the 425-seat Squirrel Hill ($4) earned $5,000 followed by $2,700 and $2,500. It began in Washington (figures reported April 20) at the 400-seat Dupont Circle ($2.50-$5) tucking away $6,400 before transferring to the 400-seat Embassy Circle ($2.50$5) where once again word of mouth did the trick and it scored $12,000 and was retained for two more weeks of $6,400 and $4,200. There was $6,500 for one week in July at the 450-seat Fine Arts ($2–$3.50) in Kansas City (figures reported July 6). But it was far from finished and returned to New York, first at the Carnegie Hall Cinema followed by the 194seat Bleecker Street ($5) for $10,000 (figures reported August 17), then $8,500, dipping to $8,000 and finishing off with $8,700. It was back to the Dupont Circle in Washington in December for another fortnight, an opener of $6,000 (figures reported December 14) and then $2,600. By now Variety magazine had compiled a weekly Top 50, in which Seven Samurai featured 10 times, peaking at number 32. In Manila the film was shown for the first time in the uncensored version. Seven Samurai headed a samurai season at the 8th St. Playhouse in New York in summer 1984.18 The Films of Akira Kurosawa by Donald Richie was published shortly afterward.19 The reissues of Seven Samurai in the 1970s and 1980s grossed $900,000, placing the movie sixth in a chart of the top Japanese movies released over those two decades in the U.S.—Kurosawa also took top spot with Ran, was second with Kagemusha and fifth with Derzu Uzalu ($1.2 million in 1977). The director’s marquee value in the U.S. was such that Ran, released in 1985, took in a remarkable $7 million.20 Like its western counterpart, Seven Samurai was the subject of litigation. Kurosawa sued Toho for $500,000 over his share of television sales.21 The originators of the movie expressed their displeasure at the sequels by suing United Artists in a Japanese court in 1978, claiming that the original deal did not entitle the studio to make Return of the Seven, Guns of the Magnificent Seven and The Magnificent Seven Ride. The Tokyo district court found for the plaintiff, agreeing that the movie’s screenwriters and the Japanese studio Toho had only licensed the American filmmakers one film and not the sequels. The issue remained dormant until MGM, having in the meantime acquired United Artists, considered the possibility of remaking the original western and in 1991 countersued and three years later was repaid $50,000 from Toho and won the right to make as many sequels and remakes as they wished as long as they were in the western genre. The judge ruled that Kurosawa and the original writers retained the copyright to the samurai screenplay and Toho to the movie.22 Akira Kurosawa died September 6, 1998, aged 88. A Kurosawa retrospective in Hong Kong was so popular it was extended from one week to four.23 Kurosawa, who had been nominated for an Oscar for Best Director for Ran, was given an honorary Oscar in 1989.24 In 2002 Cowboy Pictures and Janus undertook a joint reissue of Seven Samurai with a new print25 and it ran for two weeks at Film Forum 3 in New York hauling in $16,000 in the first week (figures reported September 3) and $10,000 in the second plus $6,200 at the Nuart (figures reported December 17). The company also promoted a 12-film retrospective. In that year’s 2002 Sight and Sound Poll Seven Samurai and Rashomon were both voted by directors as the ninth best movies of all time.26

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The same year The Weinstein Company, which had a $265 million Asian Fund, announced a remake,27 but it was not until 2006 that screenwriter John Fusco (Young Guns) was hired28 and two years later a start date was set for late 2009.29 That never happened. In 2011 in conjunction with Kurosawa Productions, the Weinsteins greenlit a $60 million version to be set in Thailand and directed by Brit Scott Mann.30 That has yet to surface. In the 2012 Sight & Sound Poll, Seven Samurai finished 17th in both the critics and directors rankings.

Chapter Notes Notes About the Notes A major source was the United Artists Collection Addition, Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research, abbreviated to UA Addition, WCFTR. The collection houses seven boxes divided into more than 100 folders. The most relevant section for this book was Box 5, Folder 12 (Mirisch Corp.–John Sturges) as well as Box 5, Folder 3 (Mirisch Corp.–General Correspondence) and Box 5, Folders 4–5 (Mirisch Corp.–Deals). It is worth reflecting on the influence of newspaper columnists in the U.S. during this period. All American newspapers, local or national, carried news from Hollywood. Smaller newspapers could not afford movie specialists so they bought news and occasionally news features from larger newspapers. This was called syndication. Journalists like Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons did not achieve their fame through readership of the main Los Angeles newspapers with which they were associated, but through radio and syndication. Every newspaper subscribed to—or was part of a chain that received—a syndication service. However, most reports were tiny. This type of column featured snippets—often of the gossip variety—perhaps seven or eight items each, no more than 50 words. A leading story might stretch to 150 words, but as often did not. Even reports in the New York Times followed this pattern. There might be the occasional longer news features concentrating on an interview with a star. Accordingly, this was far removed from the lengthy reports to which we have become accustomed today. (Big weekly magazines like Life ran longer features, of course.) The value of Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons was as syndicated journalists. Although their work ran in the Los Angeles Times or the Los Angeles Examiner, it appeared, generally on the same day, in hundreds of other newspapers under their own bylines. Wire services like Associated Press, UPI and NEA employed their own columnists like Erskine Johnson or Dick Kleiner and relied on newspapers using these syndicated journalists. Newspapers arranged news by strict hierarchy. The most important stories were at the front, the least important at the back. Movies making the front page were an extremely rare occurrence. Entertainment columns were never at the front. So although movies remained an intrinsic part of American culture, this was not reflected in their media status. Newspapers, then as now, concentrated on news—that is, something which has happened or is just about to happen, not something that may take place a year in the future. Actors being signed up for roles, or directors planning their next film, did not interest these editors. Only the trade papers found the future fascinating. That is why Variety, Hol-

lywood Reporter and Box Office were so important to film historians. They wrote about the business of the industry and in much greater depth and with more implicit commercial understanding than was available to the columnists.

Introduction 1. Philip French, Westerns: Aspects of a Genre (London: A. Zwemmer, 1973), 7. 2. Cobbett Steinberg, Reel Facts (New York: Vintage, 1978), 479, 480. 3. French, Westerns, 9. 4. French, Westerns, 13. 5. French, Westerns, 85. 6. Brian Hannan, Westerns at the Box Office (unpublished). 7. Hannan, Westerns at the Box Office. 8. Hannan, Westerns at the Box Office. 9. Nielsen Ratings. These are available from wide variety of online sources such as http://fbibler.chez.com/stats. tv/by_5_yr_period/top_programs_1955-1960.html. 10. Spyros Skouras of Twentieth Century–Fox, while claiming television had ruined the television western, was at the same time investing in Flaming Lance with Elvis Presley and Robert Wagner (the title was later changed to Flaming Star and Wagner was replaced by Steve Forrest). In other words, the savior of the western would be the world’s biggest pop idol. 11. “Still 16 Hours of Westerns,” Variety, Nov. 30, 1960, 25. 12. “Crime-Suspense Show (No Matter How You Spice Them It’s Violence) on the Upswing as TV Staple,” Variety, July 6, 1960, 29. 13. “P&G Takes Law into Own Hands, No More Oaters,” Variety, Mar. 3, 1960, 1. 14. “Whodunits Gain as Oaters Start Going Thataway on TV,” Variety, July 6, 1960, 1. 15. Jan Herman, A Talent for Trouble: The Life of Hollywood’s Most Acclaimed Director, William Wyler (New York: G.P. Putnam & Sons, 1995), 389. 16. Walter Mirisch, I Thought We Were Making Movies, Not History (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2008), 107.

Chapter 1 1. Mirisch, Making Movies, 109. 2. Seven Samurai took two years to reach America. It was premiered in Japan on April 26, 1954. The title change in itself was peculiar. The film was aimed at arthouses and, as its main marketing tool was the Venice award, the potential

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Chapter Notes—1

audience would be familiar with the name Seven Samurai. The reason for the new title has never been properly addressed before. It was to prevent confusion with another Japanese film called Samurai, also starring Toshiro Mifune, which had opened at the Little Carnegie arthouse in New York in January 1956 and received a wider release in arthouses in key cities. William Holden, who did the narration, was responsible for the film being shown and it picked up further steam after being named Best Foreign Film at the 1956 Oscars (i.e., for films released in 1955). There have been suggestions that one of the reasons for the western’s long-term success was the number “seven,” as if it held special significance. But this numeral was in common use— Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954), The Seven Year Itch (1955), Bob Hope in The Seven Little Foys (1955), the Budd Boetticher western Seven Men from Now (1956), Seven Cities of Gold (1956), Mario Lanza in Seven Hills of Rome (1957), The Seventh Seal (1957), the mystery House of the Seven Hawks (1959) and Henry Hathaway’s crime caper Seven Thieves (1960). Hollywood had used other numbers—The Four Feathers (1939), Four Just Men (1939), The Three Musketeers (1948), Three Coins in a Fountain (1954), Three Godfathers (1949), and The Three Faces of Eve (1957). 3. “Rashomon Roaring at Broadway B.O,” Variety, Jan. 23, 1952, 3. “4 NY First Runs Do the Unusual,” Variety, Jan. 30, 1952, 3. 4. Fresno Bee, July 31, 1952, 4. 5. Variety, May 21, 1952, 8. Variety, Apr. 16, 1952, 6. Variety, Mar. 12, 1952, 20. Variety, Mar. 19, 1952, 10. 6. “Foreign Pix Spurt Toward Peak U.S. Dates; Play Half N.Y. Area,” Variety, Apr. 9, 1952, 12. 7. “RKO Still Eyes Indie Releases: Offbeat, Foreign,” Variety, May 14, 1952, 10. This reported that the film was scheduled to play RKO’s own chain as well as the Randforce, Skouras and Century circuits and various independent theatres. A later article, “Class Showings of Arty Pix Spread Nationally as Boost to Boxoffice,” Variety, Nov. 5, 1952, 19, told how circuits were putting on showings of arthouse films one evening a week. Rashomon was one of four films in a series at the Walter Reade circuit under the heading of “Curtain at 8:40.” To add class to the proceedings, free coffee was served and ushers wore tuxedos. 8. Variety, Dec. 26, 1956, 32. 9. This meant running five shows a day. The full-length film, not shown in the U.S. until 1982, came in at 210 minutes, so this version had been cut by a third. 10. “Not Legally Binding,” Variety, Dec. 2, 1964, 3. 11. Jhan Robbins, Yul Brynner: The Inscrutable King (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1987), 2–3. 12. Mark Harron, syndicated column, Aug. 30, 1951. One of Brynner’s more far-fetched claims, this was later developed into the idea that he was writing philosophy. He also claimed to be fluent in several languages from an early age. 13. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 21, 33. 14. Hal Boyle, Associated Press, Nov. 23, 1956. 15. Michelangelo Capua, Yul Brynner: A Biography ( Jefferson: McFarland, 2006), 7. Brynner claimed he had seen a production of the original version, Pe Pai Ke. 16. Mary Martin was at the start of her career. She had enjoyed a massive hit with One Touch of Venus (1943), directed by Elia Kazan, with music by Kurt Weill, which ran for 567 performances. She would become the doyen of Broadway after originating the leads in Annie Get Your Gun (1947), South Pacific (1949) and The Sound of Music (1959). 17. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 28. 18. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 29. 19. Review of Port of New York, Variety, Nov. 23, 1949, 4. The reviewer said that Brynner “brings a new and differ-

ent type of personality to the screen.” Robbins, Yul Brynner, 36, also claimed the film owed its documentary-style photography to Brynner. The second edition of Leonard Maltin’s Classic Movie Guide (New York: Plume, 2005), 519, called the film a “gloomy tale of customs agents cracking down on narcotics smuggling; Brynner’s film debut … with hair!” 20. Bob Thomas, Associated Press, May 25, 1954. 21. Review of Sure as Fate in Variety, July 12, 1950, 32, mentioned the “smooth direction of Yul Brynner.” The series was originally known as The Trap and broadcast on Saturday night but had been revamped and given a new title and switched to Tuesday evening to challenge the popularity of comedian Milton Berle. The review of Danger in Variety, Sept. 27, 1950, 32, commented that Brynner had “scored another ace.” The review of Starlight Theatre in Variety, Nov. 22, 1950, 28, called the direction “well-handled.” 22. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 34. 23. Capua, Yul Brynner, 26. 24. Capua, Yul Brynner, 30. 25. Capua, Yul Brynner, 32. 26. Hedda Hopper, Los Angeles Times, July 2, 1951. 27. Capua, Yul Brynner, 34. 28. Frederick Nolan, The Sound of Their Music: The Story of Rodgers & Hammerstein (New York: Applause Theatre and Cinema Books, 2002), 202. 29. Pete Martin, Pete Martin Calls On… (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1962), 344. 30. Capua, Yul Brynner, 50. 31. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 42. 32. The original Broadway poster spelled out the insignificance of Brynner in the wider scheme of things. The first five lines were devoted to Rodgers and Hammerstein and Gertrude Lawrence. Brynner’s name did not appear until line fourteen. 33. Alfred Drake’s sole movie starring role was in the musical comedy Tars and Spars (1946). He was also passed over for the male leads he originated on stage for Kiss Me Kate and Kismet. 34. Ezio Pinza enjoyed minor movie success in the musical Mr. Imperium (1951) opposite Lana Turner, the romantic comedy Strictly Dishonorable (1951) with Janet Leigh and the musical Tonight We Sing (1953). He hosted The Ezio Pinza Show on television for two seasons from 1951. 35. Although he had only had five starring roles, Ray Middleton’s career was varied—the crime drama Hurricane Smith (1941), the drama Mercy Island (1941), the western The Girl from Alaska (1942), the musical biography I Dream of Jeannie (1946) and Sweethearts on Parade (1953). 36. Variety, Feb. 28, 1951, 58. The review also made a point about the billing: “Stars Gertrude Lawrence, features Yul Brynner.” 37. Variety, Apr. 4, 1951, 50. Nor did Brynner fare so well in reviews of the original cast album. “Brynner’s solo of A Puzzlement seems even harsher and less effective than on stage,” Variety, May 9, 1951, 42. 38. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Aug. 2, 1951, 2. 39. “Par’s New Talent Emphasis Center of ’52 Prod’n Plans,” Variety, Dec. 28, 1951, 1. This article reported: “A program has been mapped to uncover fresh talent, new personalities already under contract and press for fresh and interesting story ideas. The program, started some months ago, resulted in the signing of Audrey Hepburn, Yul Brynner, Gene Barry and Tom Morton from legit (and) Rosemary Clooney off her disclicks [sic].” Promoted to director were Jerry Hopper (Never Say Goodbye, 1957, with Rock Hudson), Frank Tashlin (Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter, 1957) and Dick Powell (The Conqueror, 1956, starring John

Chapter Notes—1 Wayne). The contracts were specifically restrictive in certain areas. For example, Brynner was permitted only to appear on television in guest slots and was “expressly forbidden to endorse whiskey or beer.” Variety, Feb. 22, 1952, 6. 40. Variety, Aug. 22, 1951, 2. 41. Hedda Hopper, Los Angeles Times, June 10, 1952, and June 22, 1952. 42. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 54. 43. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Sept. 24, 1951. 44. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, May 27, 1952; Leonard Lyons, New York Post, Oct. 28, 1952. 45. Variety, Dec. 10, 1952, 11. Before the film was announced, Paramount, as part of a long-term strategy, had planned to team Audrey Hepburn with Brynner. “Don Hartman Devises 4-Point Economy Program,” Variety, Nov. 5, 1952, 9, revealed that Hartman planned to create a “chain reaction in the building of players.” In Roman Holiday established star Gregory Peck would help pull Audrey Hepburn up to stardom, then she would assist Brynner and he, in turn, would be used with a new player. 46. Louella Parsons, Los Angeles Examiner, Sept. 24, 1952. 47. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Dec. 17, 1952, 2. “Billy Wilder decided Communism can’t be kidded and his picture with Yul Brynner will take another more serious slant.” 48. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Nov. 14, 1952. 49. Variety, Jan. 7, 1953, 19. 50. Variety, Aug. 25, 1952, 1. 51. Variety, Oct. 29, 1952, 66. The reviewer added: “In the absence of Miss Lawrence’s dominant authority and personality the part of the King seems to have been expanded and become more dominant.” 52. “Looks Like Kath, Not Audrey Hepburn, in Wilder Pic at Par,” Variety, Jan. 16, 1953, 1. The story also reported that the film had been pushed back from its original March 15 start to April. 53. “Casting Snarl Stalls Wilder Love at Par,” Variety, Feb. 5, 1953, 1. 54. “Par Giving Yul Brynner 3-D Treatment; Pulling South Sea Off Shelf,” Variety, Feb. 9, 1953, 1. 55. “Par Settles Brynner’s 75G Pact; Col Talks Sadie, Debut Deals,” Variety, Feb. 24, 1953, 1. 56. “Who Will Get Sadie ? Yul, Charlton or Jose?” Variety, Apr. 1, 1953, 4. 57. Leonard Lyons, New York Post, Apr. 11, 1953. 58. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Nov. 16, 1953. 59. “Stone Trying to Retrieve Lust from MGM, Make Van Gogh Pic Abroad as Indie,” Variety, Oct. 16, 1953, 1. The article discounted reports of a Jean Renoir film on the same subject but a few days later, confirmed this was going ahead to star Van Heflin. Variety, Oct. 20, 1953, 1. 60. Bob Thomas, Associated Press, May 25, 1954. 61. Capua, Yul Brynner, 49–50. 62. Bob Thomas, Associated Press, May 25, 1954. 63. “20th to Enthrone King and I,” Variety, Mar. 11, 1954, 1. 64. “20th Paging Brynner for King Filmization,” Variety, May 21, 1954, 1. 65. Aline Mosby, United Press International, Dec. 19, 1955. 66. Variety, Oct. 13, 1954, 2. 67. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 64. 68. Capua, Yul Brynner, 56. 69. Steinberg, Reel Facts, 434–436. 70. Variety, Sept. 1, 1954, 54. 71. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Dec. 6, 1954, 2. 72. “Anthony Quinn to Play Pancho Villa in Vidpix,” Variety, June 2, 1954, 11. 73. “Brynner Leaving King,” Variety, July 27, 1954, 1.

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74. Charlotte Chandler, Ingrid (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2007), 197. 75. Capua, Yul Brynner, 23, 42, 46. 76. Sydney J. Harris, Chicago Daily News, Dec. 22, 1954. 77. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Apr. 11, 1955, 2. 78. “Acting vs. Directing and Ne’er the Twain Shall Meet,” Variety, June 4, 1958, 2. 79. Alice Pardoe West, Ogden Standard Examiner, Dec. 8, 1957, 37. 80. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Oct. 20, 1955. 81. Variety, Oct. 18, 1950, 2. 82. “Retakes,” Variety, Oct. 19, 1955, 83. “The Las Vegas Strip,” Variety, Nov. 23, 1955, 13. 84. Thomas M. Pryor, “Brynner Getting Chance to Direct,” New York Times, Feb. 9, 1956. 85. Walter Winchell, Dec. 21, 1956. 86. Thomas M. Pryor, “Brynner Bow Set as Film Director,” New York Times, Apr. 5, 1956. 87. Variety, Apr. 5, 1956, 5. 88. Variety, May 4, 1956, 2. 89. Variety, Apr. 5, 1956, 5. 90. Anthony Quinn, One Man Tango (London: HarperCollins, 1995), 263. 91. Eric Braun, Deborah Kerr (London: W. H. Allen, 1977), 153. Several years before, Braun had taken the opposite view. In an article (“From Here to Esteem”) in Films and Filming in May 1970, Braun had written: “Deborah was much aided in her success in the role by Walter Lang whose direction of musical comedy ladies in films included Betty Grable, Carmen Miranda, Ethel Merman and Marilyn Monroe.” 92. Robbins, Yul Brynner, 66. 93. Capua, Yul Brynner, 58. 94. Jesse L. Lasky, Jr., Whatever Happened to Hollywood? (New York: Funk & Wagnalls, 1974), 324–5. 95. Dorothy Kilgarten, syndicated column, Apr. 12, 1956. 96. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Aug. 12, 1956. 97. Rudy Behlmer, ed., Memo from Darryl F. Zanuck (New York: Grove Press, 1993), 249–250. 98. Variety, Nov. 30, 1956, 2. 99. “Brynner Passes Up Buccaneer Directing,” Variety, Dec. 6, 1956, 1. 100. Quinn, One Man Tango, 262. Quinn faced much the same accusation from DeMille when he tried to pull out after a row over the script. Quinn had hired Abby Mann to rewrite it to give it a harder edge. DeMille wanted to stick to the tone of the earlier version. In an interview (“Competing with Myself ”) with Robin Bean in Films and Filming in February 1970, DeMille accused him, “in other words, you’re scared.” Quinn relented and kept the job. He admitted to Bean, “I had no business directing that picture, no business at all. It was a subject I had nothing in common with.” 101. “2 Scribes at Work on Pix for Quinn,” Variety, Dec. 19, 1954, 10. 102. “Tony Quinn Chasing 2-Pix Mexican Deal,” Variety, Apr. 21, 1955, 9. 103. Variety, Nov. 25, 1955, 10. 104. Variety, June 15, 1956, 2. 105. Variety, June 20, 1956, 62. 106. Oscar Godbout, “Anthony Quinn Will Play El Cid,” New York Times, July 14, 1956. 107. “Brynner Reactivating His Indie Prod’n Firm; May Release Thru Par,” Variety, Oct. 26, 1956, 8. 108. Variety, Sept. 12, 1956, 4. 109. Variety, Dec. 27, 1956, 2.

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Chapter Notes—2

Chapter 2 1. Brian Hannan, Hitchcock’s Hollywood Hell (Amazon Kindle, 2013). In 1945 Alfred Hitchcock and Cary Grant had the idea of making a modern-day version of Hamlet. The project came to nothing. But in 1954 Hitchcock was sued for $1.25 million for “slander of title” by playwright Samuel Fiske who claimed the director had stolen his idea. Bizarre as it sounds, it was significant in legal terms. Had Fiske won it would have changed the law on property rights. For example, could a title like Test Pilot be copyrighted? Fiske lost, though the court was entertained by reports of Hitchcock’s idiosyncrasies. (He hated fat men, for example.) Hitchcock’s production company had to be bailed out by Warner Bros. during the filming of I, Confess. Actors also formed their own companies for tax purposes. Joan Fontaine, Errol Flynn and John Garfield were among those doing so. 2. Herman, A Talent for Trouble, 295–296. The first Liberty film Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life went over budget by $1 million and flopped at the box office. Paramount rescued the company. In return Capra agreed to make three movies, Stevens four and Wyler five. This gave Paramount “prestige” pictures. The creative independence promised to the directors never materialized. Todd McCarthy in Howard Hawks: The Grey Fox of Hollywood (New York: Grove Press, 1977), 416, 428, explained that Hawks’ experience on Red River was as bad. He was due 57 percent of the profits, but each time the cost went up he lost part of his percentage until he was left with almost nothing. He made less than if he had stayed under contract to Warner Bros. 3. Herman, Wyler, 295. Ticket sales were at an all-time high of 80 million in 1946. The next year they plummeted to 62 million and continued tumbling. 4. Tino Balio, United Artists: The Company That Changed the Film Industry (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987), 87. 5. Balio, United Artists, 77. 6. Kate Buford, Burt Lancaster: An American Life (Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press, 2001), 135. 7. Balio, United Artists, 92. 8. Balio, United Artists, 74. 9. “The Derring Doers of the Movie Business,” Fortune, May 1958, 137–141. 10. Chris Fujiwara, The World and Its Double: The Life and Work of Otto Preminger (New York: Faber and Faber, 2008), 183. United Artists agreed to pay $500,000 in production costs for The Moon Is Blue and $140,000 in story costs plus star salaries. Preminger deferred his $110,000 fee for producing and directing. Once costs had been recovered, he was entitled to the first $250,000 of net profits plus 75 percent of profits thereafter. 11. Balio, United Artists, 90–91. Cross-collateralization was the key. Producer-director Stanley Kramer’s first film for UA Not as a Stranger made $1.8 million, but his second, The Pride and the Passion, lost $2.5 million so he never made any money from his first deal with the studio. 12. Steinberg, Reel Facts, 437. 13. “Just for Variety,” Variety, June 10, 1957, 2. 14. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Apr. 9, 1957, 2. This film was never made. 15. “Want Yul Brynner for Sartre’s Lucifer Lead,” Variety, July 24, 1957, 73. 16. “Chatter,” Variety, Aug. 28, 1957, 62. 17. “Yul Brynner, Litvak to Make Pic for Par,” Variety, Apr. 9, 1957, 4. This was another film that fell by the wayside. 18. “Yul Brynner to Star in MGM’s Karamazov,” Variety,

Mar. 1, 1957, 2. Carroll Baker was originally announced for the female lead. The studio signed replacement Maria Schell to a five-year non-exclusive contract. 19. “Gallic Karamazov May Oppose M-G’s,” Variety, July 2, 1957, 11. This film was still being promoted a few weeks after the Brynner version went into production. 20. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Sept. 30, 1957, 2. This got no further than a press release. 21. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Nov. 4, 1957, 2. On the same day, it was announced that Loren would star opposite Quinn in The Miracle of the Fish. 22. “Romulus Sets $5,600,000 Film Program for ’58,” Variety, Dec. 25, 1957, 11. This British production would have co-starred Jean Simmons and Stewart Granger. 23. “Just for Variety,” Variety, June 2, 1957, 2. 24. “Just for Variety,” Variety, June 2, 1957, 2. 25. “Brynner’s Fury,” Variety, Dec. 9, 1957, 1. 26. “To Film Gladiators,” Variety, Oct. 13, 1957, 3. 27. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Dec. 3, 1957, 2. 28. Oscar Godbout, “Brynner and UA in Multiple Pact,” New York Times, Dec. 18, 1957; “Brynner, UA Enter Deal for 11 Films,” Variety, Dec. 23, 1957, 1; Variety, Dec. 25, 1957, 18; “Brynner, Mirisch Pledge UA TV Tie,” Variety, Jan. 1, 1958. Agent Paul Radin joined the company as producer in February 1958. 29. “Yul Brynner Alciona $25-Mil Roll for UA,” Variety, Feb. 12, 1958, 3. 30. “Morheim, Story Editor Turned Prod’r Hits Best Seller Fad,” Variety, Sept. 19, 1958, 6. Morheim had seen Seven Samurai at the Canon Theatre in Los Angeles. Morheim was variously reported as paying $250 or $2,500 for the rights. The confusion arose because he did both. When Hollywood people say they have “purchased” the rights what they often mean is they have optioned the rights. An option costs considerably less than an outright buy. Morheim paid $250 to option the rights with the remainder due to be paid only and if the movie went ahead. 31. Sol Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, Nov. 30, 1964, 3. Prior to the lawsuit between Anthony Quinn and Yul Brynner & United Artists reaching the courts, Sol Rosenthal of the law firm Kaplan, Livingston, Goodwin and Berkowitz produced a lengthy opening statement summarizing the background to the case. It was sent to Arthur Krim of United Artists. United Artists Collection Addition 1950–1980, Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research. 32. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 4. 33. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 5. 34. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 5. 35. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 6. 36. Kirk Douglas had previously offered Anthony Quinn a job directing Mavourneen. 37. Quinn, One Man Tango, 263. 38. “Brynner May Star in Jap Film Remake,” Variety, Feb. 3, 1958, 1. 39. Letter, Paul Radin of Mirisch to Max Youngstein, UA, Feb. 17, 1958. 40. Letter, Leon Kaplan of Kaplan, Livingston, Goodwin and Berkowitz to Seymour M. Peyser, UA, dated April 15, 1958. Kaplan wrote: “By instrument dated February 12, 1958, Alciona entered into an agreement with Morheim under which it acquired all his rights to the property.” At this point (April), Brynner had only parted with $1,500. Further payments to Morheim were staggered—$2,500 on May 12, 1958, and $6,000 by August 12, 1958. But Alciona could withhold from the $6,000 the sum of $2,250 which represented the remainder of the option money due to Toho and would only be paid if the movie went ahead. Producer fees to Morheim did not have to be paid until the film

Chapter Notes—3 started or within two years if the film was not made. UA Addition, WCFTR. 41. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 13,14. The reason for the long delay was that the deal between Morheim and Toho was “too flimsy a structure on which to build a motion picture” and these “uncertainties” had to be clarified. 42. “Economy Wave,” Variety, Oct. 17, 1. 43. Letter, Paul Radin, Mirisch, to Max Youngstein, UA, February 18, 1958. Ira Wolfert and an un-named collaborator were to write the screenplay for a $43,500 fee plus 5 percent of the producer’s share of the profits. UA Addition, WCFTR. 44. “Alciona $25-Mil Roll,” Variety, Feb. 12, 3. 45. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Feb. 5, 1958, 2. 46. “Just for Variety,” Variety, July 3, 1958, 2. Later, Gina Lollobrigida came into the frame. 47. Variety: Apr. 25, 1958, 3; May 29, 1958, 1; Aug. 21, 1958, 11; Oct. 27, 1958, 8; Nov. 11, 1958. 48. Louella Parsons, Los Angeles Examiner, May 7, 1958. 49. “Gladiators vs. Spartacus May Delay Yul Brynner Pic,” Variety, Oct. 31, 1958, 7. The decision was taken in order to avoid a clash with the Kirk Douglas film which was set to roll in January 1959. At this stage, the start date for the western was spring 1959. 50. Thomas M. Pryor, “Japanese Movie Will Be Adapted,” New York Times, May 13, 1958, 26. 51. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 15. 52. “Tony Quinn to Star in ‘Magnificent Seven,’” Variety, Nov. 6, 1958, 1. 53. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 15. 54. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 15. 55. Internal United Artists memo from Arthur Krim, October 24, 1958. Brynner had assured UA he would get Clark Gable or someone of his caliber, “or else, he, Yul Brynner commits to be in it. It may well be it will include Gable plus Brynner.” Krim had approved Quinn’s involvement “on the insistence of Yul Brynner.” At this point the film was budgeted at $1 million excluding star salaries. The Gable news did not reach the press until December. UA Addition, WCFTR. 56. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 19. 57. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 20. 58. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 20. The draft contract was submitted to Quinn’s agent in December 1958. 59. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 21, 22, 25. 60. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 26. 61. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 28. 62. Thomas M. Pryor, “Brynner to Film Novel by Daudet,” New York Times, Oct. 17, 1958, 34. 63. “Yul Brynner for Once More,” Variety, Nov. 17, 1958, 1. 64. Capua, Yul Brynner, 65. 65. Douglass K. Daniel, Tough as Nails: The Life and Films of Richard Brooks (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2011), 121. 66. Capua, Brynner, 66. According to Capua, Brynner had an affair with Bloom on set and then with Kim Novak. 67. “Loud Karamazov Panning Peps Up Dull Cannes,” Variety, May 13, 1958, 1. 68. UPI, May 12, 1958. This report was later denied by Cannes officials who “branded it false and unfounded” (Variety, May 19, 1958, 4). While the trade press printed the denial, few other papers did. 69. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, June 28, 1957. 70. Review in Variety, Feb. 19, 1958, 6. Reviews in New York newspapers all found positive things to say—“Four stars” (Daily News), “bold and pictorially splendid” (WorldTelegram), “Brynner … marvelous” (Post) and “savage and soulful” (Times).

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71. Capua, Brynner, 81. In order to do the film, he was released from an 18-city promotional tour for The Buccaneer. Peter Viertel, husband of Deborah Kerr, was hired to rewrite the film. Viertel had written The Journey. 72. “Sheba Insurance Payoff Pix Record; 869G Net to UA,” Variety, Mar. 4, 1960, 1. Because Vidor had shot all the love scenes first there was no question of using doubles, according to Bob Thomas of Associated Press. 73. UPI, Nov. 18, 1958. 74. Robert Musel syndicated column, Dec. 4, 1958. 75. Hedda Hopper, “Mad King Perfect for Yul Brynner,” Los Angeles Times, Nov. 5, 1959. Variety reported that this was to be released in fall 1960, to follow Gladiators which was being readied to start in Rome in April 1960. 76. Richard Nason, “Brynner Signed to Star in Film,” New York Times, Aug. 7, 1958, 26. At this point the film was called A Gift for the Boys. 77. Thomas M. Pryor, “Brynner Sought for Billionaire,” New York Times, Nov. 11, 1958, 26. 78. Hank Werbs, “In Madrid,” Variety, Dec. 23, 1959, 3. There were question marks over this as the Spanish government had previously banned its soldiers from acting as extras in Hollywood epics. 79. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Jan. 28, 1959, 2. 80. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 30. 81. Internal United Artists memo from Robert F. Blumofe to Max E. Youngstein, “Re: Anatole Litvak,” June 12, 1959. UA Addition, WCFTR, Box 5, Folder 4. 82. Blumofe to Youngstein, June 12, 1959. Regarding the farce, Litvak had asked Blumofe to help him contact writers Leslie Stevens and George Axelrod to develop the farce. Stevens would later be involved in the television series of The Magnificent Seven. UA Addition, WCFTR. 83. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 32. 84. “Chatter,” Variety, July 8, 1959, 94. 85. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 32. 86. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 33. Rosenthal wrote: “Mr. Krim considered The Magnificent Seven to be an ideal project to be produced under the joint aegis of Mirisch and Mr. Sturges’ company—The Alpha Corporation … Mr. Brynner has no choice but to bow to the inevitable.” 87. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 34. 88. Arthur Krim to Harold Mirisch, “Re: Brynner— Magnificent Seven,” July 17, 1959. Minor elements of the contract included round trip transportation for three and a free 16mm copy of the film. The Radin situation was more critical. “Sturges was adamant on this.” There was a contradiction between this contract and the Rosenthal statement which claimed that Mirisch-Alpha had agreed to pay Brynner his “going compensation—$400,000 against 10 percent of the gross.” UA Addition, WCFTR. 89. Louella Parsons, Los Angeles Examiner, Aug. 27, 1959. The timing was odd given that The Magnificent Seven deal had been announced a week before and the fact that Sturges would produce had appeared the day before. 90. Western Union telegram, Aug. 6, 1959. UA Addition, WCFTR. 91. “John Sturges to Rein Mirisch 7,” Variety, Aug. 19, 1959, 2. The report noted that Morheim had been retained as co-producer “under the same salary and terms.”

Chapter 3 1. Thomas M. Pryor, “New Deal for Sturges,” New York Times, May 14, 1958, 36. 2. United Artists promised exhibitors “Mighty Box Office Crammed into Every Blazing Adventure” prior to its release. Filming had begun on October 9 of the previous year.

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Chapter Notes—3

3. Glenn Lovell, Escape Artist: The Life and Films of John Sturges (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2008), 11, 12. 4. Lovell, Escape Artist, 20–23. 5. Lovell, Escape Artist, 26. 6. Lovell, Escape Artist, 37–38. 7. Gordon Gow, Films and Filming, Apr. 1962. 8. Lovell, Escape Artist, 53. 9. Review of Escape from Fort Bravo, Variety, Nov. 5, 1953, 3. 10. Lovell, Escape Artist, 82. 11. Lovell, Escape Artist, 94. 12. Lovell, Escape Artist, 95. 13. Lovell, Escape Artist, 98. 14. Lovell, Escape Artist, 99. 15. Lovell, Escape Artist, 101. 16. Lovell, Escape Artist, 106. 17. Gordon Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties (New York: A.S. Barnes, 1971), 21. 18. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 19. 19. Lovell, Escape Artist, 109. 20. Lovell, Escape Artist, 144. 21. Lovell, Escape Artist, 145. 22. Lovell, Escape Artist, 144. 23. Lovell, Escape Artist, 128. 24. Halsey Raines, “Movie Log of a Famed Fish Story,” New York Times, Oct. 5, 1958, X7. On completion of the film, Sturges said he would “steer clear of outdoor pictures” in the future. 25. Raines, “Movie Log.” 26. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 63. 27. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 64. 28. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 64. 29. Raines, “Movie Log.” In the New York Times, Bosley Crowther opined: “Credit Leland Hayward … Spencer Tracy’s brave performance … Tiomkin’s music … and that about completes the praiseworthy aspect of this film.” 30. Hal Wallis and Charles Higham, Starmaker: The Autobiography of Hal Wallis (New York: Macmillan, 1980), 212. 31. Lovell, Escape Artist, 148. 32. Wallis and Higham, Starmaker, 214. 33. Wallis and Higham, Starmaker, 217. 34. Wallis and Higham, Starmaker, 230. 35. Full page ad, Variety, May 7, 1957, 5. 36. Lovell, Escape Artist, 154. 37. Review of Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, Variety, May 15, 1957, 7. 38. Lovell, Escape Artist, 154. 39. “Cooper in Wreck for MGM,” New York Times, Nov. 19, 1958, 45. The screenplay of the Hammond Innes bestseller was written by Eric Ambler, himself a writer of thrillers like The Mask of Dimitrios. 40. Lovell, Escape Artist, 154. 41. United Artists press release, February 8, 1962. UA Addition, WCFTR. 42. Mirisch, Making Movies, 83. 43. The deal between Mirisch and United Artists was signed on July 9, 1957. The 63-page agreement was between Mirisch Bros. Productions Inc., Mirisch Bros. International Productions, Inc., and United Artists Corporation. The initial deal covered 10 pictures but was quickly increased to twelve. Included in the contract were five “approved” pictures. The contract was amended several times thereafter. UA Addition, WCFTR. 44. Internal UA memo, Seymour Peyser to Arthur Krim, “Re: Harold, Walter and Marvin Mirisch,” May 13, 1957. UA Addition, WCFTR, Box 5, Folder 4. 45. United Artists “Office Rushgram” from V. Giovinco

to J. Ende, dated June 3, 1968. This nine-page document details the various fees paid to Mirisch. It was produced for internal purposes to analyze the historical financial position in relation to Mirisch and to compare their production operation with other companies contracted to UA. UA Addition, WCFTR. 46. “Mirisches to Make 12 UA Pix,” Variety, Sept. 9, 1957, 1. 47. “Mirisch Partners with Belafonte in Integration Pic,” Variety, Oct. 12, 1957, 1. 48. “RKO vs. Mirisch Kong,” Variety, Sept. 11, 7. 49. According to Walter Mirisch, Wilder had considered Yul Brynner for the Gary Cooper part in Love in the Afternoon. 50. This would prove an extremely lucrative deal for Wilder. For Some Like It Hot alone he would on to pass the record $1 million that William Wyler received for Ben Hur. 51. Internal UA memo, Robert Blumofe to Arthur Krim, “Re: Mirisch,” March 26, 1958. Frank Sinatra had been signed for the Jack Lemmon role. Sinatra and Monroe were to be paid $200,000 each plus 2.5 percent, Curtis was on $100,000 plus 5 percent of the gross. Mirisch would receive a bonus of $100,000 when the film broke even. UA Addition, WCFTR. 52. “3 Mirisch Bros Set Up Indie Co for 12 UA Films,” Variety, Sept. 11, 1958, 7. 53. New York Times, January 17, 1958. On the same day the film was included in an ad in Variety as part of a promotional campaign by Mirisch aimed at convincing exhibitors they were a force to be reckoned with. In other advertisements, Mirisch listed the names of the stars and directors it had attracted and without specifying films said “each in a top box office property.” 54. Thomas M. Pryor, New York Times, Jan. 14, 1958, 42. Mirisch had bought this play when it was on the London stage and then did a deal with Doris Day’s production company to produce it. 55. “Gargantua to Be Mirisch’s 9th Pic,” Variety, Mar. 3, 1958, 1. 56. “Mirisch Outlay of 34 Million on Next 10 Pix,” Variety, Oct. 21, 1959, 1. For the top tier films, Mirisch boasted that budgets would be “whatever was required.” 57. “Mirisch Outlay of 34 Million on Next 10 Pix,” Variety, Oct. 21, 1. 58. Joseph McBride, Searching for John Ford: A Life (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2001), 596. The Horse Soldiers deal incurred the wrath of other studios which felt it would only inflate star salaries. Variety ran an editorial condemning this level of compensation. Harold Mirisch said, “We independents can get any star provided we have the right story and a good director. But of course we have to pay those stars.” He later added, “Directors would rather work for us than Paramount or MGM. Creative people don’t like to work in studios where businessmen take priority and interfere with their work.” In his autobiography, Walter Mirisch wrote: “The salary structure of motion pictures has endured many escalations since then, and the industry has still not been destroyed.” Ford was an expert on the Civil War and when asked by his biographer why he had not made more films on that period, replied, “You have to find a story first.” 59. “Noah’s Ark Put on Mirisch Slate,” Variety, July 29, 1958, 1. The reissued film had been cut from 141 minutes to 71 minutes and narration and sound effects added. The distributors omitted to tell the public that it was a revamped film although it was advertised as “The Most Spectacular Film of All Time.” After its opening week, it was retained for a second week in a third of the cinemas it played. As a direct result of the film’s success, Hal Roach dug into his vault to make the feature-length compendiums of comedy

Chapter Notes—4 shorts that became so popular in the 1960s and led, in turn, to films like It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World and The Great Race. Mirisch was also following a trend to recycle silent films after the success of The Ten Commandments. The original had been a massive success. “Records swept away in a golden flood,” boasted Warner Bros. (Variety, Mar. 27, 1929, 10). In those days one of the signs of success was how much the public would pay to see a film in first run. The New York Winter Garden, showing the film twice a day, had set a top price of $3 and in Chicago and Boston it was $2. 60. “Wilder Producer, Director of 1,2,3 for Mirisch Co.,” Variety, Jan. 3, 1958, 1. 61. “Mirisch Eyes Bolivar Romance for Feature,” Variety, Dec. 2, 1958, 1. The Bolivar market was surprisingly crowded. Kirk Douglas had announced plans for Simon Bolivar for Universal and Cecil B. DeMille had registered Simon Bolivar, Hero of South America. 62. “Mirisch Co. Plans Film on Montezuma,” Variety, Nov. 10, 1958, 1. 63. This was going to be directed by Richard Fleischer. 64. Rod Serling (The Twilight Zone) was down as the scriptwriter. 65. “Mirisch Plans Sheik,” Variety, Nov. 20, 1958, 3. Paramount had been looting its vaults and was considering reissuing The Sheik starring Rudolph Valentino with a new soundtrack. Another reason for the interest in silent films was that they had proved popular on television. 66. “Lena Horne to Star in Crown’s Jazz Film,” Variety, July 30, 1958, 3. Alfred Crown had previously been associated with Mirisch and had a two-picture production deal with them. 67. Mirisch, Making Movies, 99. The original project was going to be The Blonde on the Boulevard and when that failed to get off the ground Turner starred in By Love Possessed, John Sturges’ follow-up to The Magnificent Seven. After The Magnificent Seven, Sturges was in line to re-team with Sinatra on The Devil at Four o’Clock. 68. “Protest Made on Five Titles,” Variety, Oct. 23, 1958, 4. Another film was in the works on Baron Munchausen to be directed by Albert Zugsmith. 69. Thomas M. Pryor, New York Times, July 22, 1958, 23. Technically, the October 7 bow at the Criterion was not the world premiere since it had previously been shown at the Brussels and Stratford, Ontario, film festivals. 70. Variety, Oct. 17, 1958, 3. 71. Lovell, Escape Artist, 156. 72. Wallis and Higham, Starmaker, 157. 73. Lovell, Escape Artist, 156. 74. Lovell, Escape Artist, 159. The rape scene involved the ripping of a blouse. Lovell claims this came from Roger Vadim’s And God Created Woman. The scene had to be reshot not, according to Variety, because the blouse-ripping went too far but because the actress’s wig fell off. 75. Lovell, Escape Artist, 163. 76. Lovell, Escape Artist, 165. 77. “New York Soundtrack,” Variety, Apr. 8, 1959, 4. On a radio show Davis had accused Sinatra of treating people badly. 78. Lovell, Escape Artist, 167. 79. Advertisements that proclaimed “Frank and Gina Are Lovers” left audiences in no doubt as to the kind of picture it was. 80. Lovell, Escape Artist, 168, 169. 81. Lovell, Escape Artist, 170, 171. Sinatra and McQueen’s idea of fun was throwing firecrackers behind crew members and cherry bombs into dressing rooms. 82. Lovell, Escape Artist, 169. 83. Lovell, Escape Artist, 169.

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84. Lovell, Escape Artist, 191. 85. Lovell, Escape Artist, 191. 86. Letter, Marvin E. Mirisch to Robert Blumofe, UA, dated January 8, 1960, asking for approval of Mirisch’s plan to purchase The Great Escape which, until now, the author had refused to sell. UA Addition, WCFTR. 87. “Serling to Script Mirisch Squadron,” Variety, Dec. 1, 1958, 6. 88. “Mirisch Set 10 Mil Theatre TV Production for 2nd Year,” Variety, Sept. 11, 1958, 1. 89. “Mirisch Dickers Lord,” Variety, Jan. 12, 1959, 4. Lord had appeared in Man of the West. 90. “Just for Variety,” Variety, June 11, 1958, 2. 91. Lovell, Escape Artist, 191. 92. Brian Hannan, The Making of The Guns of Navarone (Glasgow: Baroliant Press, 2013), 26–28. 93. “Mirisch Outlay of $34 Million on Next 10 Pix,” Variety, Oct. 21, 1959, 1. 94. Full page ads, Variety, Apr. 17, 1959, 5, 7, 9. 95. “Mirisch Enter Fray Over Golem,” Variety, Jan. 15, 1959, 1. Two other companies had similar plans—director George Pal and a Czech studio. 96. “Billy the Kid Titles Get Mirisch Protest,” Variety, Apr. 27, 1959, 6. Mirisch had registered the title of The Legend of Billy the Kid while Benedict Bogeaus had registered both The Shooting of Billy the Kid and The Trail of Billy the Kid. 97. “Mirisch Fires 1st Winesburg Blast,” Variety, Aug. 10, 1959, 1. 98. “Presley and Wood for West Side,” Variety, July 22, 1959, 2. Presley’s appearance was vetoed by Colonel Parker who did not want to risk the singer playing second fiddle to the show. Mirisch later paid Presley $1 million for two pictures—Kid Galahad and Follow That Dream. Astonishingly, both lost money. 99. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Nov. 6, 1958, 2. The film was made but without Mirisch’s involvement. 100. “Mirisch Buys Saddle,” Variety, Sept. 11, 1958, 10. 101. “Mirisch Buys Laws So. African Race Story,” Variety, Dec. 10, 1958, 2. 102. “Pakula to Produce Pix Under Mirisch Banner,” Variety, June 8, 1959, 3. 103. “Mirisch Files E.S.P.,” Variety, Dec. 2, 1959, 73. 104. “New Michener Book Is Brought for Film for $600,000,” New York Times, Aug. 24, 1959. Later, Mirisch and publisher Random House planned to spend $100,000 to keep the book at the top of the bestseller lists. 105. Mirisch, Making Movies, 109.

Chapter 4 References for the various scenes discussed in this chapter are contained within the text. 1. Oscar Godbout, “Some Script Writers Are Busy Despite Slump,” New York Times, Sept. 12, 1958, 21. 2. Buford, Burt Lancaster, 87. Bernstein was a client of Lancaster’s producing partner Harold Hecht. 3. Walter Bernstein, Inside Out: A Memoir of the Blacklist (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1996). Bernstein had joined the Young Communist League in 1937. He was cited in Red Channels. 4. “Inside Stuff—Radio—TV,” Variety May 23, 1956, 55. Described as a “mag-tv” writer, Bernstein held “informal clinics” in his Manhattan home for up to ten people. 5. “All-Over-Greater-New-York Map Shots Set for Ponti-Girosi-Par Woman,” Variety, June 11, 1958. This was shooting at the Gold Medal Studio where Bernstein was later a guest speaker at a workshop on filmmaking techniques along with Elia Kazan.

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6. Patrick McGilligan, Backstory 3: Interviews with Screenwriters of the 1960s (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1997), 97. 7. “Lazar Racks Up 10% of 350G Weekend Deals for Writers,” Variety, Apr. 14, 1958, 1. 8. McGilligan, Backstory 3, 99. 9. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 14. Bernstein signed a contract on August 6 and began work on August 12. 10. “Par Inks Bernstein to 200G Writing Contract,” Variety, Nov. 18, 1958, 1. 11. “Ponti-Girosi Adds Six Features to Prod’n Schedule,” Variety, Feb. 6, 1959, 10. 12. “Bernstein Pens Added Dialog for Par’s Gun,” Variety, Feb. 20, 1959, 6. 13. McGilligan, Backstory 3, 99. 14. McGilligan, Backstory 3, 98. 15. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 26. 16. Telephone interview with Walter Bernstein by the author, Oct. 16, 2013. 17. Telephone interview. 18. Email to the author from Walter Bernstein, Oct. 15, 2013. 19. Email to the author from Walter Bernstein, Oct. 18, 2013. 20. Email to the author from Walter Bernstein, Oct. 21, 2013. 21. Email to the author from Walter Bernstein, Oct. 15, 2013 22. Telephone interview. Brynner published several photographic books. 23. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 28. 24. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 31. 25. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 31. 26. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 36. 27. “John Sturges to Rein Mirisch 7,” Variety, Aug. 19, 1959, 2. The report announced Newman’s hiring and Bernstein’s firing. It was stated that Bernstein had “completed a draft” the previous year. A full page Alciona advertisement on June 24, 1959, had credited Bernstein as the scriptwriter. In May Bernstein was in Vienna writing Olympia. That Kind of Woman, released in September 1959, was not a big success, finishing 74th in the annual rankings. In February 1960 with director Robert Parrish he bought the rights to A Dangerous Silence. At one time it was going to be a Sam Spiegel production with Jack Lemmon. 28. Pre-empting the auteur theory, Preminger had outraged the Writers Guild of America by “hogging” the credits of The Man with the Golden Arm at the expense of novelist Nelson Algren and the writers of the screenplay. That did not stop Newman working again with Preminger. In 1957 he was signed to write Mardios Beach, which was never made, and in 1958 Bunny Lake Is Missing, although he was replaced several months later by Charles Beaumont. Newman’s agent was Otto’s brother Ingo, later the producer of the hit movie M*A*S*H. Newman was also the writer of the television series The Quill and the Pen, which failed to get further than a pilot. 29. Letter, Arnold D. Burk, UA, to Arthur B. Krim, UA, dated Nov. 25, 1960. This was in relation to Marvin Mirisch seeking UA’s approval to hire Newman for The Great Escape at $1,750 a week. Mirisch reckoned it was a 16- or 17-week job. (At this stage, Mirisch was hoping to attract the likes of Dean Martin, Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon as well as Steve McQueen.) The letter disclosed that Newman earned $1,500 a week for The Magnificent Seven. UA Addition, WCFTR. 30. “Plotting Buccaneer,” Variety, Mar. 7, 1957, 6. 31. There were plenty of hints in later films that Mirisch was unhappy with Sturges failure to grasp the role of the

producer. In a letter dated February 10, 1961, Marvin E. Mirisch, writing to Arthur B. Krim about The Great Escape, said: “We have insisted with John that he perform the producer function of working with the writer on a full-time basis so that the screenplay can be completed in a reasonable time and so that it may be of a quality that he, Sturges, as well as we and United Artists will be looking for in this script.” Whether it was Sturges’ lack of application in this area or the writer’s inability to master the material, the first draft, according to Sturges in a letter dated February 8, 1962, to Ilya Lopert of UA in Paris, was “far short of what the final script will be.” Sturges excused this by claiming that “further writing has been deferred until we know which parts we are casting with star strength.” This was a bizarre approach, to say the least. Oscar Danziger later complained to Arnold Picker of UA, in a letter dated August 8, 1962, that the script was too long and that Sturges was unable to cut it down himself. 32. “Sturges to Rein Mirisch 7,” 2. 33. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 36. 34. Lovell, Escape Artist, 36. 35. Although modified slightly, the arbitration process these days is in essence the same as it was in the 1960s. It is not an “arbitrary” process—the rules have been voted upon by the members—nor is it equivalent to arbitration in the political or union sense. The details of adjudications, conducted in strict secrecy, are never revealed. The arbitration panel of three WGA members remains anonymous. Screenwriters look at movie scripts, playwrights at play scripts and so on. Each arbiter reads independently and a majority decision is enough. Decisions are based on both quantitative and qualitative evaluations. A writer whose work represents more than 33 percent of the screenplay (50 percent of an original screenplay) is entitled to a credit. This cannot be calculated by counting lines or pages, there being many instances of every line of dialogue being changed without a credit being given and others where a few changed lines or one added part may significantly alter the screenplay. Taken into account are dramatic construction, original and different scenes, characteristics or character relationships and dialogue. Each arbiter decides which elements are most important to the finished work. The writer who made the most substantial contribution will appear first on the credit. Decisions can only be appealed on procedural grounds. 36. “Newman Loses Round in His Arbitration Procedure Case vs. Writers Guild,” Variety, Nov. 16, 1955, 3. Newman claimed that three months after he completed his screenplay he was told the case had gone to arbitration and was subsequently informed that Meltzer had been awarded co-credit. Newman went to the Superior Court to appeal the decision, charging the Guild with “misconduct” and claiming it had not heard the evidence and had exceeded its powers. This was the first time the arbitration machinery had been challenged in this way. A week later the case was dismissed, the judge ruling the court had no jurisdiction over the Guild. 37. Not every writer resorts to Allan Smithee. Robert Towne put the name of his dog on Greystoke when he lost sole credit. 38. John Sturges, “How the West Was Lost,” Films and Filming, December 1962, 10. 39. Sturges, “How the West Was Lost,” 10.

Chapter 5 References for the various scenes discussed in this chapter are contained within the text. 1. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD, Region 1 (MGM, distributed by Sony Pictures Entertain-

Chapter Notes—6 ment). James Coburn said: “Eli was playing Calvera as benevolent. He was Mr. Lovebug.… Yul Brynner objected because it gave him nothing to work against and wanted to reshoot it.” According to Coburn, Mirisch insisted Sturges pay for the reshoots. If this is true, Sturges would not necessarily physically pay for it—it was standard practice in Mirisch and UA contracts that a director would lose a percentage of his profit share if a film went over budget. Coburn claimed the reshoot cost $1 million which seems an extraordinarily high amount (20 percent of the film’s budget) and that, as a result, Sturges lost his estate.

Chapter 6 “Estimated Results from Distribution.” This internal Mirisch document is dated June 6, 1963. Each film has been allocated a foolscap (i.e., larger than A4) sheet of paper. Beginning with the “Producer’s Share” (i.e., Mirisch) of the film’s earnings, deductions have been made for expenses (prints, advertising and other costs). To this has been added the Mirisch share of the foreign earnings to arrive at the film’s profit or loss. The heading “Estimated” is misleading as the figures are actually worked out to the nearest $100. The calculations have all been done in pen. The sheets are not numbered. UA Addition, WCFTR. 1. Brian Hannan, The Making of Butterfield 8 (Amazon Kindle, 2014). A shorter version of this e-book was published in Cinema Retro, Issue 28, 2014. 2. Hannan, Butterfield 8. 3. Hannan, Butterfield 8. 4. “Sinatra Planning ‘At-Law’ Remake,” Variety, July 12, 1960, 5. The Elmer Rice play had been filmed in 1933 with John Barrymore. 5. Mirisch took out a full page ad in Variety on September 10, 1959 (page 5) welcoming him “to its great roster of talents.” 6. Murray Schumach, “Adolf Eichmann Story,” New York Times, June 6, 1960, 32. 7. Full page ad, Variety, Feb. 25, 1960, 8. 8. “Mirisch to Help Bridge Remagen,” Variety, Nov. 11, 1960, 2. The film was scheduled to begin in May the following year. 9. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Aug. 1, 1960, 2. The film was renamed Follow That Dream. In his autobiography, Walter Mirisch stated that the Presley deal did not include a percentage. The issue was never tested. According to “Estimated Results from Distribution,” the film made a loss of $196,000. Mirisch’s other Presley film Kid Galahad would incur a larger loss of $250,000. 10. “Hollywood Soundtrack,” Variety, Mar. 16, 1960, 17. The Constant Image cost $10,000. 11. Jack Lemmon was the biggest star signed up to this point. He was on a two-picture deal. The other younger stars had contracts of varying lengths. Constance Towers, the female lead in The Horse Soldiers, was to make one film a year for seven years. Apart from Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine represented the biggest coup. When Elizabeth Taylor elected to do Cleopatra instead of Irma La Douce and Two for the Seesaw, Mirisch signed MacLaine who was 30 percent cheaper. MacLaine received $350,000 each for Children’s Hour, Two for the Seesaw and Irma La Douce and $250,000 for Roman Candle, plus profit participation. Despite Mirisch’s assertion that what mattered most to directors was creative freedom, not every deal went smoothly. Richard Brooks walked away from Toys in the Attic, claiming it was too similar to Sweet Bird of Youth. His replacement George Roy Hill had a furious row with Mirisch over the company’s plan to change the title of the picture to Fever Street. UA Addition, WCFTR.

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12. Murray Schumach, “Mirisch Co. Stays with Hollywood,” New York Times, Aug. 16, 1960, 25. Variety put the figure at $50 million. A few months earlier, Walter Mirisch had claimed the company was now a leader in the industry after becoming involved in talks with exhibitors to discuss industry problems. 13. “Estimated Results from Distribution,” Fort Massacre. 14. “Estimated Results,” Man of the West. 15. “Estimated Results,” Some Like It Hot. 16. Balio, United Artists, 170. 17. “Estimated Results,” Some Like It Hot. According to these figures the total negative cost of the film including some internal allocations was $3.04 million. Monroe was due 10 percent of the profits over $4 million and Curtis 5 percent over $2 million. At this point (1963), Monroe had been paid $824,500 and Curtis $512,300. The film still had considerable mileage left from future reissues so the principals would have earned more. 18. “Estimated Results,” Some Like It Hot. 19. “Estimated Results,” Man in the Net. 20. “Estimated Results,” Gunfight at Dodge City. 21. “Estimated Results,” Cast a Long Shadow. 22. “Estimated Results,” The Horse Soldiers. 23. “Estimated Results.” Although there is no summation in the document covering the films up to this point, I have done the sums. 24. “Mirisch Properties.” This internal document shows payments made to Mirisch by United Artists in respect to the various book and plays that Mirisch purchased with a view to turning them into films. They include monies spent on abandoned and semi-abandoned properties. Among the costs incurred were $30,300 on Saddle and Ride, $14,250 for The Bridge at Remagen, $12,200 for Counselor-at-Law and $9,800 for Gargantua. Just $3,685 was invested in The Montgomery Alabama Story and $1,000 on Winesburg, Ohio. Robert Vaughn was one of the stars of The Bridge of Remagen when it finally hit screens in 1969. Although released by UA, it was produced by Wolper Pictures. William Roberts shared the screenplay credit. 25. Bob Chandler, “Hottest Labor Dispute Looms for H’Wood,” Variety, Nov. 10, 1959, 1. SAG executive secretary John L. Dales had earlier predicted a strike in Screen Actor magazine. The industry also faced possible action by the Screen Extras Guild and the Directors Guild. 26. Bob Chandler, “Dispute Looms.” Under discussion in negotiations would be a claim for “residual payments of post–1948 features.” 27. “Skouras-Eye View of Strike,” Variety, Dec. 30, 1959, 3. 28. “No 1948 Tickee, No Writee,” Variety, Oct. 28, 1959, 5 29. “Strike On!” Variety, Mar. 7, 1960, 1. 30. “10-Million Movie May Be Cancelled,” New York Times, Feb. 3, 1960. 31. Ron Silverman, “Strike Would Snarl $30–35 in Unfinished American Pictures,” Variety, Feb. 24, 1960, 3. 32. Ron Silverman, “Strike Would,” Variety, Feb. 24, 1960, 3. 33. “Just for Variety,” Variety, May 19, 1960, 2. 34. “Sinatra Ocean’s 11 Strike Deal,” Variety, Mar. 4, 1960, 6. 35. “Could Roll Lucky Seven in Mexico in Spite of Strike,” Variety, Feb. 1, 1960, 1. 36. Lovell, Escape Artist, 195. 37. “Anthony Quinn Files 3 Suits,” New York Times, Feb. 4, 1960. 38. “Anthony Quinn’s Nix of $3,000,000 on Lloyd Series,” Variety, Dec. 2, 1959, 25. Quinn would have to film 39

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Chapter Notes—7

episodes each year, although the shooting times per episode would be longer than usual. “Birth of a Series,” Variety, Dec. 9, 1959, 12. Quinn had drawn a blank with The Gallery at the three networks. 39. “Quinn as Taras Bulba,” Variety, Jan. 26, 1960, 8. Ironically, when this production fell apart it would end up with Brynner in the leading role. 40. “Quinn Don Quixote?” Variety, Sept. 24, 1959, 1. 41. Gene Moskowitz, “In Paris,” Variety, Aug. 5, 1959, 5. 42. Moskowitz, “In Paris,” Variety, Aug. 5, 1959, 5. Director William Dieterle had been involved in this with Quinn. 43. “Hollywood to Take Fling at Oriental Pix,” Variety, Feb. 3, 1959, 2. 44. “UA Protests Title of Noble Savage,” Variety, Apr. 6, 1959, 3. The film was based on the Lawrence Hanson biography Noble Savage published in 1955. In February 1958, NBC had run a 30-minute documentary on the painter based on an exhibition at the Chicago Art Institute. A Parisian Gauguin exhibition had drawn 97,000 visitors in 28 days compared with 60,000 in 80 days for a Van Gogh exhibition. 45. “Gleanings from the Gondola,” Variety, Aug. 31, 1959, 16. 46. “Quinn Sues Brynner on Magnificent 7,” Variety, Feb. 10, 1960, 15. 47. “Brynner Denial of Quinn’s 7 Claims,” Variety, Feb. 5, 1960, 2. “Brynner Attny Denial,” Variety, Feb. 19, 1960, 15. 48. “Morheim Asks 600G in Suit Against Mirisch and Alpha,” Variety, Mar. 1, 1960, 4. 49. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Feb. 22, 1960, 2. 50. “Morheim to Push Seven Claims, Denies Rebuttal,” Variety, Mar. 1, 1960, 4. 51. “Mirisch-Alpha Ask Relief in Morheim Seven Complaints,” Variety, Feb. 5, 1960, 3. Other reports appeared on February 8. 52. Lovell, Escape Artist, 195. 53. “40 Pix Completed in Mexico Up to Mid June,” Variety, July 6, 1960, 15. This figure was later revised downward. Annual Mexican film production cost $7.2 million. At this point the Aldrich film was known as The Hot Eye of Heaven, an improvement on the original title of Viva Gringo. 54. Carl J. Mora, Mexican Cinema, Reflections of a Society, 1896–1980 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), 104. 55. “40 Pix Completed.” 56. Mora, Mexican Cinema, 99. Part of the problem for Mexico was frustration that its films did not have much impact across the border and that it failed to tap into the boom enjoyed by foreign films in the U.S. In 1959, foreign movies had coined $21.5—nearly 50 percent up from the $14.8 million the year before (Variety, Apr. 20, 1960, 1). 57. Mora, Mexican Cinema, 103. 58. “Mex. Bureaucrat Inspires Latin Curbs on U.S. Pictures,” Variety, June 24, 1960, 9. 59. “Alamo Facing Ban in Mexico as Nat’l Sensitivity Heightens,” Variety, Sept. 7, 1960, 18. The reason for the ban was “insulting” scenes. 60. “Mexican Film Bureau Gets Tough on Irrepressible Yanks Producing Pix There, OK to Seven One’s Provisional,” Variety, Mar. 16, 1960, 2. 61. “Yul May Have to Change Script,” Associated Press, Feb. 26, 1960. 62. “Majors Planning Pix on So. American Patriots,” Variety, May 10, 1939, 1. 63. Allen L. Woll, The Latin Image in the American Film (Los Angeles: UCLA Latin American Center, 1980), 71.

64. Dolores Del Río was still prominent in Hollywood, co-starring with Elvis in Flaming Star. But her earnings in Mexico were minuscule compared to the U.S. At the time she was the second-top draw in Mexico, but only earned $16,000 per film there. Number one star Maria Felix made $18,000 a film. 65. Woll, Latin Image, 8. 66. Woll, Latin Image, 25. 67. “Yanqui Filmers Like Mexican Scenics,” Variety, Apr. 20, 1960, 121. 68. Woll, Latin Image, 35. 69. Woll, Latin Image, 34. 70. Woll, Latin Image, 32. 71. Woll, Latin Image, 62. 72. Woll, Latin Image, 54. 73. Woll, Latin Image, 53. 74. Mora, Mexican Cinema, 73. 75. Woll, Latin Image, 88. 76. Woll, Latin Image, 103. 77. “Hollywood Spoils Mexican Ingenues,” Variety, Apr. 20, 1960, 100. 78. Emil Zubryn, “Gov. Shadow Grows on Mexican Film Scene,” Variety, Oct. 25, 1960, 44. 79. “Mexican Film Bureau Gets Tough,” Variety, Mar. 16, 1960, 2. “Mexico Rides Herd on U.S. Pix Shooting There,” Variety, Mar. 21, 1960, 1. 80. “Mexican Film Bureau.” 81. UPI, June 5, 1960. 82. Mirisch, Making Movies, 112. 83. “Mexican Film Bureau.” 84. “Censor Threat,” Associated Press, Feb. 26, 1960. 85. Lovell, Escape Artist, 200. 86. “Mexican Film Bureau.” 87. Murray Schumach, “Producer Scores Mexican Censor,” New York Times, May 20, 1960, 25. 88. “Mexican Film Bureau.” 89. “Mexican Film Censors Leery,” Variety, Apr. 20, 121. The report said that the film had received “the full treatment.” 90. “Mexican Film Censors Leery,” Variety, April 20, 121.

Chapter 7 1. Edward Dymytryk, On Filmmaking (New York: Focal Press, 1986), 196. 2. Hedda Hopper, Los Angeles Times, Dec. 2, 1959. 3. Brian Pendreigh, “Magnificent Obsession,” The Guardian, Feb. 4, 2000. 4. Pendreigh, “Magnificent Obsession.” 5. Lloyd Nolan’s purported involvement was a curiosity. A piece appeared in the “Just for Variety” section in Variety on July 7, 1959, (page 2) saying Brynner had “cabled” Nolan to join himself and Quinn on the film. Nolan, it was reported, was anxious to join now that he had completed his television series Special Agent 7. But by this time the wheels had come off Brynner’s attempt to set up the film. 6. Hedda Hopper, Los Angeles Times, Dec. 24, 1959. Sturges contended he had given out Jones’s name to force McQueen’s hand. 7. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Dec. 17, 1959, 2. O’Brian had cashed in on his success in Wyatt Earp with a lucrative sideline in Wild West shows. 8. Apparently, Gene Wilder (Blazing Saddles) was also a contender. 9. “New York Soundtrack,” Variety, Apr. 8, 1959, 3. The story was sixth from the bottom in a column containing more than 30 news snippets. 10. The movie version was directed by Fred Zinnemann. 11. Review of The Defender, Variety, Feb. 27, 1957, 9.

Chapter Notes—7 12. Review of Wanted: Dead or Alive, Variety, Sept. 10, 1958, 117. 13. “Thataway?” Variety, July 11, 1958, 1. Sales of television sets were down on the previous year and in July a total of 36 half-hour series were still without sponsors. 14. Richard F. Shepherd, “Western Series Listed on CBS,” New York Times, Aug. 16, 1958, 35. In this review of the series, the author was amazed that, considering his occupation, “somehow the hero of the series emerges as a good fellow.” 15. Review of Wanted: Dead or Alive, Variety, Sept. 10, 1958, 117. 16. “Par Buys The Blob,” Variety, July 3, 1958, 1. The film was originally entitled Molten Meteor. 17. “Col. Teams with Par on Bally for Blob,” Variety, Sept. 10, 1958, 135. 18. “Blob-Monster Hits 112G in 16 Houses,” Variety, Sept. 16, 1958, 3. The film exceeded expectations so much that Paramount doubled its print order of 200. 19. “With a Load of Gimmicks, Jack Harris Exploiting His 4-D Via Universal,” Variety, Oct. 14, 1958, 30. 20. A.H. Weiler, “By Way of Report,” New York Times, Feb. 16, 1959, X7. 21. Review of The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery, Variety, Feb. 28, 1959, 6. 22. Hy Hallinger, “New Faces More Than Ever, Studios Back to Talent Stables,” Variety, Nov. 4, 1959, 1. 23. Hallinger, “New Faces.” 24. Barney Glazer syndicated column, Oct. 9, 1960. 25. Erskine Johnson, “Wanting to Win Is Story of Steve McQueen’s Life,” syndicated column, Oct. 16, 1959. 26. Hallinger, “New Faces.” 27. Bob Thomas, “Steve McQueen Thinks TV Star Can Be Top Film Idol,” Associated Press, Feb. 16, 1960. 28. Nielsen Ratings, 1959–60. 29. Nielsen Ratings, 1958–59. 30. Nielsen Ratings, 1957–60. 31. Mike Connolly syndicated column, June 16, 1959. The rushes were so good on the film that MGM signed him to make one film a year for five years. 32. Vernon Scott, “Steve McQueen to Co-Star with Sinatra in Movie,” UPI, May 1, 1959. 33. Erskine Johnson, “Wanting to Win,” syndicated column, Oct. 16, 1959. “He went out of his way to give me the breaks,” McQueen said of Sinatra, adding that the star had insisted that the director give McQueen more close-ups. 34. This was a blow for Sturges. On August 15, 1958, Walter Mirisch had told Max E. Youngstein of United Artists that Sturges was “most eager” to do a film of this book as the first picture in his Mirisch deal. “With Sturges,” wrote Mirisch, “we have a definite asset in attracting top male stars.” UA Addition, WCTFR. 35. Louella Parsons, Los Angeles Examiner, Aug. 17, 1959. 36. Letter, Marvin E. Mirisch to Robert Blumofe, UA, January 8, 1960. UA Addition, WCFTR. 37. Mike Connolly syndicated column, Dec. 4, 1959. 38. Louella Parsons, “Steve McQueen Selected to Play Role in Sinatra Film,” Los Angeles Examiner, Dec. 21, 1959. Parsons also pegged McQueen for the proposed Hank Williams biopic Your Cheatin’ Heart. In May, Variety had reported that independent producer Robert Webb wanted him for a horror movie. Sandford claimed McQueen was also up for Frank Capra’s A Pocketful of Miracles and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. 39. Sandford, McQueen, 103. This was one of five books by William Bradford Huie in development. 40. “Slovik to Star McQueen,” Associated Press, Feb. 22, 1960.

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41. Full page ad, “Statement,” Variety, Apr. 11, 1960, 7. Sinatra took out this ad to defend both his hiring and firing of Matz, dismissing the writer following the reaction of friends and public. 42. Mirisch, Making Movies, 111. 43. Sandford, McQueen, 108. 44. “Just for Variety,” Variety, May 28, 1959, 2. 45. “McQueen Asks Time for Ocean’s 11 Star Stint,” Variety, Aug. 24, 1959, 10. 46. “McQueen Back-to-Back So Can Do Film Roles,” Variety, Oct. 27, 1959, 5. 47. “McQueen Asks Time” 48. “Job of Playing Cowboy Rough Chore,” Post Standard, June 8, 1959. This carried McQueen’s byline though it is more likely to have been written by a publicist. 49. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Dec. 7, 1959, 2. Earlier, columnist Hedda Hopper led people to believe that Four Star had already cleared the way—her report on December 15 claimed that McQueen would be making 15 shows back to back to allow him to make The Magnificent Seven. 50. “Buchholz to Make U.S. Film Bow in Mirisch-Alpha 7,” Variety, Jan. 20, 1960, 22. 51. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Mar. 11, 1959, 2. 52. “Mexico’s Jose Kohn in UFA Feud,” Variety, Aug. 12, 1959, 11. 53. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Mar. 11, 1959, 2. Buchholz was getting a reported $100,000 a film—“unheard-of for Mirisch these days.” 54. Review of Cheri, Variety, Sept. 23, 1959, 3. 55. Rick du Brow, UPI, May 17, 1960. Buchholz had also told Erskine Johnson that he started acting in post-war Germany “not for artistic reasons” but because he was hungry. 56. “The Ego and I,” Films and Filming, April 1962, 9, 10. 57. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 58. Seven Thieves was released in March 1960 to an indifferent response. 59. Interview with Eli Wallach, Films and Filming, May 1964, 8. 60. Eli Wallach, The Good, the Bad, and Me (New York: Harcourt, 2005), 198. 61. Wallach, Films and Filming. 62. “Robert Vaughn Set in Boston Series,” Variety, Jan. 22, 1960, 2. 63. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 13, 1960. 64. Robert Vaughn, A Fortunate Life (London: JR Books, 2009), 49. 65. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 1. 66. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 56. 58. He was signed for $15,000 a picture. 67. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 68. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 281. 69. Mirisch, Making Movies, 110. Gloria Steinem later described Coburn in the New York Times as the “thinking man’s Lee Marvin.” 70. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 71. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 72. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 73. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 111. 74. “There is a gray list in Hollywood and it is just horrendous,” Variety, Dec. 6, 1999, 4. Boetticher’s autobiography was titled When in Disgrace. 75. This deal ended on September 30, 1960. Bronson changed his name from Buchinsky in the wake of the McCarthy hearings when he felt having a Russian-sounding name might harm his career. After the success of Death Wish, Bill Davidson in the New York Times called him “a sacred monster.” 76. Review of Man with a Camera, New York Times, Oct. 11, 1958, 46. It was relatively inexpensive—$275,000 for the

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Chapter Notes—8

entire series compared to $1.75 million for Perry Mason. Bronson called it the “biggest plug show in the history of television,” explaining that, as it was sponsored by a manufacturer of cameras and photographic products, the director had to stop the action to ensure the label on the equipment was visible. 77. Mirisch, Making Movies, 110. 78. “Quinn Signs Dexter,” Variety, Aug. 19, 1958, 6. Black Sunday was never made. 79. The Magnificent Seven Collectors Edition DVD. 80. Although born in 1935, for publicity purposes Monteros was tagged as a 22-year-old. The part was original written for a 17-year-old. Her signing was not reported until January 29. Had she been American, the SAG deal would have prevented her taking the part. According to Glenn Lovell, Robert Vaughn denied she had an affair with Sturges, saying she had rejected him. 81. “Chatter,” Variety, June 6, 1956, 62. 82. Lovell, Escape Artist, 207. He attributes this accusation to McQueen. 83. “Chatter,” Variety, Feb. 4, 1959, 78.

Chapter 8 1. Sturges, “How the West Was Lost,” 9. 2. Sturges, “How the West Was Lost,” 9. 3. Baxter, Hollywood in the Sixties, 108. 4. Lovell, Escape Artist, 199, 200. 5. “Yanqui Filmers Like Mexican Scenics,” Variety, Apr. 20, 1960, 121. 6. Lovell, Escape Artist, 201. 7. “Union Demands on Mexican Location,” Variety, Apr. 20, 1960, 100. The government charged a displacement fee, a daily wage (plus Social Security and fringe benefits), for each technician who could have worked. Actors in “stellar roles” were entitled to $1,000 a week. Directors were also considered to be displaced by incoming American productions and in that case most Hollywood movies were assigned a co-director. In many case, technicians simply shadowed the American personnel. 8. Paul P. Kennedy, “Shooting a Magnificent Seven in Mexico,” New York Times, Apr. 10, 1960, X7. 9. Lovell, Escape Artist, 200. “We hired the whole town,” said Sturges. 10. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 11. Kennedy, “Shooting a Magnificent.” 12. Lovell, Escape Artist, 201, 202. 13. Lovell, Escape Artist, 204. Conversely, James Coburn remembered it as “two or three takes” in Gordon Gow’s article “Becoming Involved,” Films and Filming, November 1978, 12. 14. Letter, Oscar Danziger to Arnold Picker, UA, August 8, 1962. Eight weeks into shooting The Great Escape, Sturges was two weeks behind schedule and $400,000 over budget. Part of the blame lay in the fact that “John Sturges was unable to cut down [the script] himself.” UA Addition, WCTFR. 15. Marvin Mirisch, letter to Arnold Picker, UA, May 14, 1962. Mirisch referred to Sturges as “over-shooting.” UA Addition, WCFTR. 16. “Becoming Involved.” Coburn told Gow that Yul Brynner got 40 percent of the director’s time and next most important star 20 percent and so on. That sense of hierarchy belonged to the old studio system, Coburn said, “[The] major star was the one that was catered to and everybody else had to fight for his existence.” 17. Kennedy, “Shooting a Magnificent.” 18. Jim Hemphill, review of the DVD of The Magnificent Seven, American Society of Cinematographers.

19. David Mullen posted these words of Lang, written in 1933, on the website of www.cinematography.com on July 25, 2005. Commenting on Lang’s contribution to The Man from Laramie, Philip French said “the cameraman’s work is of paramount importance.” On Lang’s death, critic Tom Stempel said he created the template for widescreen westerns. 20. Sturges, “How the West,” 10. 21. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 22. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 31. 23. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 31. 24. Sturges, “How the West,” 10. 25. Sturges, “How the West,” 10. 26. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 31. 27. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 31. 28. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 31. 29. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 31. 30. Internet Movie Firearms Database, www.imfdb.org. 31. Fred Wilbur Powell, The Railroads of Mexico (Boston: Stratford, 1921), 139–147. 32. True West Historical Society. The buscadero was invented in 1890 by Texas Ranger captain John Hughes and popularized in the B westerns of the 1920s and 1930s which made dramatic use of the fast draw. 33. Hedda Hopper, Los Angeles Times, Apr. 1, 1960. Hopper was furious, but covered herself for failing to get the scoop by claiming circumstances had changed. “When I talked to Yul Brynner a few weeks ago he hadn’t been able to reach a settlement with his wife. Now he has.” 34. “Paris Fashion Director Weds Yul Brynner,” UPI, Apr. 1, 1960. 35. Barney Glazer, syndicated column, Oct. 9, 1960. 36. “Ask Brynner to Help Boost Mexican Industry,” Variety, May 25, 1960. 37. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 6, 1960. 38. Erskine Johnson, “Magnificent Seven Provide Fine Time,” syndicated column, Apr. 11, 1960. 39. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 18, 1960. Johnson’s source was an extra called Pedro. Glenn Lovell added other details—two potted palms and a waterfall and that the trailer was known on-set as the “Taj Mahal.” This purported excess would dog Brynner for years. When he was making Return of the Seven, he was reported as requiring 12 tubes of toothpaste, five pounds of mints, 30 tubes of shaving cream, 45 razor blades and a waffle maker in a list that comprised two pages. His trailer for this picture had fitted carpets and its own generator. For The Long Duel, he had a five-room trailer costing $30,000 shipped from England. 40. Sammy Davis, Jr., lost his part in Never So Few as a result of remarks he had made on radio about Sinatra. 41. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 16, 1960. An extract from Memoirs of a Cad had appeared in the April 1960, edition of Good Housekeeping. Johnson was also the one who informed the public that Brynner’s male secretary had to wear two hats—his own and his boss’s ten-gallon hat on top that could be whipped off and handed over as required. “Yul Brynner Seething about Barbs in Sanders’ Book,” recorded the actor’s reaction. 42. Letter, Arthur Krim to Harold Mirisch, July 17, 1959. UA Addition, WCTFR. 43. “Chatter,” Variety, July 8, 1959, 94. 44. Mike Connolly syndicated column, Mar. 7, 1960. Opinions differ about the quality of the hotel, La Posada Jacaranda, where the supporting cast was based. Some called it no more than a motel, while Wallach described it as a luxury hotel. 45. Internal UA memo, Joseph Adelman to Herb Schottenfeld, July 17, 1962. UA Addition, WCFTR.

Chapter Notes—9 46. James Bacon, syndicated column, Apr. 3, 1960. 47. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 18, 1960. 48. UPI, May 22, 1960. 49. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, May 1, 1960. 50. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, May 1, 1960. 51. Sandford, Steve McQueen, 110. 52. Sandford, Steve McQueen, 110. 53. Sturges had told Wallach he would employ the same technique to disguise Wallach’s difficulty in climbing onto a horse wearing tight trousers. 54. Patrick McNulty, “Fireside Gunslinger Draws with Television’s Best,” Associated Press, July 13, 1960. The shooting actions of television’s finest were tested by an expert. Gunsmoke’s Matt Dillon was deemed to be the fastest, with McQueen considered poor. 55. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, May 7, 1963. 56. Raleigh Register, Jan. 13, 1960, 1. 57. Sandford, Steve McQueen, 108. 58. Sandford, Steve McQueen, 109. 59. John Woodforde, The History of Vanity (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1992), xxiv. 60. Mirisch, Making Movies, 112, 113. 61. Sandford, Steve McQueen, 110. 62. Malachy McCoy, Steve McQueen: The Unauthorized Biography (Chicago: Henry Regnery, 1974), 87. 63. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 114. 64. Lovell, Escape Artist, 204. 65. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 116. 66. Lovell, Escape Artist, 204. 67. Gene Feldman, Yul Brynner: The Man Who Was King, videocassette, 1995. 68. Earl Wilson syndicated column, Nov. 1, 1960. In another telephone interview, Brynner continued sniping at Brynner, telling the Valley Morning Star in Harlingen that Brynner “just isn’t a cowboy.” 69. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 117. 70. Mirisch, Making Movies, 204. 71. Lovell, Escape Artist, 204. Wallach called Brynner “the Shah of Brynner.” 72. “The Ego and I.” 73. Lovell, Escape Artist, 204. 74. The first quote is from Dick Kleiner’s syndicated column, Nov. 29, 1964. The second is from “Becoming Involved.” Coburn repeated a version of the first quote on the DVD commentary. In “Becoming Involved” Coburn said the opposite: “I’ve always tried to help other actors, to work with them to make the scene more vital by not competing with them in the ego sense.” 75. Lovell, Escape Artist, 207. 76. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 24, 1960. 77. Sturges, “How the West.” 78. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 79. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 80. Gow, “Becoming Involved.” 81. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, May 7, 1960. 82. Capua, Yul Brynner, 95. 83. Harvey Pack, “Steve McQueen Has Fun on the Movie Lot,” Times Record, Oct. 29, 1960, 26. 84. Pendreigh, “Magnificent Obsession.” 85. Lovell, Escape Artist, 111. 86. Lovell, Escape Artist, 204. 87. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 116. What Vaughn remembered most was listening to stories of Bronson and McQueen’s miserable childhoods. 88. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 111. Vaughn talked to Brynner about Stanislavski and Michel Chekhov. 89. Lovell, Escape Artist, 204. At these gatherings, it was reported that Bronson remained miserable. 90. According to Capua, 300 guests were invited to the

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wedding reception which was held on the set used for the fiesta. There was champagne, tequila and music. Little mention is made in the various biographies of any celebration to mark Robert Vaughn’s Oscar nomination for The Young Philadelphians. He was given time off to attend the ceremony. In his autobiography, Vaughn told how he escorted ingénue Stella Stevens and his mother and by mistake turned up in white tie and tails. 91. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 117. The happily-married Wallach, the least likely to go out drinking and womanizing, presented a different side to Dexter. Wallach recalled that he developed a close relationship with Dexter and was the only one of the seven with whom he socialized. 92. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 93. Lovell, Escape Artist, 203. 94. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 18, 1960. 95. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 96. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 111. Vaughn was told to check every morning under his door. “There never were any pages,” he recalled. 97. “First USA Movie Role,” Evening Standard (Uniontown, PA), Dec. 15, 1960, 14. 98. Associated Press, Mar. 9, 1960. 99. Barney Glazer, syndicated column, Oct. 9, 1960. 100. Erskine Johnson, “Senses Aid Actor,” syndicated column, Apr. 18, 1960. Sokoloff had acted in both film and television versions of For Whom the Bell Tolls. 101. Johnson, “Hidden Drama.” 102. Johnson, “Hidden Drama.” Murray Schumach, “Eli Wallach Fights Lure of Cash to Take Roles in Exciting Plays,” New York Times, Oct. 25, 1960, 40. 103. Johnson, “Hidden Drama.” 104. Wallach, The Good, the Bad, 212. On another occasion Wallach discovered his wife, cleaning up, had thrown out his spare set, worth $300. 105. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Apr. 14, 1960. 106. Wallach, The Good, the Bad, 200, 201. 107. Wallach, The Good, the Bad, 204. 108. Lovell, Escape Artist, 205. 109. “Steve Brooks Aligns with Brynner’s Alciona,” Variety, Mar. 9, 1960, 14. Steve Brooks, Alciona’s former advertising and publicity chief, rejoined the company as secretary and went straight to Cuernavaca to advise Brynner on The Magnificent Seven. 110. “Hold Seven Confabs,” Variety, Feb. 23, 1960, 2. 111. “Hairless Decision,” Variety, May 20, 1960, 2. Brynner’s policy was “no on-set admittance.” By contrast Kirk Douglas, filming The Last Sunset (at that time known as Hot Eye of Heaven) in Mexico, cooperated fully. When asked why he was so helpful in comparison to Brynner, Douglas replied, “Maybe it’s because I have hair.” 112. “Ask Brynner to Help,” Variety, May 25, 1960, 14. There was leeway on the Mexican side—they agreed to smooth the path for future productions. “Chatter,” Variety, June 22, 1960, 62. Brynner also agreed to make four films in Mexico over the next two years and star in a film about the Mexican Revolution to be directed by Emilio Hernandez. Kings of the Sun (1963) was filmed in Mexico and he starred in Villa Rides (1968). 113. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, May 7, 1960. 114. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Sept. 6, 1962. 115. “A Serenade by Pigs Mars a Love Scene,” Associated Press, July 24, 1960.

Chapter 9 References for the various scenes discussed in this chapter are contained within the text. 1. “Bernstein Scoring 7,” Variety, June 27, 1960, 2.

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Chapter Notes—10, 11, 12, 13, 14 and 15

2. Hannan, The Making of the Guns of Navarone. 3. “Magnificent North Score in Offing,” Variety, June 14, 1960, 1. North was planning to screen The Magnificent Seven the next day with a view to writing the score. 4. Derek Elley, “Film Composer: 2, Elmer Bernstein,” Films and Filming, Mar. 1978, 21. 5. Sue Fox, BBC Music Magazine, Sept. 2002. 6. Fox, BBC Music Magazine. 7. Cynthia Miller, The Guardian, Oct. 6, 2002. 8. Fox, BBC Music Magazine. 9. Fox, BBC Music Magazine. 10. Fox, BBC Music Magazine. 11. Elise Christensen, Newsweek, Mar. 10, 2003. 12. Jon Burlinghame, Film Music Society, June 27, 2003. 13. Miller, The Guardian, Oct. 6, 2002. 14. “Alfred Newman Exits Fox After 25 Years,” Variety, Feb. 23, 1960, 1. 15. “Clef Dwellers,” Variety, Jan. 13, 1960, 6. 16. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Jan. 23, 1959, 2. You could hardly blame the producers for insisting on a jazz theme since the titular character, a private eye played by John Cassavetes, was also a jazz pianist. Peter Gunn, which ran for four seasons from 1958, was created by Blake Edwards. The theme tune was Henry Mancini’s calling card. 17. “British Disk Sellers,” Variety, Jan. 27, 1960, 48. 18. “Saluting Bernstein,” Variety, Aug. 19, 1960, 18. 19. Elley, “Film Composer,” 23. 20. Jon Burlinghame, Los Angeles Times, Aug. 11, 2001. 21. Miller, The Guardian. 22. Elley, “Film Composer,” 24. 23. Lovell, Escape Artist, 208. 24. Elley, “Film Composer,” 22. 25. Elley, “Film Composer,” 22. 26. Lovell, Escape Artist, 209. 27. “Drumming Up Seven,” Variety, Aug. 22, 1960, 10. The reporter put two (Bernstein’s jazz background a la The Man with the Golden Arm) and two (the Mexico setting) together and came up with the erroneous idea that the score would use a dozen percussion instruments and combine “jazz idioms with traditional Spanish melodies.” 28. Miller, The Guardian. Walter Mirisch later said, “We can no longer separate the movie from the music.” 29. Lovell, Escape Artist, 209. 30. Variety, Dec. 28, 1960.

Chapter 10 References for the various scenes discussed in this chapter are contained within the text.

Chapter 11 1. Exhibitors got a fleeting glance of the Saul Bass poster on the back page of Variety on October 31, 1960, by which time the film had been in release for three weeks. 2. Solomon and Sheba Pressbook. It was promoted as the world’s largest canvas painting measuring 40 feet by 11 feet. Its creation took Shimin and five assistants a combined total of 7,500 man-hours. Insured for $250,000, it toured large cities. Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research. 3. One-sheet poster, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 12, WCFTR. 4. Three-sheet poster, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 12. 5. Three-sheet poster, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 12. 6. Six-sheet poster, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 12. 7. Billboard poster, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 12.

Chapter 12 References for the various scenes discussed in this chapter are contained within the text.

Chapter 13 References for the various scenes discussed in this chapter are contained within the text.

Chapter 14 1. Ad, Mat 205, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 7. 2. Ad, Mat 503, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 3. 3. Ad, Mat 402, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 7. 4. Ad, Mat 603, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 1. As this ad ran on the front page of the pressbook, one might have expected it to be the defining poster of the campaign, yet it was one of the least used. 5. Ad, Mat 202, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 7. 6. Ad, Mat 102, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 11. 7. Ad, Mat 602, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 8. 8. Ad, Mat 203, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 11. 9. Ad, Mat 601, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 4. 10. Ad, Mat 101, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 6. 11. Ad, Mat 103, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 5. 12. Ad, Mats 106–108 and Mats 212–213, The Magnificent Seven Pressbook, 5.

Chapter 15 1. Jenni Calder, There Must Be a Lone Ranger (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1974), 191. 2. Aeon J. Skoble, “Order Without Law: The Magnificent Seven, East and West,” ed. Jennifer L. McMahon and B. Steve Csakis, The Philosophy of the Western (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2010), 129. 3. The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 4. Richard Slotkin, “Gunfighters and Green Berets: The Magnificent Seven and the Myth of Counterinsurgency,” Division II Faculty Publications, Wesleyan University, 1989, 80. Slotkin’s seminal analysis of The Magnificent Seven is often assumed to be contained in his book Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth-Century America. In fact, the original edition of this book, published in 1992, contained only a passing reference. The chapter in the revised 1998 edition is a condensed version of this article which was originally published in Radical History Review in 1989. The citation above is the one requested by the author, and the page references allude to this article. 5. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 81. 6. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 80; The Magnificent Seven Collector’s Edition DVD. 7. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 81. 8. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 66. There is a general impression that during World War II, Hollywood produced a mass of war movies to meet public demand. While researching my book Hitchcock at the Box Office Volume 3, I discovered this was not the case. The initial tranche of war movies flopped. “War Prove Pix Blight on L.A.,” ran one headline. Cinema managers edited war footage out of from newsreels. The best performers were comedies such as Caught in the Draft or romances like Casablanca. There was little emphasis on the platoon movie and more on individual heroism or mission pictures. In fact, Hollywood’s reaction to the advent of war was more typically cynical—with young men away at war and therefore unable to go the cinema the emphasis switched to movies that appealed to women. 9. Of the 125 films deemed the biggest box office hits

Chapter Notes—16 and 17 of the war years, only 20 percent dealt with war. The best years were 1942 and 1943, but by 1944 and 1945 the number of successful pictures dwindled to two or three a year. 10. In the Richard Brooks western The Professionals (1966) each man is chosen for a specific skill. 11. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 79. In an email to the author, Frayling highlights the “swaggering young men trying to impress each other. Like in a Hawks film. Part of their motivation is to prove how good [efficient] they are at their jobs, their specialisms.” 12. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 79. 13. It is curious that O’Reilly is positioned in the tower when Britt is the proven long-range shot. Frayling makes the point that they begin to act as professionals in the fiesta scene. 14. Another curiosity is that Chris and Britt are the advance team rather than Chris and Vin. Possibly this hearkens back to Chris and Britt working in the past as a team, but more likely it is for dramatic purposes since Hilario might find it impossible to unburden himself to the monosyllabic Britt. 15. French, Westerns, 44. 16. In Seven Samurai the Mifune character receives a stern rebuke for indiscipline. 17. Email to author from Christopher Frayling. “When Brynner lies to him at his death it shows how far— morally—Brynner has travelled. This was the theme that many Spaghettis picked up. Gold versus commitment to a cause.” 18. Christopher Sharrett, “1960: Movies and Intimations of Disaster and Hope,” ed. Barry Keith Grant, American Cinema in the 1960s, Themes and Variations (New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2008), 37. 19. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 68. 20. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 69. 21. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 71. 22. Sharrett, “Movies and Intimations,” 39. 23. Calder, Lone Ranger, 114. 24. Calder, Lone Ranger, 199. 25. Email to the author from Christopher Frayling. “The shift from ‘mercenaries’ to ‘freedom fighters’ [is] a real moral story development except in the case of Dexter who is unrepentant.” 26. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 85. 27. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 85. 28. Contrast this with the elegiac music that heralds The Wild Bunch going into battle for the last time in Peckinpah’s film. 29. Skoble, “Order Without Law,” 139. 30. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 85. 31. Skoble, “Order Without Law,” 145. 32. Lewis Beale, “The American Way West,” Films and Filming, Apr. 1972, 28. Richard Schickel invented the term “Dirty Western” for this kind of film. 33. French, Westerns, 18. 34. Calder, Lone Ranger, 199. 35. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 76. Reference is often made to the fact that the Green Beret A-Team comprised an officer and six sergeants. But this is purely coincidental since the numerical consideration originated from the original Japanese film. 36. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 87. 37. That no innocent bystander was killed by friendly fire in a western shoot-out was an unwritten Hollywood law of the period. Conversely, the killing of a civilian or an innocent person was often the starting point for a western or a crime film. Several years later, in The Wild Bunch innocent people were killed at the start and the end. 38. Stanley Corkin, Cowboys as Cold Warriors: The West-

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ern and U.S. History (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2004), 165. 39. Corkin, Cold Warriors, 166. 40. Corkin, Cold Warriors, 182. 41. Corkin, Cold Warriors, 179. 42. Jennifer McMahon and B. Steve Csakis, “Philosophy and the Western,” Introduction to The Philosophy of the Western, 5. 43. Skoble, “Order Without Law,” 144. 44. Skoble, “Order Without Law,” 146. Slotkin, “Gunfighters,” 80. Hollywood’s distorted idea of the Mexican remained constant for the next decade. In “Chicanos Hit Films, Ads That Demean,” Variety, May 8, 1972, 1, Paul Macias, vice president of Justicia, called The Magnificent Seven “a bloodbath of Mexicans” and complained that no movies showed Mexicans as having dignity or morals.

Chapter 16 References for the various scenes discussed in this chapter are contained within the text.

Chapter 17 1. Memo to Harold Mirisch, September 15, 1960, signed by Arthur (Krim), Bob (Benjamin), Bill, Arnold, Jim. UA Addition, WCFTR. 2. Films were routinely taken out of the hands of directors at the editing stage in Hollywood’s golden era. 3. See Bad Day at Black Rock. 4. Lovell, Escape Artist, 211, 212. Lovell claimed the cuts were in response to the critics. He also said the film was given a “mediocre promotional campaign and late– November slot,” neither of which was true. The film’s problems were nothing to do with the lack of an advertising budget. 5. None of the scenes were removed. 6. “UA’s $2,700,000 Seven Is Given Saturation Booking in Switch,” Variety, Aug. 30, 1960, 4. This meant the movie had gone over budget by $300,000. In his book on United Artists, Tino Balio claimed: “Saturation was particularly effective for action pictures which had a ready-made market.” 7. The film was released in July 1959. The previous December Joe Levine had astonished the industry by announcing $1.2 million would be spent on promotion including $400,000 on radio and television and a comic book and a song. He invested $360,000 in 600 color prints, the biggestever amount for a domestic release. By March Warner Bros. had taken over domestic distribution and secured 2,000 bookings. The clamor for the movie was so strong that the film was launched in first run situations in the key cities as well as in surrounding local cinemas. In its first week in first run Hercules set a new record in San Francisco with $33,000 at the Paramount. The $30,000 in Cleveland was one of the year’s top results. It made $26,000 in Boston and Detroit and a “giant” $15,000 in Louisville. By August it was on target for 6,000 playdates. By the time the film appeared, he had already snapped up rights to the sequel Hercules and the Queen of Lydia which was re-titled Hercules Unchained. Levine would later also invest in art films, producing Sidney Lumet’s Long Day’s Journey into Night and releasing Fellini’s 8½ in the U.S. He was the subject of the 1963 documentary Showman. 8. Steinberg, Reel Facts, 438. 9. There were rumors that Warner Bros. had paid a $1million advance to Levine for Hercules Unchained. 10. Gay Talese, “The Slickest Showman in Hollywood,” Esquire, January 1961. Levine told Talese that he paid $12,000 for the Godzilla rights and made $1 million. His

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Chapter Notes—17

plans for the future had already rocked the industry. He was proposing a 1,500-print nationwide day-and-date launch. At $600 a print this would be an incredible gamble for studios at the time but, of course, it became the norm decades later. 11. “UA’s $2,700,000.” The studio had spent the same amount on advertising for Some Like It Hot, The Horse Soldiers and The Apartment. The worst performing of these, The Horse Soldiers, had grossed $7.5 million. The benefit of saturation was drastically reducing the release period. Around 80 percent of the total gross would be achieved within three months. Exhibitors had a curious psychology. Spending a million dollars as Levine had done attracted massive interest and press coverage. Spending $200,000 less did not. 12. “UA’s $2,7000,000.” 13. “UA’s Saturation on Seven a la Exploitation Pix,” Variety, Aug. 31, 1960, 7. 14. “Metro Big TV Spot Splurge on Voyage,” Variety, Feb. 17, 1960, 33. In advance of the film’s February 25 opening, MGM bought 120 one-minute and 40-second television ads in Los Angeles, the biggest single television spot advertising in its history. Starring television idol Robert Stack of The Untouchables, the movie, which took independents Andrew and Virginia Stone 18 months to make, finished in last place in the annual rankings with $1 million in rentals (approx. $2 million gross). 15. “Set Commandments,” Variety, Apr. 18, 1960, 2. The original selling point of the film had been director Cecil B. DeMille but after the success of Ben Hur the advertising was revamped to emphasize Charlton Heston. Atlanta was the first phase of a campaign aimed at getting the movie into 9,000 situations. 16. “Col’s 73G Dallas-Made Film B.O. Blockbuster in Dixie,” Variety, Apr. 20, 1960, 3. The 150 prints was the entire allocation. The film was the Easter “sleeper” in Texas, Louisiana, New Mexico and Mississippi. The movie would remain in these states until June then saturate other areas to coincide with the summer vacation. It was made by Gordon McClelland and Co. and picked up by Columbia. Given its budget, it was always going to be profitable, but failed to make enough for a place in the year-end rankings. 17. “Wicked Hits Pennsy Via 60 Saturations,” Variety, May 11, 1960, 5. An indie from Fanfare Film, it had a “mass world premiere” on May 4 in all these theaters, comprising first-run, neighborhood theaters and drive-ins. Later in the year it supported Female and Flesh starring Brigitte Bardot. 18. “Big Giant Spread,” Variety, May 20, 1960, 4. MGM picked up this Italian-made Giant of Marathon, directed by Jacques Tourneur (Cat People) and starring Steve Reeves (Hercules) and sent out 350 prints nationwide on Memorial Day. Los Angeles alone delivered $110,000 from 18 theaters. A few months later, it was thrown back into the fray as the support for Huckleberry Finn and in Chicago cracked open $250,000 from 54 cinemas. For all the big splash, the final numbers were disappointing, just $1.3 million in rentals ($2.6 million gross) to take 64th position in the annual rankings. 19. A full-page ad in Variety, June 29, 1960, 23, boasted that the low-budget Thunder in Carolina, about stock car racing, had roared off with $271,000 from 100 situations as a prelude to what it hoped would be nationwide domination. That failed to materialize. 20. “The Dracula Box Office Drive Is Rolling with That Big Universal Support,” ran the headline to a Variety ad on May 18 promoting the first wave of release in June. The Hammer film starring Peter Cushing was distributed by Universal. 21. “Joe Levine Carries On; Unchained to Warners; Metro Handles The Law,” Variety, Apr. 20, 1960, 120. Amid rumors that Levine spent $1.2 million advertising Hercules Unchained, the world premiere took place in the Pilgrim

first run theatre in Boston on June 28 where it snagged a $17,000 opening. The 300-print Boston and northeast saturation took $100,000. In Chicago 60 cinemas knocked up $450,000. Despite this, in the U.S. it came nowhere near the figures of the original. It took 33rd place in the annual rankings with $2.5 million in rentals ($5 million gross). In the U.K. 36 records were broken out of the first 39 theatres played. 22. “700-Theatre Premiere for UA Man of West,” Variety, Sept. 23, 1958, 5. Curiously, the next day an advert in Variety put the number at 300 “west to east south to north.” Even more curious still, Variety ran virtually the same article the next week—“700 Date Saturation for Man of West” (Variety, Oct. 1, 1958, 21), as if to clarify matters. 23. “New York Soundtrack,” Variety, Apr. 22, 1959, 12. 24. Variety, Sept. 4, 1960, 55. The experience did not appear to damage The Bellboy. It finished 12th for the year. 25. Three-page ad, Variety, Aug. 31, 1960, 5–7. This spelled out the extent of Levine’s promotion. A milliondollar ad spend did not always guarantee success as Jack the Ripper would soon prove. 26. “UA’s $2,700,000.” 27. “Re-Done from Japanese, Magnificent Seven Due into 1,000 Situations,” Variety, Sept. 28, 1960, 4. 28. Double-page ad in Variety, Sept. 22, 1960, 6–7. 29. Internal United Artists memo from W.J. Heinemann to Messrs. Velde, Fitter, Cohen and Cooper, July 27, 1960. UA Addition, WCFTR. 30. Memo from Heineman. 31. Memo from Heineman. 32. Syd Kornish, Associated Press, June 11, 1960. Brynner told reporters he planned to become “a civilian.” 33. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Oct. 12, 1960, 2. 34. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Nov. 23, 1960, 2. 35. “Rescue,” CBS Reports, was broadcast on December 15, 1960. Footage was added for the European market. 36. Paramount was hoping the reissue of The Ten Commandments would allow it to overtake Gone with the Wind as the biggest film of all time. 37. Steinberg, Reel Facts, 438. 38. Review of Once More with Feeling, Variety, Feb. 5, 1960, 3. “A good Broadway play turned into a better motion picture … Brynner turns in his best performance since The King and I … together he and Miss Kendall make an overwhelming screen couple.” Kendall had died three months after the film’s completion. Untimely death often boosted box office but as Kendall was largely unknown in the U.S. in this case it did not. Surprise Package was less well received. “Players, director and writer seem to assume to they’re pulling off something outrageously funny…. But it doesn’t quite come off,” said Variety. 39. Review of The Magnificent Seven, Variety, Oct. 5, 1960, 6. 40. Mirisch, Making Movies, 113. “The picture was exceedingly well-reviewed,” he said. 41. The New York Times added the film moved “at a thoughtful snail’s pace.” The Los Angeles Times thought it worthy to rank alongside classics like Stagecoach and High Noon. Newsweek called it a “hard-pounding adventure.” Reviews in local newspapers were equally divided. Under the heading “Bald Cowboy,” the Denton Record-Chronicle found Brynner as at home in a cowboy costume as Chilli Wills in a cutaway and concluded the western had “lots of grimace and gunfire.” 42. “250G in Magnificent B’cast Blurbs, Huge Outlay to Exploit UA Pic,” Variety, Sept. 30, 1960, 24. 43. Radio and television, Pressbook, 9. 44. Tie-ins, Pressbook, 9. 45. TV and radio, Pressbook, 9. 46. Lobby cards, Pressbook, 12. 47. Stunts, Pressbook, 9.

Chapter Notes—18 and 19 48. Life-size cut-outs, Pressbook, 9. 49. Record, Pressbook, 8. 50. Involving disc jockeys, Pressbook, 9. 51. Valances and badges, Pressbook, 12. 52. Costs, Pressbook, 9, 12. 53. Press releases, Pressbook, 10. 54. Mistakes, Pressbook, 1. 55. Credits, Pressbook, 2. 56. Hedda Hopper, Los Angeles Times, Sept. 21, 1960. The tour was for a fortnight from October 1. “You Can Sell Tix as Well as Learn in College: McQueen,” Variety, Oct. 13, 1960, 3. Colleges were high on the promotional agenda. 57. Official billing, pressbook, 2. 58. San Bernardino County Sun, Nov. 28, 1960, 15. The support was Walking Target. In the same week another cinema in town, the Tower, was showing The Magnificent Seven with Jubal, the Delmer Daves 1956 western starring Glenn Ford, and in competition the Tri-City drive-in had a John Wayne double bill of The Searchers and The High and the Mighty. Compared to the Norwath in Bridgeport, The Baseline was restrained in referring to one famous western. The Norwath promoted the film as a “New Concept in Westerns—Stagecoach—Red River—Shane—And Now The Magnificent Seven.” 59. Lockhart Post Register, Nov. 10, 1960, 2. 60. Troy Record, Oct. 25, 1960, 15. The State in Logansport, Indiana, went down the same route—“Great Movie Great Music!” 61. Corsicana Semi Light, Oct. 25, 1960, 2. 62. Salt Lake Tribune, Dec. 6, 1960. The film was shown with two cartoons. 63. Mount Vernon Register, Nov. 3, 1960, 4. The support in Mount Vernon was the British film A Touch of Larceny. 64. Daily Inter Lake, Nov. 10, 1960, 2. 65. Lubbock Avalanche-Journal, Nov. 25, 1960, 35. The movie returned in December to the Tower theater where the support was Disney’s The Sign of Zorro (“Now you can see TV’s own Zorro on the wide screen”). 66. Port Angeles Evening News, Nov. 7, 1960, 10. The ad carried a curious postscript urging patrons to see the film on Wednesday and Thursday in order to avoid the weekend “throng.” 67. San Mateo Times, Oct. 29, 1960, 26. The support was Robert Mitchum in Night Fighters (“Fighting mad, gun wild and girl crazy”). 68. The Childress Index, Nov. 14, 1960, 14. 69. Lawton Constitution, Nov. 10, 1960, 23. 70. Daily Journal, Dec. 29, 1960, 8. 71. Tyrone Daily Herald, Dec. 30, 1960, 2. 72. The Capital Times, Oct. 28, 1960, 32. In Madison, there was no supporting film. 73. Independent Record, Nov. 3, 1960, 13. The support was Cage of Evil (“Blonde bait … in a murder trap”). 74. Pasadena Independent, Dec. 20, 1960, 9. The Rialto program ran for three weeks. Over that period it also ran in different cinemas. The Lyric supported it with Key Witness, the Alhambra with the remake of The 39 Steps and the Colorado with Ten Who Dared. On a return visit in February 1961, The Magnificent Seven supported The Misfits. 75. Valley News, Dec. 15, 1960, 142. 76. Tucson Daily Citizen, Nov. 24, 1960, 38. 77. Simpsons Leader Times, July 3, 1961, 14. A month later at the Chicora cinema, the support was Girl of the Night. 78. Oswego Palladium-Times, Nov. 8, 1960, 5. 79. Post-Crescent, Dec. 29, 1960, 22. The support was Hell to Eternity starring Jeffrey Hunter. 80. Kansas City Star, Dec. 4, 1960, 95. That week The Magnificent Seven was showing in another six theatres—at

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the Dickinson it was paired with Night Fighters, at the Isis with Desire in the Dust, at the Vista with For the Love of Mike, at the Overland also with Night Fighters, at the Crest Riverside with Invisible Raiders and at the Lake Park with Fast and Sexy and Ten Seconds to Hell. The movie had made its debut in the city at the end of October at the Electric (with No Place to Hide in support) and Loews Midland (with Squad Car). It returned in mid–December to the Strand (with Band of Angels). In 1961 there were eight rebookings—in March at the Park (with Darby O’Gill and the Little People) and at the Ritz (with Don’t Give Up the Ship); in April the Heart double-billed it with The Big Country; in June the New 50, the New Claco and the Lake Part all had Hoodlum Priest in support while the Lakeside went back to The Big Country; and in December the Fairway repeated The Big Country. 81. Laredo Times, Aug. 3, 1961, 20. In 1962 The Magnificent Seven headlined a triple bill of Revolt at Fort Laramie and Gun Duel at Durango. 82. Yuma Daily Sun, June 29, 1961, 14.

Chapter 18 References for box office figures are contained within the text. 1. “Shepherd Kingdom Come as 20th (Associated) Pic Done by Goldwyn in 1920,” Variety, Apr. 27, 1960, 17. 2. Review of Freckles, Variety, Sept. 28, 1960, 6. 3. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Sept. 19, 1960, 2. The report said: “The Magnificent Seven has boffo sneak in Encino from reports sifting in.” Mirisch was so delighted with Coburn’s performance that it immediately entered into negotiations with him for a contract. 4. This explained why the New York Times dispatched second-string reviewer Howard Thompson to see the movie rather than Bosley Crowther. 5. “Rental Potential of 1960,” Variety, Jan. 4, 1961, 47. 6. “Censor Threat,” Associated Press, Feb. 26, 1960. Negative though it was, this story had by far the biggest impact in terms of publicity. Virtually every newspaper ran it on the front page, whereas other stories about the film were buried deep inside newspapers in the entertainment sections. The headlines changed from paper to paper—“Mexico Blocks Film” or “Yul Brynner Must Make Script Changes” or variations on the same idea—but the general tenor was one of a Hollywood studio climbing down in the face of the irate Mexicans. 7. Rick du Brow, “Steve McQueen Gives Up Racing Cars,” UPI, May 30, 1960. 8. Cynthia Lowry, “Steve McQueen to Make Singing Debut Tonight,” Associated Press, May 4, 1960. McQueen did little to repair good relations with Mexico by commenting, “The Mexican food, try that for a couple of months and you’ll lose weight.” 9. Du Brow, “Steve McQueen,” UPI, May 30, 1960. 10. Mike Connolly, syndicated column, Oct. 23, 1960. 11. Look, Oct. 11, 1960. 12. Patrick McNulty, “Steve McQueen Values Marriage and Career over Sports Racing,” Associated Press, Sept. 25, 1960. McNulty also commented that McQueen was “a bit short in the saddle” to be a screen cowboy. 13. “Steve McQueen Turns Chicken,” UPI, Sept. 18, 1960.

Chapter 19 1. “Mirisch Proposes Doing a Levine in Britain,” Variety, Feb. 8, 1961, 26. This was not so big a gamble as saturation in the U.S. Thanks to Joe Levine, British exhibitors

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Chapter Notes—19

were enamored of saturation. Levine had not owned the British rights to Hercules—which only grossed $75,000 there—so the sequel Hercules Unchained was the first of his movies to go down the saturation route in the United Kingdom. Few observers expected the staid British industry to fall for Levine’s “Barnum-style bally [publicity].” The average promotion budget for a big picture in the U.K. was $35,000, the highest $90,000. Levine spent $180,000. Hercules Unchained broke records virtually everywhere. His boldness resulted in rentals approaching $1.5 million. So you could say that British exhibitors and the public had already been softened up. 2. A release of April 16 was advertised in Films and Filming which went to press before the date was changed. 3. Daily Cinema, Apr. 14, 1961. 4. Daily Cinema, Apr. 19, 1961. 5. “Saturation Pays Off Big in London,” Variety, May 3, 1961, 7. “The success of the saturation campaign … may lead to new thinking on distribution policy in Britain.” On the basis of the opening a $5 million foreign gross was projected. 6. Variety, May 4, 1961, 3. As well as the Rank screens, it broke a record set in 1948 at the ABC in Waltham Green. 7. “West End Bright; Seven Boffo 20G,” Variety, Apr. 26, 1961, 10. “Notable newcomer is The Magnificent Seven.” 8. “First 20 Films at Italy’s B.O. for 1960–61,” Variety, Mar. 26, 1961, 64. It was sandwiched between The Unforgiven and North to Alaska. A further report reiterated the point about genre performance—“Westerns Still Clicking,” Variety, Apr. 26, 1961, 157. 9. “Ben Hur Record in Hong Kong,” Variety, Aug. 16, 1961, 16. The Biblical epic took $109,000 in 49 days, the western $71,000 in 39 days, 10. Dave Jampel, “Sock Seven Grosser in 3 Tokyo Houses,” Variety, July 5, 1961, 10. 11. Dave Jampel, “In Tokyo,” Variety, June 1, 1961, 6; Dave Jampel, “The Japan B.O. U.S Pix Take Rises to 5-Yr High,” Variety, Oct. 2, 1961, 1. United Artists made the biggest gains of the year. Also see “Big Scale Action Pictures, Domestic and U.S. Imports, Click Best in Japan,” Variety, May 2, 1962, 132. 12. “Top Names and Films,” Variety, July 11, 1962, 86. 13. “Ben Hur Top Picture with G.I. O’Seas,” Variety, May 23, 1961, 18. The Alamo was fourth and The Magnificent Seven sixth. 14. “Culture Schulture, It’s Out of Season,” Variety, May 2, 1962, 106. 15. Gene Moskowitz, “U.S. Films Dominate French B.O.,” Variety, Oct. 24, 1961, 39. An earlier report on Paris, “Hoss Operas in O’Seas Gallop,” Variety, Aug. 23, 1961, 5, revealed that the percentage of a film’s earnings that came from abroad was higher for westerns than other films. “The Magnificent Seven took a giant step forward once it made the transatlantic crossing.” Other westerns to do better abroad than at home were Cimarron and The Last Sunset. A third report headed “1960–61 French Cinema Tracks Below Last Year but Big Pix Still Click,” Variety, Oct. 11, 1961, 15, ranked The Magnificent Seven seventh overall for the year among the imports behind (in order) Ben Hur, Goodbye Again, Psycho, Exodus, The Alamo and Let’s Make Love. 16. Murray Schumach, “Hollywood Birthday,” New York Times, Sept. 30, 1962. 17. Dave Jampel, “Lazar’s Asiatic Fever Over Costs,” Variety, Feb. 12, 1963. The agent realized that “American movies can earn more money in these places than I thought. The Magnificent Seven, which didn’t do well in America, made its costs [back] and some profit out here.” 18. Internal United Artists memo, “Earnings of Mirisch Films as of December 4, 1963.” This was part of an analysis of the 20 films acquired by UA in the 1962 stock exchange

agreement. Only five films had made a profit on theatrical release. Overall, the films had lost a staggering $8.7 million. UA Addition, WCTFR. 19. “Earnings of Mirisch Films.” 20. “Earnings of Mirisch Films.” 21. “Earnings of Mirisch Films.” 22. Internal office rushgram to Arthur Krim from D. Picker, J. Ende and R. Koman. Cross-collateralization created a $1.3 million deficit. UA Addition, WCFTR. 23. In May in Los Angeles, playing solo at the Iris, the western brought in $3,800. The city simultaneously hosted three other reissues—Friendly Persuasion made $3,000, The Apartment/Elmer Gantry the same, while the third week of The King and I earned $9,000. The Magnificent Seven was retained for another week for $2,500. 24. Variety, Oct. 18, 1961, 11. A reissued double bill at the Grand of A Parisienne/The Magnificent Seven generated $5,000. 25. Variety, May 16, 1962, 8. While The Horse Soldiers and The Misfits were reissues, the situation with the new The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance was more interesting. In L.A. The Magnificent Seven was added to the fourth week of the John Ford picture’s run. The double bill made $3,200 which was $200 up on the previous week when the John Wayne–James Stewart movie flew solo. A double bill of The Horse Soldiers/The Magnificent Seven filled a two-week hole at the Victoria first-run theatre in New York. The first week generated a decent $11,000 and the second $7,000. Variety, June 15, 1962, 3. 26. In February in Washington, The Horse Soldiers/The Magnificent Seven took in $7,000. The same week in St. Louis The Horse Soldiers/North by Northwest targeted $9,000. 27. Valley News, Oct. 10, 1961, 27. This was at the Capri Theatre. 28. Anderson Daily Bulletin, Apr. 6, 1962, 11. The film played the Noblesville. 29. Salt Lake Tribune, Sept. 24, 1961, 24. At the Rialto. 30. Greeley Daily Tribune, Oct. 27, 1961, 1. At the Greeley Drive-In. 31. Ladd played a railroad agent. Not to be confused with the 1951 British crime drama Whispering Smith Hits London released in the U.S. as Whispering Smith vs. Scotland Yard. 32. “Westerns Riding Low in the Saddle,” UPI, Apr. 7, 1963. 33. This heading told the entire story: “Instead of Previous 200 Pilots Only 100 Seen Rolling for 62–62,” Variety, Jan. 17, 1962, 29. 34. Val Adams, “News of TV and Radio: The Virginian,” New York Times, Feb. 11, 1962, 125. 35. Letter from Marvin E. Mirisch to Arthur Krim, UA, Jan. 5, 1962. UA Addition, WCFTR. 36. Mirisch to Krim, January 5, 1962. 37. Mirisch to Krim, January 5, 1962. 38. Letter from Marvin E. Mirisch to Arthur Krim, UA, Jan. 11, 1962. UA Addition, WCFTR. 39. Mirisch to Krim, Jan. 11, 1962. 40. “NBC’s TV Strategy: A 90-Min Western Blockbuster as Answer to ABC’s Wagon Train Slotting?” Variety, Jan. 17, 1962, 29. At this stage, The Magnificent Seven was “out of the running.” The verdict was confirmed a week later. “Looks Like Revue Gets Nod on NBC’s 90-Min Series,” Variety, Jan. 24, 1962, 26. 41. “Westerns Riding Low,” UPI, Apr. 7, 1963. 42. “Westerns Riding Low,” UPI, Apr. 7, 1963. 43. When Bronson became famous three McPheeters episodes were strung together and released in Italy as The Californian. 44. “Westerns Riding Low,” UPI, Apr. 7, 1963.

Chapter Notes—19 45. “Westerns Riding Low,” UPI, Apr. 7, 1963. 46. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Oct. 13, 1963. He termed it “an all-time speed record—12 months—between theaters and home screens.” 47. Erskine Johnson, syndicated column, Mar. 3, 1963. 48. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Feb. 2, 1963, 2. 49. Hannan, The Making of Lawrence of Arabia, 164. Television had refused to pay the same for successful older movies as new ones. To change their minds, Columbia reissued Bridge on the River Kwai. 50. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Feb. 2, 1963, 2. 51. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Feb. 2, 1963, 2. 52. Memo from Frank Reel, United Artists Television, Inc., to Arthur Krim, April 30, 1963. Shortly afterwards, Sturges signed a new four-picture deal with Mirisch. UA Addition, WCFTR. 53. Reel to Krim. 54. Reel to Krim. 55. Internal memo from Arthur Krim, UA to Herb Schottenfeld, May 1, 1963. UA Addition, WCFTR. 56. Internal United Artists “Office Rushgram,” Jesse Slotkin to Herb Schottenfeld, May 3, 1963. The letter warned that Morheim was a “litigious character.” UA Addition, WCFTR. 57. Letter from Marvin E. Mirisch to Arthur Krim, UA, June 18, 1963. UA Addition, WCFTR. 58. Mirisch to Krim, June 18, 1963. 59. “NBC TV Dickers UA Magnificent 7,” Variety, May 17, 1963, 28. 60. Hank Grant syndicated column. 61. Richard F. Shepherd, “Japan Husbands Cowboy TV Show; CBS Develops Series Patterned on 1960 Movie,” New York Times, July 2, 1963, 59. 62. “Fante and Fenton Plot ‘7’ Pilot,” Variety, Aug. 29, 1963, 6. 63. Ralf Hardester of TV Guide Magazine, syndicated column, Oct. 26, 1963. 64. “Just for Variety,” Variety, May 24, 1963, 4. Vincent Canby of the New York Times later established that the fee ran into six figures. 65. “Wax Gold in Ivory Artists,” Variety, Apr. 12, 1961, 45. 66. Hannan, Guns of Navarone, 98. Dmitri Tiomkin was the doyen of film composers. For The Guns of Navarone, he negotiated a record $50,000 fee and a share of publishing and performance rights. 67. “Cap Seeks 7 Track from UA,” Variety, Nov. 3, 1960, 3. UA later told the press the film had been delayed for a fortnight until the single could get into the shops, which was untrue. 68. “Bernstein with Capital OK Cuts Biscuit for UA,” Variety, Mar. 8, 1961, 8. The theme was issued on a compilation Great Motion Picture Themes in February. 69. Variety, Oct. 25, 1961, 46. 70. Variety, Feb. 14, 1962, 44. 71. “U.A. Renews Ferrante & Teicher, Caiola,” Variety, Aug. 15, 1962, 45. 72. Mirisch, Making Movies, 113. 73. Mirisch, Making Movies, 237. 74. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Jan. 21, 1964, 2. 75. Garden City Telegram, Apr. 11, 1964, 3. 76. Fresno Bee, July 24, 1964, 11. Requiem for a Heavyweight was also on the bill. 77. Yuma Daily Sun, Feb. 27, 1964, 14. This was a triple bill, the other film being Jack the Giant Killer. 78. Kansas City Star, June 22, 1965, 10. Elsewhere in town Dr. No was in a double bill with From Russia with Love. To compete, this cinema added the western to make a triple bill. 79. Lincoln Star, Dec. 3, 1965, 12. Lee Marvin was in-

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correctly advertised as being one of the stars of The Magnificent Seven. 80. Valley Morning Star, Sept. 4, 1964, 28. 81. Florence Morning News, Feb. 26, 1965, 2. 82. Deming Headlight, July 9, 1964, 8. 83. Emporia Gazette, July 31, 1964, 6. 84. San Antonio Express, Aug. 13, 1964, 66. 85. Kansas City Star, June 26, 1964. 86. Ottawa Journal, Apr. 20, 1964, 41. 87. Salinas Journal, Sept. 18, 1964, 9. 88. Great Bend Tribune, Jan. 1, 1964, 9. 89. Upper Des Moines Register, Aug. 18, 1964, 11. 90. Tri City Herald, June 19, 1964, 2. 91. Emporia Gazette: Jan. 31, 1961; Feb. 7, 1961; June 27, 1961; Apr. 14, 1962; July 19, 1962; July 28, 1962; and Nov. 29, 1962. The reissued Seven Samurai was reported as playing in Emporia in March 1961. 92. Pasadena Independent: Apr. 28, 1961; May 5, 1961; June 23, 1961; Feb. 10, 1962; Mar. 30, 1962; Sept. 1, 1962; Oct. 11, 1962; June 22, 1963; Sept. 24, 1963; Aug. 1, 1964; and Oct. 30, 1964. Seven Samurai was reissued in the wake of The Magnificent Seven and was shown in Pasadena in March 1961. A double bill of The Magnificent Seven/Seven Samurai would later play various arthouses or universities such as the Humanities Auditorium at the State University of New York in June 1973. 93. Humboldt Republican, Dec. 29, 1965, 7. 94. Hedda Hopper, Los Angeles Times, Apr. 26, 1964. Apart from praise from a baffled Fonda, there was also some recognition of Sturges’ achievement as a director. The Lytton Centre for Visual arts in Los Angeles launched a series of retrospectives of noted filmmakers with five films of Sturges— Bad Day at Black Rock, The Old Man and the Sea, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, The Magnificent Seven and The Great Escape. 95. James Bacon, Associated Press, May 8, 1965. 96. Variety, Nov. 18, 1964, 15. 97. “Cooperation with Secondary Schools Better Biz than Merely Fighting 16mm,” Variety, Dec. 30, 1964, 5. 98. Variety, Nov. 11, 1964, 11. The gross was deemed “hefty.” 99. Variety, Mar. 4, 1964, 7. 100. “Quinn Action vs. Yul Brynner Pic,” Variety, Nov. 25, 1964, 13. 101. “Quinn Action Against Yul Brynner, Picture,” Variety, Nov. 25, 1964, 13. 102. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 38. 103. Rosenthal, Quinn vs. Brynner, 37. 104. “Tony Quinn Loses Magnificent Suit against Brynner,” Variety, Nov. 30, 1964, 1. 105. “Not Legally Binding,” Variety, Dec. 2, 1964, 3. 106. Hannan, The Top 100 Movie Stars of the 1960s (unpublished). 107. United Artists ad in Variety, Apr. 7, 1961, 8. 108. “UA Allocates $64 Mil for 22 Pix,” Variety, May 9, 1962, 1. 109. “Mirisch and Brynner Bid for Elephant from Ted Richmond,” Variety, June 25, 1962, 3l. 110. “Big Rental Pictures of 1962,” “Top Rental Films of 1963” and “Big Rental Pictures of 1964.” 111. “Star Inflation Hits London,” Variety, Nov. 25, 1964, 3. 112. “Battle of Bulge Widens; WB Gets Release of One,” Variety, Sept. 29, 1964, 1. The film was due to go into production in November with Richard Fleischer at the helm. Max von Sydow was to join Brynner in the cast. 113. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Jan. 15, 1964, 1. The company abandoned plans to film in Cambodia. Mirisch and Brynner cast around for other properties to complete their three-film deal.

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Chapter Notes—20

114. “Yul Brynner Crazy Horse in Custer,” Variety, Aug. 3, 1964, 2. 115. “Big Rental Pictures of 1965.”

Chapter 20 1. “Bernstein Provides Magnificent Broadway Beat,” Variety, Apr. 20, 196, 8. 2. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Jan. 21, 1964, 2. 3. “Magnificent Seven Sequel Slated by Mirisch,” Variety, Mar. 2, 1964, 2. 4. Rock Brynner, Yul, The Man Who Would Be King: A Memoir of Father and Son (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1989), 207. 5. Brynner, Yul, 170. 6. Rock also claimed it was he who had alerted his father to McQueen’s potential after seeing him in Wanted: Dead or Alive and that Yul had played the biggest part in getting McQueen the job. 7. New York Times, Nov. 17, 1964. Ted Richmond was the credited producer. 8. Variety, Nov. 18, 1964, 2. 9. “Magnificent Seven Sequel Slated,” Variety, Mar. 2, 1964. 10. Variety, Jan. 18, 1965, 3. 11. “Fear Mexico Rains,” Variety, Feb. 24, 1965, 3. 12. “Kennedy to Direct Return of the 7,” Variety, July 16, 1965, 1. 13. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Nov. 24, 1965, 2. 14. “Elmer Bernstein to Sign for UA Records,” Variety, Dec. 17, 1965, 18. “Elmer Beat for Return,” Variety, May 23, 1966, 6. The original music was released in August. 15. “Concept of Adaptation Requires Academy Sift, Sez Bernstein,” Variety, Jan. 19, 1967, 57. Although he doubted he deserved the nomination, he did not turn it down it on the grounds that it would be “insulting to my colleagues.” 16. “Earnings Analysis.” 17. Review of Return of the Seven, Variety, Oct. 12, 1966, 6. 18. Vincent Canby, “Boring to Sickening,” New York Times, Oct. 20, 1966, 52. Canby thought The Magnificent Seven was “terrifically entertaining.” 19. “National Box Office Survey,” Variety, Nov. 16, 1966, 7. 20. “New York Showcases,” Variety, Oct. 26, 1966, 9, 24. “Showcase” was a development of “saturation” with one major difference—there was no stigma attached, all films now went down this route. 21. “Big Rental Pictures of 1966,” Variety, Jan. 4, 1967, 8. That was based on anticipated rentals of $1 million ($2 million gross), but in the end the film pulled in $1.6 million in rentals which would have placed it nine positions higher. It was beaten by Nevada Smith (16th), Texas Across the River (21st), the remake of Stagecoach (27th), The Professionals (30th) and The Rare Breed (49th). 22. Variety, Dec. 13, 1967, 11. The double bill in Washington shot up $9,000. 23. “Earnings Analysis.” 24. “Fennelly Plans Second 7 Sequel,” Variety, Aug. 3, 1967, 1. Originally, the film was called The Magnificent Seven Ride Again. Fennelly had not made a movie for a decade, being better known for television. Herman Hoffman was appointed to write the script. 25. “UA-Mirisch Roll Third Seven for Solid O’Seas B.O.,” Variety, Aug. 9, 1967, 20. 26. “Earnings Analysis.” 27. “50 Top Films,” Variety, Aug. 13, 1969, 11. This weekly chart took a sample that equated to a third of the national gross.

28. Review of Guns of The Magnificent Seven, Variety, May 21, 1969, 6. 29. “Inside Pictures,” Variety, Aug. 20, 1969, 22. 30. “UA-Mirisch Roll Third Seven,” Variety, Aug. 9, 1967. 31. “Earnings Analysis.” 32. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Aug. 5, 1970, 2; “Just for Variety,” Variety, Dec. 27, 1971, 2. 33. “Box Office Report,” Variety, June 11, 1969, 11. The double bill made $14,000 at the Keith in Washington. “Box Office Report,” Variety, June 25, 1969, 8. This referred to the Adams cinema in Detroit which pulled in $11,000 the first week and $8,500 the second. 34. “Hollywood Soundtrack,” Variety, Nov. 25, 1970, 23. 35. Gene Moskowitz, “In Paris,” Variety, July 8, 1970, 5. 36. “Italo Western, U.S. Medic Farce Lead Paris Firstruns,” Variety, May 12, 1971, 73. 37. “All-Time Grossers in Japan,” Variety, June 15, 1960, 42. 38. “Big Rental Pictures of 1962,” Variety, Jan. 9, 1963, 13. 39. “Great Role for Steve McQueen,” Variety, June 15, 1960, 8. 40. Variety, Mar. 30, 1960, 13. Production was due to start in the summer. 41. “Just for Variety,” Variety, June 29, 1960, 2. McQueen was beaten to the punch by director Allen Reisner who then offered McQueen one of the three leads along with Henry Fonda and Ernest Borgnine. 42. Lovell, Escape Artist, 228. 43. Lovell, Escape Artist, 228. Lorenzo Semple, Jr., who wrote the play, later created the Batman television show and penned the screenplays for Papillon (1973) and King Kong (1976). 44. Full page ad in Variety, July 5, 1961, 37. 45. “McQueen Plans to Film Wilderness as Indie,” Variety, June 156, 1961, 5. McQueen formed Cherry Productions to make a film of the book by Bob Kaufman and Peter Barry. 46. “McQueen Buys Time,” Variety, Oct. 6, 1961, 7. He was in London filming The War Lover for Columbia. The play was due to be staged in London the following January. While in Britain, McQueen had co-produced The Rose Affair which was shown on the BBC. He was planning a 90minute version for American television. 47. “McQueen Buys Troika,” Variety, Dec. 5, 1961, 6. 48. “McQueen Adds Wild Pic to His King-Sized Slate,” Variety, Mar. 29, 1963, 6. He had ten projects under consideration. He and Sturges had bought the H.E. Bates story Kimono. The Antonioni film was called Moderamente Dolce and he had also been offered the lead in Rabbit Run from the John Updike book and turned down the lead in Maharajah. 49. “Carl Foreman Firming McQueen for Victors,” Variety, Apr. 27, 1962, 11. Apparently McQueen was so keen he and Foreman met with Sturges to try and iron out the scheduling conflict. 50. “Just for Variety,” Variety, June 29, 1960, 2. Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas were another option, but considered too expensive, either of their salaries dwarfing McQueen’s. 51. Letter, Marvin Mirisch to Arthur Krim, February 10, 1961. “Many of the actors with whom we have discussed the project, such as Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon and Dean Martin have expressed their enthusiasm for this kind of picture.” The correspondence was actually a begging letter. Mirisch was asking permission to make a loan of $50,000 to Sturges on the grounds that in committing his time fully to The Great Escape he had turned down five other offers. At this point, Sturges’ fee was $175,000–$200,000. UA Addition, WCFTR. 52. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Dec. 6, 1961, 2.

Chapter Notes—21 53. “Garner’s Escape Deal for M-A,” Variety, May 3, 1962, 3. 54. Internal UA memo, Joseph Adelman to Herbert Schottenfeld, July 17, 1962. This salary covered nine weeks starting June 15, 1962. If shooting ran over nine weeks he would be paid at the rate of $11,111 per week (i.e., identical remuneration). He ended up being paid $172,222. The contract also stipulated that McQueen would have director approval if Sturges pulled out. McQueen’s demand that his name be biggest on the credits and the same size as the title caused problems later and, graciously, given the ensemble nature of the movie, McQueen agreed to change this. He also received five first-class air tickets, including one for the children’s nurse. Six months before, Sturges had told Variety that McQueen’s salary would be $87,500. James Garner was paid $150,000—his deal prevented him starring opposite Marilyn Monroe in Something’s Got to Give. UA Addition, WCFTR. 55. “Big Rental Pictures of 1963,” Variety, Jan. 8, 1964, 37. 56. “Earnings Analysis.” 57. “Big Rental Pictures of 1964,” Variety, Jan. 6, 1965, 39. 58. Aubrey Solomon, Twentieth Century–Fox: A Corporate and Financial History (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2002), 254. Curiously, the film was not mentioned in the year’s annual rankings. It certainly made more than the $1 million in rental required for entry. But Variety had discontinued its practice of allowing studios to estimate gross and it may be that the magazine and the studio could not agree on the film’s earnings. 59. “Big Rental Films of 1968,” Variety, Jan. 8, 1969, 15. 60. “Big Rental Films of 1969,” Variety, Jan. 7, 1970, 15. 61. Hannan, The Top 100 Movie Stars of the 1960s. 62. Hannan, The Top 100 Movies of the 1960s. 63. “Big Rental Pictures of 1966.” According to Aubrey Solomon the film cost a relatively modest $3.52 million. 64. “Big Rental Pictures of 1966,” Variety, Jan. 4, 1967, 8. 65. “Big Rental Films of 1967,” Variety, Jan. 3, 1968, 25. This was only marginally more expensive, according to Solomon, than Our Man Flint, costing $3.77 million. 66. “Big Rental Films of 1967,” Variety, Jan. 3, 1968. 67. “Big Rental Films of 1967,” Variety, Jan. 3, 1968. Waterhole 3’s ranking is misleading for, unusually, it was back in the charts the following year with another $2.7 million in rentals. Had the total been earned in 1968, it would have been 27th in that year’s chart. 68. Hannan, Top 100 Movie Stars. 69. Hannan, Top 100 Movies of the 1960s. 70. Review of This Property Is Condemned, Variety, June 15, 1966, 6. This was not the first time Bronson had received a good review. The Los Angeles Times review of Machine Gun Kelly noted that Bronson had the “artistic intelligence of a very fine actor—too fine for low budget films.” 71. Bronson had turned down parts in the Dollar films. 72. “Just for Variety,” Variety, Sept. 21, 1968, 2. 73. “Just for Variety,” Variety, June 30, 1968. 74. “Italo Biz Unites to Aid Sicily Tourism Via Taormina Film Festival,” Variety, July 24, 1968, 26. The film was to be directed by Terence Young. 75. “Rising Skepticism on Stars,” Variety, May 15, 1968, 1. 76. Michael Parkinson, Selected Interviews from the Television Series (London: Elm Tree Books, 1975), 98. 77. “Big Rental Pictures of 1962,” Variety, Jan. 9, 1963, 13. 78. “Big Rental Films of 1964,” Variety, Jan. 6, 1965. 79. “Big Rental Pictures of 1965,” Variety, Jan. 5, 1966, 6. 80. “Big Rental Films of 1970,” Variety, Jan. 6, 1970, 11. 81. Bernstein always told people he reckoned this award was for the sum of his work rather than just the musical.

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82. “Magnificent Seven Deal,” Variety, Dec. 31, 1975, 30. “24 CBS TV Pilots for Next Season,” Variety, Jan. 6, 1976, 1. 83. “Eye boosts MGM orders Seven,” Variety, July 31, 1997, 1. CBS initially ordered 6 episodes plus a two-hour movie which acted as the pilot. The series was produced by Trilogy TV and written by John Watson and Pen Densham, who wrote the Kevin Costner version of Robin Hood. In 1998, CBS ran it as part of a western “block” on Saturday night with Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman and Walker, Texas Ranger. 84. Review of The Magnificent Seven Ride, Variety, July 26, 1972, 14. The reviewer complained about the “ludicrous dialogue” and “preposterous bloodshed.” 85. “Box Office Report,” Variety, Aug. 9, 1972, 10. The same week in the New York Showcases, Ben wolfed down $630,000 from 103 theatres, Kansas City Bomber $191,000 from 40 cinemas and Slaughterhouse Five (in its second week) $220,000 from 31 units. 86. “Box Office Report,” Variety, Sept. 6, 1972, 9. 87. “Box Office Report,” Variety, Sept. 27, 1972, 12. This was at the Show Place in Cleveland. 88. “Earnings Analysis.” 89. “Earnings Analysis.” 90. “Box Office Report,” Variety, Jan. 20, 1971, 9. 91. “Box Office Report,” Variety, Jan. 27, 1971, 8. 92. “Box Office Report,” Variety, July 17, 1974, 25. 93. “Box Office Report,” Variety, Sept. 25, 1974, 27. 94. “Japan’s 50 Top Grossing Films,” Variety, Aug. 25, 1976, 64 95. “Biggest Grossing Films in France over 18 Years,” Variety, May 12, 1976, 268. Based on figures supplied by Centre du Cinema. 96. “Box Office Report,” Variety, Jan. 1, 1977, 11. 97. “Soccer Clobbers Italo B.O., ‘Kramer,’ ‘Five,’ Reissues Lead,” Variety, June 25, 1980, 43. 98. Review of Sandinista, Variety, Feb. 18, 1981, 81. 99. “Music Notes,” Variety, Oct. 1, 1982, 34. UA generated $2 million in revenues from selling film music as jingles. 100. “Summer Cinema Sock in Rome, First 10 Days Tix Sales Up 50%,” Variety, Aug. 26, 1981, 47. 101. “Walter Hill Hollywood Streak,” Variety, Sept. 21, 1983, 16. 102. “Calley Ups United Artists Pix Tally,” Variety, Nov. 14, 1994, 22. 103. “MGM Partners Roll a Seven,” Variety, Mar. 1, 2002, 1. 104. “MGM Shoots for Seven,” Variety, May 22, 2012, 1. 105. “Earnings Analysis.” 106. “Earnings Analysis.” 107. “Earnings Analysis.” 108. “Earnings Analysis.” 109. “Earnings Analysis.” 110. “Earnings Analysis.” 111. “Earnings Analysis.”

Chapter 21 1. Andrew Sarris, The American Cinema, Directors and Directions 1929–1968 (New York: E.P. Dutton, 1968). Sarris gave as his reason for writing the book and ranking the directors to “establish a system of priorities for the film student.” 2. Jim Hemphill, American Cinematography Magazine, February 2009. 3. Andrew Sarris, “The World of Howard Hawks Part 1,” Films & Filming, July 1962, 20–23; “Masculine Codes and Useless Creatures—The World of Howard Hawks Part 2,” Films & Filming, August 1962, 44–48. 4. Sarris, American Cinema, 33. Sarris objected to the

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Chapter Notes—Appendix

idea that enthusiasm could be a guiding criterion for criticism. He believed that a critic’s stature rose in line with the more movies he criticized. He said, “The more movies panned, the more honest the reviewer.” 5. Sarris, American Cinema, 39. 6. Sarris, American Cinema, 83. 7. Sarris, American Cinema, 171. 8. Sarris, American Cinema, 155. 9. Sarris, American Cinema, 189. 10. Sarris, American Cinema, 202. 11. Sarris, American Cinema, 37. 12. Sarris, American Cinema, 26. 13. Jim Kitses, Horizons West: The Western from John Ford to Clint Eastwood, rev. ed. (London: British Film Institute, 2007). 14. John G. Cawelti, The Six-Gun Mystique (Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popular Press, 1970), Appendix B. 15. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 29. 16. Gow, Hollywood in the Fifties, 29. 17. John Baxter, Hollywood in the Sixties (London: Tantivy Press, 1972), 109. 18. Beale, “The American Way West,” 28. 19. French, Westerns, 4. In a revised edition, he bracketed Bad Day at Black Rock alongside Sergio Leone’s Once Upon a Time in the West and Roman Polanski’s Chinatown as “a trilogy of political films dealing with the fight over water and land in the American West.” 20. Jenni Calder, Lone Ranger, 199. 21. Du Pre Jones, “The Merit of Flying Lead,” Films & Filming, Jan. 1974, 30–34. 22. Du Pre Jones, “The Power of the Gun,” Films & Filming, Feb. 1974, 24–29. 23. Christopher Frayling, Sergio Leone: Something to Do with Death (London: Faber and Faber, 2000), 118. 24. Christopher Frayling, Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone, rev. ed. (London: I. B. Tauris, 2006), 127–128. 25. Frayling, Sergio Leone, 134, 136. 26. Hughes, Once Upon a Time in the Italian West, 4, 30, 162, 220, 225. 27. Brian Garfield, Western Films: A Complete Guide (New York: Da Capo Press, 1982), 62–63. 28. Garfield, Western Films, 225. 29. Ronald Bergen, The United Artists Story (London: Octopus, 1986), 198. 30. Edward Buscombe, The BFI Companion to the Western (London: Andre Deutsch, 1988), 282–3. 31. Joan Mellen, Seven Samurai (London: British Film Institute, 2002), 69, 71. 32. Slotkin, “Gunfighters.” 33. French, The Western. 34. Calder, There Must Be a Lone Ranger. 35. Corkin, Cowboys as Cold Warriors. 36. Grant, ed., American Cinema in the 1960s, Themes and Variations. 37. McMahon and Csakis, eds., The Philosophy of the Western. 38. Howard Hughes, Stagecoach to Tombstone: The Filmgoer’s Guide to the Great Westerns (London: I. B. Tauris, 2008), 131. 39. Glen Levy, Time, Sept. 29, 2010. 40. Empire, Sept. 2008. In a subsequent list of 301 best films published in June 2014 it was omitted. 41. Western Writers of America, The 100 Greatest Westerns of All-Time, 2009. 42. Hughes, Stagecoach to Tombstone. 43. Lovell, Escape Artist. Carpenter’s words are part of the blurb on the book jacket.

44. Lovell, Escape Artist, 296. 45. “Magnificent 7 Prostitution Ring On Trial,” Pasadena Independent, Dec. 21, 1961, 17. 46. Vaughn, A Fortunate Life, 110. Globally, it probably outranks the other two as westerns travelled better than either musicals or romance. 47. Jack Pitman, “British TV on Bijou Binge,” Variety, Sept. 11, 1974, 50. 48. “Notes from Broadcast Markets,” Variety, Jan. 15, 1975, 64.

Appendix 1. “Of 60 Features Made by Toho, Mori Believes 10 Suitable for Yanks,” Variety, Jan. 23, 1963, 22. 2. “Toho Now Distributing Own Features,” Variety, Aug. 13, 1962, 10. 3. “Toho Plans Cinema in Hawaii,” Variety, Mar. 7, 1962, 19. 4. “Toho Arty to Showcase Its Pix in Gotham,” Variety, Jan. 2, 1963, 3. 5. “Toho to Hold Summer Fest Here,” Variety, July 5, 1963, 3. 6. “Toho Shrouding Its B’way Showcase,” Variety, June 1, 1965, 3. 7. “Distribs Exploiting N.Y. Museum Ties,” Variety, Sept. 1, 1971, 18. 8. Ronald Gold, “New Showmanship Angles Beat Jinx on Japanese Films in U.S. Marts,” Variety, June 2, 1971, 6. This approach cut the cost of launching new films from $25,000 to $1,000. 9. “New York Soundtrack,” Variety, Dec. 29, 1971, 4. 10. “Samurai Between Covers,” Variety, May 5, 1971, 68. 11. “PBS Exploits Schedule with 4 Primetimes,” Variety, Nov. 24, 1971, 36. 12. “Classics Pay Off at Japanese B.O.,” Variety, Oct. 22, 1975, 115. 13. “Teheran Fest Echoes,” Variety, Dec. 15, 1976, 34. 14. “Revival Houses Become a Prominent Facet of Exhibition,” Variety, Feb. 4, 1980, 14. 15. “International Soundtrack,” Variety, Sept. 17, 1980, 50. 16. “Kane Tops All-Time Best Pic Poll,” Variety, Dec. 1, 1982, 4. 17. “Sound Enhancement of Samurai Reissue Aggressive at B.O.,” Variety, May 10, 1982, 2. 18. “New York Soundtrack,” Variety, June 6, 1984, 24. The season, running from June 15 till July 5 also included Throne of Blood, Sanjuro and Yojimbo. 19. “Shelf Books,” Variety, Nov. 7, 1984, 108. 20. “Nippon Films in the U.S.: Kurosawa to Godzilla,” Variety, Sept. 17, 1990, 64. 21. “Kurosawa Slaps Toho with Suit,” Variety, Mar. 13, 1992, 14. 22. Dan Cox, “MGM, Kurosawa Settle Seven,” Variety, Jan. 13, 1994, 12. 23. “Kurosawa Tribute Hit in H.K.,” Variety, Jan. 8, 1988, 33. 24. “Kurosawa to Get Honorary Oscar,” Variety, Dec. 12, 1989, 1. 25. Charles Lyons, “Samurai Re-Release Set,” Variety, Apr. 29, 2002, 4. 26. Steve Chagollan, “Enduring Test of Time,” Variety, Nov. 13, 2002, A10. 27. “MGM, Miramax Roll Seven,” Variety, Mar. 1, 2002, 1. 28. Gabriel Snyder, “John Fusco to Script Samurai,” Variety, June 9, 2006, 7. 29. Dade Hayes, “TWC Detail Asian Slate,” Variety, Apr. 16, 2008, 4. 30. “Helmer Rolls a Seven,” Variety, May 4, 2011, 3.

Bibliography Agnew, Jeremy. The Old West in Fact and Film: History Versus Hollywood. Jefferson: McFarland, 2012. Antoniades, Anthony, and Mike Siegel. Steve McQueen: The Actor and His Films. Worthing: Dalton Watson Fine Books, 2011. Armour, Philip. The 100 Greatest Westerns of All Time, Including Five You’ve Never Heard Of. Portland: Two Dot Books, 2011. Bach, Steven. Final Cut: Dreams and Disaster in the Making of “Heaven’s Gate.” New York: Wm. Morrow, 1985. Balio, Tino. United Artists: The Company Built by the Stars. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1976. _____. United Artists: The Company That Changed the Film Industry. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1987. _____, ed. The American Film Industry, 2d rev. ed. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985. Basinger, Jeanine. Anthony Mann. Boston: Twayne, 1979. _____. The World War II Combat Film, Anatomy of a Genre, 2d rev. ed. Middletown: Wesleyan University Press, 2003. Baxter, John. The Cinema of John Ford. London: A. Zwemmer, 1972. Behlmer, Rudy, ed. Memo from Darryl F. Zanuck: The Golden Years at Twentieth Century Fox. New York: Grove Press, 1993. Bergen, Ronald. The United Artists Story. London: Octopus, 1986. Boetticher, Budd. When in Disgrace. Fallbrook, CA: Fallbrook Publishing, 1996. Bogdanovich, Peter. John Ford. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967. Borkin, Joseph. Robert R. Young, The Populist of Wall Street. New York: Joanna Cotler Books, 1969. Braun, Eric. Deborah Kerr. London: W.H. Allen, 1977. Brynner, Rock. Yul, The Man Who Would Be King. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1989. Buford, Kate. Burt Lancaster, An American Life. New York: Aurum Press, 2000. Burns, E. Bradford. Latin American Cinema: Film and History. Los Angeles, 1975. Buscombe, Edward. The BFI Companion to the Western. New York: Atheneum, 1988. _____. The Searchers. London: British Film Institute, 2002.

_____. Stagecoach. London: British Film Institute, 1992. Calder, Jenni. There Must Be a Lone Ranger. London: Hamish Hamilton, 1974. Cameron, Ian, and Douglas Pye, eds. The Movie Book of the Western. London: Studio Vista, 1996. Capua, Michelangelo. Yul Brynner. Jefferson: McFarland, 2006. Carter, David R. The Western, Kindle ed. Kamera Books, 2010. Caspar, Drew. Post-War Hollywood 1946–1962. Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007. Caewetti, John G. The Six Gun Mystique. Bowling Green: Bowling Green University Press, 1971. Chandler, Charlotte. Ingrid: A Personal Biography. London: Simon & Schuster, 2007. Clapham, Walter. Western Movies: The Story of the West on Screen. London: Octopus, 1974. Corkin, Stanley. Cowboys as Cold Warriors: The Western and U.S. History. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2004. Costanza, William V. World Cinema Through Global Genres. Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell, 2013. Cumbow, Robert C. Once Upon a Time: The Films of Sergio Leone. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 1987. Daniel, Douglass K. Tough as Nails: The Life and Times of Richard Brooks. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2011. DeMille, Cecil B. Autobiography. London: W. H. Allen, 1960. Dmytryk, Edward. On Filmmaking. New York: Focal Press, 1986. Eyles, Allen. The Western: An Illustrated Guide. London: A. Zwemmer, 1967. Fager, Herb. The Encyclopedia of Westerns. New York: Facts on File, 2003. Fenin, George N. and William K. Everson. The Western, from the Silents to the Seventies, rev. ed. London: Penguin, 1979. Frayling, Christopher. Sergio Leone: Once Upon a Time in Italy. New York: Harry N. Abrams, 2005. _____. Sergio Leone: Something to Do with Death. New York: Faber and Faber, 2000. _____. Spaghetti Westerns: Cowboys and Europeans from Karl May to Sergio Leone. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1981.

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French, Philip. Westerns: Aspects of a Genre. London: Martin Secker and Warburg, 1974. Fujiwara, Chris. The World and Its Double: The Life and Work of Otto Preminger. New York: Faber and Faber, 2008. Garfield, Brian. Western Films: A Complete Guide. New York: Da Capo Press, 1982. Gow, Gordon. Hollywood in the Fifties. London: A. Zwemmer, 1971. Grant, Barry Keith, ed. American Cinema of the 1960s: Themes and Variations. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 2008. Hannan, Brian. Hitchcock at the Box Office Vol. 2. Glasgow: Baroliant Press, 2013. _____. The Making of Butterfield 8. Amazon, 2014. A shorter version appeared in Cinema Retro Issue 28 (2014). _____. The Making of The Guns of Navarone. Glasgow: Baroliant Press, 2013. _____. The Top 100 Films of the 1960s. Unpublished. _____. The Top 100 Movie Stars of the 1960s. Unpublished. _____. Westerns at the Box Office. Unpublished. Herman, Jan. A Talent for Trouble: The Life of Hollywood’s Most Acclaimed Director, William Wyler. New York: G. P. Putnam & Sons, 1995. Holston, Kim R. Movie Roadshows: A History and Filmography of Reserved-Seat Limited Showings 1911– 1973. Jefferson: McFarland, 2013. Hughes, Howard. Once Upon a Time in the Italian West: The Filmgoers’ Guide to Spaghetti Westerns. London: I.B. Tauris, 2004. _____. Stagecoach to Tombstone: The Filmgoers’ Guide to Great Westerns. London: I.B. Tauris, 2008. Kael, Pauline. Kiss Kiss, Bang, Bang. London: Marion Boyars, 1970. Kennedy, Burt. Hollywood Trail Boss: Behind the Scenes of the Wild, Wild Westerns. New York: Boulevard Books, 1997. Kitses, Jim. Horizons West: The Western from John Ford to Clint Eastwood, rev. ed. London: British Film Institute, 2007. _____, and Gregg Rickman, eds. The Western Reader. New York: Limelight Editions, 2004. Lenihan, John H. Showdown: Confronting Modern America in the Western Film. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1988. Lovell, Glenn. Escape Artist, The Life and Films of John Sturges. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2008. Louvish, Simon. Cecil B. DeMille and the Golden Calf. London: Faber and Faber, 2007. Published in the United States as Cecil B. DeMille: A Life in Art. New York: Thomas Dunne Books, 2008. Lusted, David. The Western. Harlow: Pearson Education, 2003. Lyons, Robert, ed. My Darling Clementine. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press, 1984. Madsen, Axel. Billy Wilder. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1969. Maltin, Leonard. Classic Movie Guide: From the Silent Era Through 1965, 2d ed. New York: Plume, 2010. McBride, Joseph. Searching for John Ford: A Life. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2001.

McCarthy, Todd. Howard Hawks: The Grey Fox of Hollywood. New York: Grove Press, 1977. McDonald, Archie P. Shooting Stars: Heroes and Heroines of Western Film. Bloomington: Indianapolis University Press, 1987. McGee, P. From Shane to Kill Bill: Rethinking the Western. Hoboken: Wiley-Blackwell, 2007. McMahon, Jennifer L. and B. Steven Csaki, eds. The Philosophy of the Western. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2010. Mellen, Joan. Seven Samurai. London: British Film Institute, 2002. Mirisch, Walter. I Thought We Were Making Movies, Not History. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2008. Mora, Carl J. Mexican Cinema: Reflections of a Society, 1896–1980. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990. Munson, Chris. The Marketing of Motion Pictures. Los Angeles: Chris Munson, 1969. Nachbar Jack. Focus on the Western. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall, 1974. Parkinson, Michael. Selected Interviews from the Television Series. London: Elm Tree Books, 1975. Pirie, David, ed. Anatomy of the Movies. London: Macmillan, 1984. Preminger, Otto. An Autobiography. New York: Doubleday, 1977. Quinn, Anthony. One Man Tango. London: HarperCollins, 1995. Richie, Donald. The Films of Akira Kurosawa, Expanded and Updated. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999. _____. Japanese Cinema: Film Style and National Character. New York: Doubleday, 1971. Robbins, Jhan. The Inscrutable Yul Brynner. New York: Dodd, Mead, 1987. Sandford, Christopher. McQueen: The Biography. London: HarperCollins, 2001. Sarf, Wayne Michael. God Bless You, Buffalo Bill: A Layman’s Guide to History and the Western Film. East Brunswick: Associated University Presses, 1993. Sarris, Andrew. American Cinema: Directors and Directions 1929–1968. New York: E.P. Dutton, 1968. Sherman, Eric, and Martin Rubin. The Directors Event: Interviews with Five American Filmmakers, Budd Boetticher, Peter Bogdanoch, Samuel Fuller, Arthur Penn and Abraham Polonsky. New York: Atheneum, 1970. Sinclair, Andrew. John Ford: A Biography. New York: Dial Press, 1979. Slide, Anthony, ed. De Toth on de Toth: Putting the Drama in Front of the Camera. London: Faber & Faber, 1996. Slotkin, Richard. Gunfighter Nation: The Myth of the Frontier in Twentieth Century America. New York: Maxwell Macmillan, 1992. Solomon, Aubrey. Twentieth Century–Fox: A Corporate and Financial History. Lanham: Scarecrow Press, 1998. Steinberg, Cobbett. Reel Facts. New York: Vintage, 1968. Stowell, Peter. John Ford. Boston: Twayne, 1986. Tuska, Jon. The American West in Film: Critical Ap-

Bibliography proaches to the Western. Westport: Greenwood Press, 1985. Vaughn, Robert. A Fortunate Life. London: JR Books, 2009. Vogel, Frederick G. Hollywood Musicals Nominated for Best Picture. Jefferson: McFarland, 2003. Walker, Janet, ed. Westerns: Films Through History. New York: Routledge, 2001. Wallach, Eli. The Good, the Bad and Me. New York: Harvest Harcourt, 2006. Wallis, Hal B., and Charles Higham. Starmaker: The Autobiography of Hal B. Wallis. New York: Macmillan, 1980. White, John. Westerns. New York: Routledge, 2011. Windeler, Robert. Burt Lancaster. New York: St Martin’s Press, 1984. Wood, Robin. Howard Hawks. London: Studio Vista, 1967. Wood, Tom. The Bright Side of Billy Wilder, Primarily. New York: Doubleday, 1970.

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Woodward, Ian. Audrey Hepburn. London: W.H. Allen, 1984. Woll, Allen L. The Latin Image in the American Film. Los Angeles: UCLA Latin American Center, 1980.

Articles Kaminsky, Stuart. “The Samurai Film and the Western.” Journal of Popular Film, Fall 1972. Kitchin, Lawrence. “The Decline of the Western.” The Listener, July 14, 1966. Slotkin, Richard. “Gunfighters and Green Berets: The Magnificent Seven and the Myth of Counterinsurgency.” Division II Faculty Publications, Wesleyan University, 1989. Sturges, John. “How the West Was Lost.” Films & Filming, Dec. 1962. Zinnemann, Fred. “Choreography of a Gunfight.” Sight & Sound, July–Sept. 1952.

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Index Numbers in bold italics indicate pages with photographs. Abbott and Costello 203 ABC Television 8, 210, 211 Ace in the Hole 56 Actors strike 1 Adieu L’Ami 224 Adios Sabato 233 The Adolf Eichmann Story 76 The Adventures of Baron Munchausen 51, 77 Affair in Havana 94 Affliction 222 Africa 215 The African Queen 29 The Agony and the Ecstasy 222 Akins, Claude 217 The Alamo ( John Wayne) 9, 50, 54, 83, 93, 103, 169, 187, 188, 195, 198, 199, 200, 201, 203, 205, 208, 212 The Alamo (Yul Brynner project) 35 Alaniz, Rico 101 The Alaskans 100 Alciona 27, 39 Aldrich, Robert 6, 23, 54, 82, 83, 99; Apache 6, 23, 99; Vera Cruz 6, 7, 23, 83, 99 Alexander the Great 27 Alfred Hitchcock Presents 99 Alias Mr. Twilight 42 All That Jazz 55 All the Young Men 195, 196, 204 Allegro 14 Allied Artists 48, 222 Allyson, June 43, 44 Alonzo, John A. 101 Alpha Corporation 52; and Mirisch-Alpha 56 Altman, Robert 139 Alvarez Kelly 222 Amante, El 27 Ambler, Eric 32 The American Cinema 229 American Cinema in the 1960s 233 American Film Institute 124 An American in Paris 19 American International Pictures 99 American Motion Picture Export Association 215

The Americanization of Emily 223 Anastasia 20, 26, 31 Anatomy of a Murder 134 And God Created Woman 196 Anderson, Michael 216 Anderson, Paul Thomas 234 Andrews, Julie 14 The Angel and the Badman 28 Anna and the King of Siam 14 Anna Karenina 76 Annie Get Your Gun 19 Anouilh, Jean 215 Antone Productions 26, 27, 34, 81 Antonioni, Michelangelo 220 Apache 6, 23, 99 The Apartment 54, 78, 83, 208, 209, 210, 21, 229 Appaloosa 222 The Arab 85 The Aristocats 227 Armstrong, Louis 122 Armstrong Circle Theater 90 The Army Signal Corps 42 Arnaz, Desi, Jr. 84, 94 Arness, James 93 Around the World in 80 Days 9, 43, 216 The Asphalt Jungle 43, 100 Associated Producers 194 Attila 20 Aubrey, Jim 98 Aurthur, Robert Alan 55 Auteur theory 229 Autry, Gene 3 Avalon, Frankie 92, 114 Ayres, Lew 43 Baby Doll 97 Bacall, Lauren 54 Backlash 47; advertisement 46; Chase, Borden 46; Gruber, Frank 46; Reed, Donna 46; Sturges, John 46; Widmark, Richard 46 Bad Day at Black Rock 4, 46, 47, 48, 52, 103, 106, 143, 192, 206; action 45; Anderson, Paul Thomas 234; Borgnine, Ernest 45; Brooks, Richard 44, 45; Cannes Film Fes-

267

tival 45; fight scene 45; Francis, Anne 45; internment camp 44; Ladd, Alan 44; landscape 45, 106; Marvin, Lee 45; McCrea, Joel 44; Mirisch, Walter 52; modern western 44; opening re-shot by another director 45; original title Bad Day at Honda 44; Ryan, Robert 45; Sarris, Andrew 230, 234; Sidney, George 44; Siegel, Don 44; Sturges, John 45; test case for Cinemascope 45; Tracy, Spencer 44, 45 Balio, Tino 78 Bambi Poll 97 Bandoola 216 The Barbarian and the Geisha 51 Barbarous Mexico 84 Bardot, Brigitte: And God Created Woman 196; Brynner, Yul 37; Come Dance with Me 211; Night of Love 202, 203 Bass, Saul 134 Bat Masterson 210 Batman 6 Battle 54, 77, 78, 129 Battle Beyond the Stars 234 Battle in Outer Space/Ten to the Moon 201 Battle of the Bulge 216, 223 The Battle of the River Neretva 224 Baxter, Anne 18 Baxter, John 232 BBC 14, 234 Beale, Lewis 232 The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms 33 The Beasts 82 Beatty, Warren 221 The Beauty and the Matador 220 Becket 215 Beery, Wallace 85 Belafonte, Harry 49 The Bellboy 79, 185, 193 Belmondo, Jean-Paul 214 Beloved Infidel 88 Ben Hur 9, 175, 186, 188, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 203, 205, 207, 208

268 Bend of the River 29 Benedek, Laszlo 14 Benjamin, Robert 28–29, 55 Bergen, Polly 48 Bergman, Ingmar 195 Bergman, Ingrid 20, 26, 31, 47, 115 Berman, Pandro 37; Marlboro commercial 212 Bernstein, Elmer 10, 122–124, 143, 211, 259n68; composition technique 123; Copland, Aaron 122; graylisted 123; Johnny Staccato 123; Magnificent Dance by The Clash 227; The Magnificent Seven: The Musical 217; The Man with the Golden Gun 123; Marlboro commercial 212; Oscar 217, 225; Return of the Seven controversy 217; Saturday’s Hero 123; The Ten Commandments 123; Thoroughly Modern Millie 225; True Grit 225; see also The Magnificent Seven Bernstein, Walter 10, 55–57; see also The Magnificent Seven Best Man Wins 42 Beyond All Limits 100 Beyond the Time Barrier 101 BFI Companion to the Western 233 Biehn, Michael 225 The Big Country 5, 9, 10, 51, 123, 205, 210, 214 The Big Heat 45 The Big Sky 6, 230; see also Douglas, Kirk; Hawks, Howard The Big Sombrero 85 The Big Story 90 The Big Trail 3 The Big Valley 223 The Billionaire 39 The Birds 221 Bismarck 224 Bissell, Whit 101 Bitter Rice 17 The Black Beast 83 Black Sunday 27 The Blackboard Jungle 37 Blacklist 55 The Blob 92 Blonde on the Boulevard 49 Bloom, Claire: The Brothers Karamazov 37, 38; The Buccaneer 38 Boetticher, Budd 6, 20, 27, 85, 92, 99, 100, 206, 231, 231 Bogarde, Dirk 195, 198 Bogart, Humphrey 20, 29, 46, 47, 92, 100, 110 Bolivar and Manuela 77 Bonanza 8, 217 Bond, James 6, 213, 219 Bond, Ward 93 Bonnie and Clyde 230 Boone, Richard 93 Booth, Shirley 35 Border Patrol 101 Borg, Reginald Le 100 Borgnine, Ernest 45, 101, 107 Born Free 222 Borzage, Frank 93 The Boston Terrier 98

Index The Boy and the Pirate 202, 204 Boyd, Stephen 92 Brando, Marlon 14, 20, 40, 196, 210, 216, 222, 231; The Brothers Karamazov 37; The King and I 18; The Magnificent Seven 36 The Brass Legend 94 Braun, Eric 24 The Bravados 5, 86, 86, 205 The Brave Bulls 20, 87 Brickhill, Paul 41, 53, 94, 95 Brides of Dracula 184 The Bridge at Remagen 76 Bridge on the River Kwai 9, 128, 212, 227, 234 Bring Forth the Children 186 Broken Arrow 4 Broken Lance 5 Broncho Billy and the Greaser 85 Bronco 99, 210 Bronson, Charles 57, 59, 69, 99, 104, 110, 113, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 125, 127, 128, 135, 158, 159, 159, 160, 163, 167, 179, 192, 208, 209, 211, 213, 223, 227; Adieu L’Ami 224; Apache 99; Battle of the Bulge 223; The Big Valley 223; Chato’s Land 224; Chino 225; Death Wish 224; The Dirty Dozen 224; Dundee and the Calhouns 224; The FBI 223; A Fistful of Dollars 223; For a Few Dollars More 223; Four for Texas 223; France 224; Gang War 99; The Great Escape 213; House of Wax 99, 100; I Spy 223; Jubal 99; Kid Galahad 223; Leone, Sergio 223, 224; Machine Gun Kelly 99; Man with a Camera 99, 100, 192; Master of the World 223; Mirisch, Walter 100; Miss Sadie Thompson 99; Never So Few 99; Once Upon a Time in the West 224, 227; People vs. O’Hara 99; Rawhide 223; Rider on the Rain 224; Run of the Arrow 99; Showdown at Boot Hill 99; Sturges, John 99, 100; The Sandpiper 223, 225; This Property Is Condemned 223; A Thunder of Drums 223; The Travels of Jamie McPheeters 211; Vera Cruz 99; When Hell Broke Loose 99; X 15 223; see also The Magnificent Seven Brook, Peter 31 Brooks, Richard 32, 44, 45; Alciona 33; Bad Day at Black Rock 44; The Brothers Karamazov 32, 32, 37, 38, 189; Mystery Street 43; The Professionals 126, 181, 219; Sarris, Andrew 230, 231 The Brothers Karamazov 32, 32, 37, 38, 189; and Cannes Film Festival 37 Brynner, Rock 217 Brynner, Yul 1, 13–27, 28–41, 56, 57, 69, 79, 80, 82, 97, 101, 107, 108–111, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 120, 121, 122, 128, 134, 135, 135,

136, 137, 144, 155, 157, 158, 159, 159, 160, 160, 161, 163, 167, 171, 179, 183, 186, 190, 191, 192, 193, 195, 198, 205, 206, 207, 213, 217, 218, 219, 225, 227, 245n86, 245n88; abandons directorial ambitions 215; Academy Award 24, 30; and actor-director 22; affairs 21; The Alamo 35; Alciona 27, 33–35, 37, 39, 40, 81, 215; Anastasia 20, 26, 27, 31; Battle of the Bulge 217; Battle of the River Neretva 224; Bergman, Ingrid 20, 26, 31; Bernstein, Walter 55–57; The Billionaire 39, 79; Bismarck 224; booed at Cannes Film Festival 37, 38; and Bring Forth the Children 186; The Brothers Karamazov 32, 32, 37, 38, 189; Brynner, Rock, 217; The Buccaneer (1958) 23, 24, 25–26, 31, 32, 33, 34, 38, 41, 56, 184; Byla production company 27, 31; Cast a Giant Shadow 224; Catlow 225; Chekhov, Michael 13; co-director 23; The Day Custer Fell 216; Debut 17; DeMille, Cecil B. 18, 24; as director 1, 10, 15, 18, 21, 24; Donen, Stanley 37; The Double Man 224; Electrovision 25; Elephant Bill (Bandoola) 215; Escape from Zahrain 216; File on the Golden Goose 224; Flight from Ashiya 217; Genghis Khan 217; Gilmore, Virginia 14, 107; The Gladiators 32, 34–35, 39, 41, 50; The Great Sebastians 31; Hepburn, Audrey 16, 17; Hepburn, Katharine 17, 224; independent producer 10, 28, 30, 31; Invitation to a Gunfighter 39, 216; The Journey 31; Judith and Holofernes 17, 18; Kerr, Deborah 21, 24, 25, 31, 39; The King and I (film) 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 30; The King and I (stage) 13–16; Kings of the Sun 215; Kleiner, Doris, 107, 111, 113, 205, 253n; Leather Stocking Tales 32; Litvak, Anatole 27, 31; Loren, Sophia 25, 34; Love in the Afternoon 246n49; Lucifer and the Lord 31; Lust for Life 17; The Lute Song 14; The Mad King 39, 215; The Madwoman of Chaillot 224; The Magnificent Seven 39, 40, 55; The Magnificent Seven (television series) 212; McQueen, Steve 110; Men Without a Country 216; Miss Sadie Thompson 17; Monte Carlo Mob 224; Morituri 216; moves to New York 13; moves to Paris 13; movie mogul 32; mystery of ancestry 13, 38; Nabob 37; A New Kind of Love 16; The Nightcomers 32; Nijinsky 16; Olympia 32; Once More with Feeling 37, 55, 186, 187, 205, 233; Paramount contract 16; photographer 186; physique 15, 16, 224; Ponti, Carlo 17, 18; Port

Index of New York 14, 15; relationship with media 16, 38, 107–110, 115; Return of the Seven 214, 217; Ritt, Martin 14, 15, 23, 53, 81; Secret Crimes of Joseph Stalin 24; Solomon and Sheba 38, 39, 108, 134, 178, 181, 186, 204, 205; The Sound and the Fury 32, 36; Sour Apple Award 115; South Seas Story 17; stage 21; Surprise Package 39, 186, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 205; Switzerland relocation to save tax 39; Taras Bulba 217, 217; television 13, 14; The Ten Commandments (1956) 9, 18, 19, 20, 27, 30, 31, 123, 185, 186, 227; Tosca 224; Triple Cross 224; United Nations 216; Variety 14, 16, 38; Villa Rides 224; Westworld 225 The Buccaneer (1938) 20, 38 The Buccaneer (1958) 23, 31, 32, 33, 34, 41, 184; box office 38; critical reaction 38; as musical 24; Newman, Walter 56; Quinn, Anthony 26, 32; see also Brynner, Yul; DeMille, Cecil B. Buchholz, Horst 57, 69, 76, 80, 97, 109, 110, 111, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122, 128, 134, 135, 135, 144, 157, 158, 159, 160, 167, 192, 193, 208, 209, 213; Bambi poll-winner 97; Berlin 97; Cheri (stage) 97; Fanny 97; Hitler Youth 97; Lawrence of Arabia 223; Life Is Beautiful 223; Marianne meine Jugenlibre 97; Mirisch five-picture deal 76, 97, 223; Nine Hours to Rama 223; One, Two, Three 97, 209, 223; Ship of the Dead 97; Teenage Wolf Pack 97; Tiger Bay 97; West Side Story 97; Wilder, Billy 97, 223; see also The Magnificent Seven Bullitt 222 Buñuel, Luis 87, 100, 104 Burr, Raymond 80; Desire in the Dust 80, 194, 195, 196, 198, 200; Perry Mason 94; rival to The Magnificent Seven 195 Burton, Richard 221, 223 Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid 178, 220, 233, 234 Butterfield 8 1, 187, 197, 201, 202, 203, 204, 208 By Love Possessed 43, 77, 209; see also Sturges, John Byla 27, 31 Byrnes, Edd 93 Cage of Evil 202 Cagney, James 3, 134 Cagney, William 134 Cahiers du Cinéma 229 Caine, Michael 103, 225 Caiola, Al 213 Calder, Jenni 169, 232, 233 Call Me Madam 24 Callas, Maria 224

Calvera 129 Camarga 163 Camerini, Mario 20 Camino Real 98 Can Can 194, 195, 198, 202, 203, 204, 208 Candy 223 Cannes Film Festival 13, 37, 38, 45 Capa, Robert 54 Capra, Frank 28, 42 The Captain’s Table 199 The Capture 43 Capua, Michelangelo 24, 111, 115 Capucine 195 Cardenes, Elsa 87 Cardinale, Claudia 219 Carne, Michel 82 Caron, Leslie 19 Carousel 14, 19 Carpenter, Constance 17 Carpenter, John 234 Carr, Thomas 50 Carry On Nurse 196, 203 Carry On Sergeant 200, 201 Carson, Johnny 98 Caruso, Enrico 122 Casablanca 20, 47, 169, 234 Cassidy, Hopalong 3 Cast a Giant Shadow 224 Cast a Long Shadow 49, 50, 78 Castle, Peggy 26 Cat on a Hot Tin Roof 51, 195 The Catalyst 54 Catari 27 Catlow 225 CBS Television 8, 186, 190, 205, 225 Chakiris, George 76 Chamberlain, Richard 200 Chandler, Jeff 5 Chaplin, Charlie 22 The Charge at Feather River 5 Chartroose Caboose 203 Chase, Borden 7, 46 Chato’s Land 226 Chekhov, Michael 13 Cheri 97 Chevalier, Maurice 16 Cheyenne 93 The Children’s Hour 209 China Doll 93 Chinatown 101 Chino 225 Christopher, Jordan 218 Churubusco Studios 103; see also Mexico Cimarron (1931) 9 Cimarron (1960) 9, 189, 205 Cimarron City 91 Cimarron Kid 5 The Cincinnati Kid 221 CinemaScope 45 Cinerama Holiday 188, 199, 202 Citizen Kane 23 The Clash 227 Cleef, Lee Van 225 Clift, Montgomery 5, 48 Climax 90 Close, Eric 225

269 Cobb, Lee J. 139 Coburn 223 Coburn, James 58, 59, 69, 80, 97, 99, 111, 112, 113, 114, 117, 118, 118, 119, 120, 125, 127, 128, 158, 159, 192, 193; Adler, Stella 99; Affliction 99, 223; Alfred Hitchcock Presents 99; Boetticher, Budd 99; Bonanza 99; Bronco 99; Candy 223; Dead Heat on a Merry Go Round 223; Duffy 223; Edwards, Blake 233; Face of a Fugitive 99; The Great Escape 213, 223; Hard Contract 223; Have Gun—Will Travel 99; Hell Is for Heroes 223; A High Wind in Jamaica 233; In Like Flint 223; Los Angeles City College 99; M Squad 223; Major Dundee 223; McQueen, Steve 99, 223; Mirisch, Walter 99; Our Man Flint 223; Perry Mason 223; President’s Analyst 223; Rawhide 223; Ride Lonesome 99; The Rifleman 223; Scott, Randolph 99; Steinem, Gloria 223; Vaughn, Robert 99; Wagon Train 99; Wanted: Dead or Alive 99; Waterhole 3 223; What Did You Do in the War, Daddy? 223; Wichita Town 99 Cockleshell Heroes 23 The Cocktail Party 14 Cohen, Larry 217 College Confidential 79, 199 Colman, Ronald 84 Colorado Territory 227 Columbia Pictures 17, 31, 35, 37, 42, 92; see also Sturges, John Come Dance with Me 196, 202, 211 Connery, Sean 55, 221, 224 Connolly, Mike 108, 206 Connors, Chuck 94 The Constant Image 76 Cooper, Gary 47, 48, 50, 84, 84, 99, 103, 125, 230; Allied Artists 49; Friendly Persuasion 5, 29, 48, 49; The Hanging Tree 5, 6, 205; High Noon 3, 4, 5, 29, 103, 122, 188, 195, 198, 204, 231, 233, 234; Love in the Afternoon 49; Man of the West 5, 50, 77, 101; Mirisch, Walter 50; They Came to Cordura 83, 84 Copland, Aaron 122, 123 Coppola, Francis 231 Corkin, Stanley 169, 170, 233 Corman, Roger 98 Cortez and Montezuma 51 Costner, Kevin 227 Counsellor-at-Law 76 The Counterfeit Traitor 54 Cowboy 5 Cowboy Pictures 239 Cowboys as Cold Warriors: The Western and U.S. History (book) 170, 233 Crawford, Joan 21, 204 Crime and Punishment 37 The Crimson Pirate 29 Cromwell, John 14

270 Crosby, Bing 19, 28, 79, 188, 195 Crowther, Bosley 26 Cruise, Tom 227 Cuban Fireball 86 Cuernavaca 103 Cukor, George 9, 25 Curtis, Tony 48, 49, 78, Taras Bulba 216 Curtiz, Michael 3, 51, 100 Cyrano de Bergerac 23 Dailey, Dan 24 Damon, Matt 227 Danger 14, 55, 56 Danger Grows Wild 224 Darby’s Rangers 94 Darin, Bobby 92 The Dark at the Top of the Stairs 79, 195, 195, 196, 198, 201, 204, 207 Darren, James 92 Dassin, Jules 32, 230 Davenport, Marcia 76 Daves, Delmer 4, 5, 6, 40; Broken Arrow 4; Cowboy 5; The Hanging Tree 5, 6, 205; 3:10 to Yuma 5, 40 Davis, Bette 100 Davis, Sammy, Jr. 52 The Dawn’s Early Light 49 Day, Doris 49, 50, 188, 190, 204, 210 The Day Custer Fell 216 Day of the Gun 80 The Day They Robbed the Bank of England 197 Days of Wine and Roses 221 Daystar 212 Dead Heat on a Merry-Go-Round 223 Dean, James 31, 97 Death Rides a Horse 233 Death Wish 224 Debut 17 De Carlo, Yvonne 25, 93 Dee, Sandra 92 The Defender 91 De Laurentiis, Dino 17 Delgado, Miguel 100 DeMille, Cecil B. 3, 17, 18, 20, 23, 26, 26, 38, 56, 198, 230; see also Brynner, Yul; The Buccaneer; The Ten Commandments The Deputy 8, 210 Derek, John 20, 21 Del Rio, Dolores 84, 87, 101 Derzu Uzalu 239 Desire in the Dust 80, 194, 195, 196, 198, 200 De Toth, Andre 6 Devil at Four O’Clock 80, 210 De Wilde, Brandon 4 Dexter, Brad 59, 69, 100, 113, 118, 120, 126, 128, 158, 159, 179, 192, 193, 216, 253n91; Asphalt Jungle 100; Black Sunday 100; Boetticher, Budd 100; Have Gun— Will Travel 100; Lady Sings the Blues 224; Last Train from Gun Hill 100; married Lee, Peggy 58; Naked Runner 224; producer 224; Quinn, Anthony 100; Relyea, Robert 100; Run Silent, Run Deep

Index 100; 77 Sunset Strip 100; Sinatra, Frank 100, 224; Taras Bulba 216; Wagon Train 100 Dial M for Murder/Strangers on a Train 200, 201 Dick Powell’s Zane Grey Theater 210 Dickinson, Angie 92, 93 Dieterle, William 85 Dietrich, Marlene 21 The Dirty Dozen 58, 59, 118, 126, 177, 178, 224 Disney, Walt 47 Dr. No 214, 221 Dr. Zhivago 227 Dodeska Den 237; see also Kurosawa, Akira Dodge City 3 Dollar films 219 Don Quixote 82 Donen, Stanley 19, 207; Brynner partnership 37; see also Once More with Feeling; Surprise Package Dortort, David 217 Dostoevsky, Fyodor 37 Double Indemnity 16 The Double Man 224 Douglas, Gordon 93, 94 Douglas, Kirk 5, 20, 20, 22, 29, 31, 33–35, 47, 51, 53, 112, 193, 198; The Big Sky 6, 230; Gunfight at the O.K. Corral 5, 81, 169, 177, 192, 205, 206, 225, 231; Last Train from Gun Hill 51, 81; see also The Gladiators; Quinn, Anthony Down Argentine Way 85 Dragnet 101 Drake, Alfred 14 Dru, Joanne 199 Drum Beat 99 Duck, You Sucker 233 Duel in the Sun 4, 7 Dundee and the Calhouns 223 Duning, George 123 Dunne, Irene 14 Durango 103 Dwan, Allan 231 Dymytryk, Edward 5 Eagle and the Hawk 86 The Eagle Has Landed 103, 225 Eastwood, Clint 9, 225, 230, 231, 234, 235 Easy Rider 230 Easy to Love 57 Eddy, Nelson 85 Edwards, Blake 98, 188, 223, 230, 233 Ekberg, Anita 82 El Cid (Anthony Quinn) 27, 31 El Cid (Charlton Heston) 214, 234 Elephant Bill 215 Empire 233 End as a Man 98 Endfield, Cy 43 Escape from Fort Bravo 5; action 44; battle scene 44; Rope’s End 44; Sarris, Andrew 230; 3D 44 Escape from Zahrain 216

¡Esquina, Bajón! 100 Estelita 84 Esther and the King 202, 203 The Execution of Private Slovik 95 Exodus 112, 134, 188, 208, 211, 212; see also Preminger, Otto Fabian 79, 114, 188 Face of a Fugitive 99 Facts of Life 214 Fail Safe 55 The Fall Guy 33 A Fanfare of Love 49 A Farewell to Arms 105 The Farm 27 Fast and Sexy 94, 200 Fast Company 44, 58 Father Knows Best 94 Faulkner, William 32 The FBI 223 Fellini, Federico 20, 81; telegram to Sturges 231 Female on the Beach 204 The Female Soldier 102 Fennelly, Vincent 218 Fernandez, Emilio 88, 101, 114 Ferrante and Teicher 212 Ferrer, José 17 Ferrer, Mel 86, 87 Ferretis, Jorge 83, 87, 88, 105, 107; see also The Magnificent Seven; Mexico Fiend Who Walked the West 94 Fiesta 86 55 Days at Peking 221 The Fighting Kentuckian 28, 198; see also Wayne, John File on the Golden Goose 224 Film Culture (magazine) 229 Films and Filming (magazine) 103, 189, 207, 229 Films of Japan season 237 Fireside Theater 99 First Traveling Saleslady 93 Fisher, Eddie 76 A Fistful of Dollars 223 Fitzgerald, Edouard 104 Five Branded Women 53 Five Miles to Midnight 216 Flaherty, Robert 229 Flame of the Islands 93 Flaming Star 9 Fleischer, Richard 54 Fleming, Rhonda 86 Flight from Ashiya 39, 216; see also Brynner, Yul Flynn, Errol 3, 20 Focus on Film (magazine) 57 Fonda, Henry 3, 35, 37, 81, 86, 217 Fonda, Jane 215 For a Few Dollars More 223 For Members Only 196 For the Love of Mike 87 For the Love of Rusty 42 Forbes, Bryan 224 Ford, Glenn 5, 125; Cimarron 189; The Magnificent Seven 40, 41 Ford, John 2, 6, 9, 47, 86, 106, 192, 206, 231, 232, 235; advice to John

Index Sturges 108; Fort Apache 4, 5, 7; The Horse Soldiers 5, 9, 39, 50, 101, 103, 184, 185; My Darling Clementine 4, 5, 7, 47, 177; Rio Grande 4, 5; Sarris, Andrew 229; The Searchers 2, 5, 42, 48, 93, 205, 231, 233, 234; Sergeant Rutledge 9, 205; She Wore a Yellow Ribbon 4, 5, 7, 199; Stagecoach 3, 10, 28, 43, 55, 177; Wagon Master 6; see also Wayne, John Ford Theater Hour 20 The Ford Theater Hour 43 Foreman, Carl 125, 220 Fort Apache 4, 5, 7 Fort Massacre 42, 77, 94; see also Mirisch, Walter Fort Ti 5 Four Star 95 Franciosca, Anthony 90 Francis, Anne 45, 187 Francisco, Petro 20 Frankenheimer, John 14, 23 Frayling, Christopher 232 Freckles 194, 200, 204 Freeman, Morgan 227 French, Philip 3, 169, 232, 233 Friedkin, William 234 Friendly Persuasion 5, 48, 49 From Here to Eternity 21, 23, 29, 39, 45, 97 From Russia with Love 214 From the Terrace 197, 198 The Front 55; see also Bernstein, Walter The Fugitive 86, 223 Fuller, Robert 217 Fuller, Sam 80, 233 Fuqua, Antoine 227 Gabin, Jean 37 Gable, Clark 29, 35, 210; The Magnificent Seven 36, 90 Gabriel 83 Gang War 99 Garbo, Greta 16 Gardner, Ava 19 Garfield, Brian 233 Gargantua 49; see also Mirisch, Walter Garland, Judy 21 Garner, James 93, 94 Garson, Greer 57 Gaucho 84 Gauguin, Paul 27, 82; see also Quinn, Anthony Gaynor, Mitzi 39 The Gaza Strip 186 Gazzara, Ben 91 Genghis Khan 216; see also Brynner, Yul The Ghetto 54 The Ghost and Mrs. Muir 105 G.I. Blues 188, 202, 203, 204, 210 Giant 9 The Giant of Marathon 184 Gigi 15 Gigi/Around the World in 80 Days 199, 200

Gilda 195 Gilmore, Virginia 14, 107 A Girl Called Tamiko 225 The Girl in White 44 The Girl of the Golden West 85 Girl of the Night 187, 197, 198, 199, 200, 204 The Gladiators: announced as forthcoming attraction by UA 39, 50; Douglas, Kirk 34–35; MPAA title battle 35; Quinn, Anthony 41; scouting locations in Spain 39; Spartacus and the Gladiators 32; see also Alciona; Brynner, Yul The Glass Menagerie 15 Glazer, Barney 114 Gleason, Jackie 222 The Glenn Miller Story 198 Go Naked in the World 79 The Godfather Part III 223 Godzilla 184 Gold of the Seven Saints 207 The Golden Boat 83 Goldfinger 214 Goldwyn, Samuel 28 The Golem 54, 77 Gone with the Wind 194, 199, 218 A Good Day for a Hanging 98 The Good, the Bad and the Ugly 223 Goodyear Playhouse 90 Gordon, Bert 204 The Gothic Line 82; see also Quinn, Anthony Gow, Gordon 231, 233 The Graduate 230 Grand Prix 55 Granger, Stewart 101 Grant, Cary 28, 200, 201, 210 The Grass Is Greener 207, 210 Grauman, Walter 217 Grayson, Kathryn 19 The Great Escape 41, 94, 109, 212, 221; Beatty, Warren 221; Harris, Richard 221; Harvey, Laurence 221; Lemmon, Jack 221; Martin, Dean 221; McQueen, Steve, 109, 264n; Sinatra, Frank 221; see also Sturges, John The Great Race 234 The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery 92, 214; see also McQueen, Steve The Great Sebastians 31; see also Brynner, Yul The Greatest Show on Earth 198 Green Berets 165, 170; see also The Magnificent Seven Green Fire 101 Griffiths, D.W. 229 Grossman, Milton 26 Gruber, Frank 4, 46 Guggenheim, Charles 92 Gun Glory 5 Gun the Man Down 93 Gunfight at Dodge City 50, 78, 193; see also Mirisch, Walter Gunfight at the O.K. Corral 5, 47, 48, 53, 81, 169, 177, 192, 205, 206, 225, 231; action 47; based on “The Killer” magazine article 47;

271 Bogart, Humphrey 47; budget 47; choreographed gunfight 47; Douglas, Kirk 47; dual voltage of Lancaster and Douglas 53; friction between stars 47; Lancaster, Burt 47, 90; Sturges, John 47, 48; Variety review 48; Wallis, Hal B. 47; see also Sturges, John The Gunfighter 4, 166, 177; see also King, Henry; Peck, Gregory Gunfighter myth 162, 166, 169, 233; see also The Magnificent Seven Gunfighter Nation 233; see also The Magnificent Seven Gunga Din 42 The Guns of Fort Petticoat 5 The Guns of Navarone 36, 54, 81, 92, 112, 177, 208, 210, 215 The Guns of the Magnificent Seven 218, 220, 228 The Guns of Timberland 92 Gunsmoke 6 Guys and Dolls 198 Haas, Dolly 14 The Hallelujah Trail 225; see also Sturges, John Hallinger, Hy 92 Hancock, John Lee 228 The Hanging Tree 5, 6, 205 The Happy Years 43 Hard Contract 223 A Hard Day’s Night 214 Harris, Richard 221 Harrison, Rex 14, 79, 187, 188 Hart, William S 231 Harvey, Laurence 80, 221 Hashimoto, Shinobu 58, 59 The Hateful Eight 228 A Hatful of Rain 91 Hathaway, Henry 97, 230, 231, 232 Hauer, Federico 83 Have Gun—Will Travel 6 Hawaii 76, 225 Hawks, Howard 206, 229, 235; The Big Sky 6, 230; Red River 4, 6, 7, 28, 199, 233; Rio Bravo 5, 6, 8, 93, 94, 184, 204, 205, 233; Sarris, Andrew 229, 230 Hayward, Leland 47 Hayward, Susan 24 Hayworth, Rita 17, 84 Head of the Tyrant 199 Hecht, Harold 29; Hecht-Lancaster 29, 55; see also Vaughn, Robert Heinemann, W.J. 186 Hell Is for Heroes 220, 223 Heller in Pink Tights 9, 35, 36, 205; see also Quinn, Anthony Hell’s Crossroads 98 Help! 214 Hemingway, Ernest 42, 43, 46 Hemphill, Jim 229 Henreid, Paul 100 Henry V 23 Hepburn, Audrey 15, 16, 17, 37, 49 Hepburn, Katharine 17, 29, 224 Her Twelve Men 57

272 Heralds 191 Hercules 184, 199, 255n Hercules Unchained 184 Hern, Pepe 101 Heroes or villains 169 Heston, Charlton 17, 18, 33, 48, 57, 221 Hideout 20 High Noon 4, 5, 29, 103, 122, 188, 195, 198, 204, 231, 233, 234 High Sierra 3 High Society/Dream Wife 200, 201 High Time 79 A High Wind in Jamaica 223 Hill, Walter 227 Hiller, Arthur 225 Hiroshima Mon Amour 197, 199 Hitchcock, Alfred 22, 28, 99, 192, 221, 229 Holden, William 33, 46, 53, 54, 198; The Horse Soldiers 5, 9, 39, 50, 101, 103, 184, 185; 633 Squadron 53; Stalag 17 49, 191; The Walking Hills 42; The World of Suzie Wong 54, 187; see also Mirisch, Walter; Sturges, John; Wilder, Billy The Honeymoon Machine 220, 221; see also McQueen, Steve The Hong Kong Affair 93 Hope, Bob 19, 29, 214 Hopper, Hedda 95, 107; see also McQueen, Steve Horizons West 231 Horne, Lena 51 The Horse Soldiers 5, 9, 39, 50, 101, 103, 184, 185 Horton, Robert 93 The Hot Earth 83 Hot Spell 35; see also Quinn, Anthony Hour of the Gun 225; see also Sturges, John House of Wax 99, 100 Houseman, John 14 How to Marry a Millionaire 17 How to Steal a Million 218 Hud 14, 221 Hudson, Rock 31, 231 Hughes, Howard 233 Hughes, Kevin 124 The Hunchback of Notre Dame 27 The Hunting Party 33 Hustle 223 Huston, John 46; The African Queen 29; The Asphalt Jungle 43, 100; and Mirisch, Walter 48; The Misfits 204, 209, 214, 215; and producer 22; The Unforgiven 9, 42, 102, 204, 205, 210 Hutton, Betty 19 Hyer, Martha 76 I Aim for the Stars 196, 200 I Bury the Living 93 I Spy 223 I Was a Teenage Werewolf 101 Ice Station Zebra 225 The Idiot 37

Index Ikiru 202, 203; see also Kurosawa, Akira I’m All Right, Jack 197, 201, 202 In Like Flint 223 In the Heat of the Night 225 The Indian Fighter 5 Inherit the Wind 50, 188, 196 Inn of the Sixth Happiness 184 Inspector Clouseau 214 intervention/invasion 11, 162, 169, 170; see also The Magnificent Seven Invitation to a Gunfighter 39, 216; see also Brynner, Yul Irma La Douce 76, 228 The Iron Mistress 35 The Iron Petticoat 5 La Isla de la pasión 101 It Happened in Naples 188, 210 It’s a Wonderful Life 214, 218 Ives, Burl 187 Jackson, Anne 97 Janus 239 Jaws 226 Jean Christophe 31 Jeopardy 44, 52, 53 see also Mirisch, Walter; Sturges, John Jesse James 3, 166, 177, 193 Jewison, Norman 221, 225; and Sarris, Andrew 230 Joan of Arc 23 Joe Kidd 225 John Brown’s Body 79 Johnny Staccato 123 Johnson, Erskine 22, 38 Jones, Du Pre 232 Journey Downhill 49 The Journey 31, 39 Jovanka 53 Juarez 85 Jubal 99 Judith and Holofernes 17, 18 Juke Box Rhythm 82 The Jungle Book 227 Jungle Cat 196, 198, 200, 202, 205 Kagemusha 239; see also Kurosawa, Akira Kaplan, Livingston, Goodwin and Berkowtiz 215; see also Quinn, Anthony Kasdan, Lawrence 227, 234 Kasdan, Mark 227 Kaye, Danny 24 Kazan, Elia 20, 45, 97, 98; and Sarris, Andrew 230 Keaton, Buster 22 Keel, Howard 19, 58 Keeper of the Bees 42, 194 Kelly, Gene 19, 22, 23 Kelly, Grace 101; and High Noon 3, 4, 5, 29, 103, 122, 188, 195, 198, 204, 231, 233, 234 Kelly, Jack 93 Kendall, Kay 186, 187; see also Brynner, Yul Kennedy, Burt 99 Kennedy, George 219

Kennedy, President John F. 214; and inaugural address 169 Kent, Robert Productions 198, 202 The Kentuckian 23 Kern, Jerome 19 Kerr, Deborah 21, 24, 25, 200, 201; From Here to Eternity 21, 23, 29, 39, 45, 97; The Great Sebastians 31; The Journey 31; The King and I 24, 25; see also Brynner, Yul Key Witness 199 Khartoum 222 Kid Galahad 223 Kimberley 50 The Kind Lady 44 King, Henry 4, 6, 86, 88, 191; The Bravados 5, 88; The Gunfighter 4, 5, 166, 177; Twelve O’Clock High 139; Yellow Sky 4; see also Peck, Gregory The King and I 13–16, 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 30 King Kong 49 King, Martin Luther 49 Kings of the Sun 215; see also Brynner, Yul Kiss Me, Kate 14 Kiss of Death 94 Kiss the Blood Off My Hands 29 Kitchin, Lawrence 169 Kitses, Jim 231 Kleiner, Dick 205 Kleiner, Doris 107, 111, 113, 205, 253n Klondike 223 Knight, Shirley 195 Knock on Any Door 194 Koestler, Arthur 32 Konga 80 Korda, Alexander 230 Krim, Arthur 28–29, 55; see also United Artists Kubrick, Stanley 34, 194; Sarris, Andrew 231 Kurosawa, Akira 13, 42, 59, 233; Ikiru 202, 203; Kagemusha 239; Ran 239; Rashomon 13; Seven Samurai 13, 33, 34, 129, 134, 177, 190, 227, 233, 237–240; Venice Film Festival 13; see also Brynner, Yul; The Magnificent Seven; Morheim, Lou La Strada 20 Ladd, Alan 44, 50, 78, 99, 125, 204; The Alamo 35; Bad Day at Black Rock 44; Man in the Net 50, 78; Shane 2, 4, 5, 48, 177, 193, 198, 231, 233; see also Mirisch, Walter; Sturges, John Laddie 194 Lady L 53 Lady Sings the Blues 224; see also Dexter, Brad Lancaster, Burt 47, 51, 53, 83, 90, 98, 135; actor-director 23; Apache 6, 23, 99; Bernstein, Walter 55; The Devil’s Disciple 193; Gunfight

Index at the O.K. Corral 5, 47, 48, 53, 81, 169, 177, 192, 205, 206, 225, 231; Hecht-Lancaster 29, 55; The Magnificent Seven 36; Mutiny on the Bounty 48; The Professionals 219, 222; Seven Days in May 221; and temperament 112; Vaughn, Robert 98; Vera Cruz 6, 7, 23, 83, 99; see also Douglas, Kirk; Sturges, John Landmark Theater chain 238 Lang, Charles 104, 105 Lang, Fritz 229, 230 Lang, Walter 24 Laramie 101, 217, 223 Lasky, Jesse L. 24 The Last Blitzkrieg 82 The Last Sunset 83 Last Train from Gun Hill 81, 205, 231; action 51; companion to Gunfight at the OK Corral 51; Douglas, Kirk 51; landscape 51; Quinn, Anthony 51; revenge 51; Sturges, John 5, 51; Wallis, Hal B. 51 The Last Voyage 184, 185, 203 Laughton, Charles 76 Laurents, Arthur 31 The Law and Jake Wade: action 51; Sturges, John 51; Taylor, Robert 51; Widmark, Richard 51 Lawford, Peter 52, 53, 57, 91 Lawman 8, 210 Lawrence, Gertrude 14, 15, 17, 38 Lawrence of Arabia 16, 223, 227, 229, 230 Laws Be Their Enemy 54 Lazar, Irving “Swifty” 55, 208 Lean, David 45, 229, 230 Leather Stocking Tales 32 Lee, Peggy 58, 100 The Left Handed Gun 177 The Legion of Decency 30 LeMay, Alan 42 Lemmon, Jack 77, 78, 79, 221; The Great Escape 221 Leone, Sergio 9, 223–224, 230–232 Lesson in Love 195 Let No Man Write My Epitaph 187, 193, 194, 195, 202 Let’s Make Love 39, 79, 195 Leveya, Fernando 220 Levine, Joe 184 Levy, Glen 233 Lewis, Jerry 79 Liberty Films 28 The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp 8 Life Is Beautiful 223 The Life of Emile Zola 100 Life with Snarky Parker 14; see also Brynner, Yul Lights Out 20 The Lineup 97 Little Caesar 47 The Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come 92, 194, 203, 204 Litvak, Anatole 27, 31, 39; Anastasia 20, 27; Five Miles to Midnight 216; The Mad King 39; The Magnificent Seven 39, 40, 55; and part-

nership with Brynner in Byla 27 lobby cards 190 Logan, Joshua 33, 45, 97 Lollobrigida, Gina 27, 35, 51, 53, 53, 91, 185, 187, 200, 202, 203, 210; Never So Few 51, 53, 79, 91; Solomon and Sheba 38, 39; see also Brynner, Yul; McQueen, Steve The Long Duel 224 The Long Riders 227 The Long Wait 20, 26 Lord, Jack 53 Loren, Sophia 9, 20, 25, 34, 216; Brynner, Yul 32, 34; Heller in Pink Tights 9, 35, 36, 205; Spartacus and the Gladiators 34; see also Quinn, Anthony Los Angeles Times 189 The Lost Weekend 49 The Lost World 79 Love in the Afternoon 49, 246n49 Love with the Proper Stranger 221 Lovell, Glenn 51, 183, 229 The Loves of Omar Khayyam 18 Lowry, Cynthia 205 Lubitsch, Ernst 229 Lucifer and the Lord 31 Lumet, Sidney 14, 23, 55 Lust for Life 17, 26, 27, 31, 82 Lute Song 14, 19 M7.com 228 Macao 62 MacDonald, Jeanette 85 Machine Gun Kelly 99 Maclaine, Shirley 50 Maclean, Alistair 226 The Mad King 39, 215; see also Brynner, Yul; Litvak, Anatole Madwoman of Chaillot 224 Magdalena 195, 196 Magnificent Dance 227 The Magnificent Matador 20 The Magnificent Seven 101, 118, 112, 128, 132, 140, 144, 174, 179; adverse publicity 205, 206; Alaniz, Rico 101; Alonso, John A. 101; Aurthur, Robert Alan 55; Avery, Val 101; Bass, Saul 134; Bernstein, Walter 55–57; Bissell, Whit 101; Brando, Marlon 36; Bronson, Charles 99; Brynner, Yul 33, 34, 35, 41; Buchholz, Horst 97; budget 40, 65, 204, 245n55, 255n6; Calder, Jenni 169, 232, 233; Calvera 148, 151, 152, 153, 156, 162, 166, 168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 181; cinematography 105– 106; Coburn, James 99; contract 41, 108, 245n88; Cooper, Gary 36, 90, 125; Corkin, Stanley 169, 170, 233; Davis, Sammy, Jr. 90; decline in popularity of Brynner, Yul, 184; De Hoyos, Jorge Martinez 100; Dexter, Brad 100, 113, 253n91; direction 34, 35, 39; Douglas, Kirk 33, 34; Empire (magazine) 233; ensemble 234; Ferretis, Jorge 83; flaws 107, 172–

273 175, 177–181; Ford, Glenn 40; Franciosca, Anthony 90; Frayling, Christopher 232; French, Philip 233; Gable, Clark 36, 90, 245n55; Garfield, Brian 233; Gow, Gordon 233; Hayden, Sterling 90; Hughes, Howard 233; Ireland, John 90; Johansson, Inge 90; Jones, Dean 90; lack of confidence in film 183; Lancaster, Burt 36, 125; Lang, Charles 104–105; Litvak, Anatole 39; lobby cards 190; marketing 190, 192–193; McQueen, Steve, 95–97; media coverage 107–109, 111, 113–115, 192, 205–206, 255n44, 257n6, 257n12; Mellen, Joan 233; Mirisch, Walter 40, 77– 78; Monteros, Rosenda 100; Morheim, Lou 33–34, 82, 244n30, 244n40, 244n41, 245n91; music 10, 122–124, 211– 214, 217, 227, 259n68, 260n14; National Film Registry 234; Newman, Walter, 10, 56–64, 65–75, 88; Nolan, Lloyd 90; O’Brian, Hugh 90; Oquni, Hideo 59; original release 1, 11, 194–204; Britain 207–208; France 215, 226; Italy 207; Japan 208; Peppard, George 90; politics 1, 55, 78, 79, 80, 83, 89, 107, 122, 257n6; posters 105, 108, 135, 137, 149, 155, 157, 158, 159, 160, 163, 167, 208, 209, 213, 227; press releases 191; pressbook 134–137, 157–161, 190, 191; production 33–35, 83, 89, 107, 245n86; Quinn, Anthony 33–37, 39–41, 56, 81, 215; Radin, Paul 34, 40, 41, 56, 245n88; radio advertising 190; reissue 209, 210, 212, 214, 215, 220, 226, 228; Britain 215, 218, 226; France 215, 220, 226; Germany 215; Italy 227; Japan 220, 227; Russia 215; remakes 217, 227–228, 240; reviews in Britain 207; reviews in the U.S. 189; rival films 187, 188, 194, 195, 196; Roberts, William 10, 55, 57, 58, 59, 64, 65–75; Russell, Bing 101; saturation 183–184, 186, 205; scene stealing 97, 110– 112, 114, 116–122; screenplay 10, 57–68, 72–74, 88–89, 113–114, 125–126, 128, 133, 153, 156, 164, 167, 170, 171; sequels 212–214, 217–220, 225, 227–228; set design 103–104; Shimin, Symeon 134; shooting schedule 104; Skoble, Aeon J. 169, 170; Slotkin, Richard 233; Sokoloff, Vladimir 100; Spartacus and the Gladiators postponed 35; start date 35, 36, 37, 41, 83; strikes 78–80; Sturges, John 40–41, 61, 63, 65–66, 71–73, 103– 106, 109, 112, 115, 121, 122, 126– 128, 130, 132, 138–156, 167, 175, 229–235; taglines 70, 135, 136, 137; television 211–212, 225, 235; themes 11, 60, 61, 67, 75, 162–171,

274 176–178, 232–234, 255n17, 255n25; Toho vs. United Artists 239; Tracy, Spencer 36, 56, 143; United Artists/MGM vs. Toho 239; Vaughn, Robert 98; Wallach, Eli 97, 253n91; WGA arbitration 57– 58; Wilke, Robert 101 The Magnificent Seven Ride 219, 225, 227, 228 The Magnificent Six 35 The Magnificent Stranger 232 The Magnificent Three 232 The Magnificent Yankee 44; see also Sturges, John Maharis, George 226 Major Dundee 218, 223 Make Mine Mink 204 Malden, Karl 6 Maltese Falcon 3 The Man from Del Rio 26, 87; see also Quinn, Anthony The Man from the North 27; see also Quinn, Anthony The Man from U.N.C.L.E 6, 222; see also Vaughn, Robert The Man in the Net 50, 78; see also Mirisch, Walter Man of Blood 82; see also Quinn, Anthony Man of the West 5, 50, 77, 101, 185, 193; see also Mirisch, Walter Man on the Island 27 The Man Who Dared 42 Man with a Camera 99, 100, 192; see also Bronson, Charles The Man with No Name 233 The Man with the Golden Arm 10, 56, 57, 58, 123 Mangano, Silvano 17 Mankiewicz, Joseph L. 22 Mann, Anthony 5, 206, 230, 231, 232; Bend of the River 29; Cimarron 9, 189, 205; Man of the West 5, 50, 77, 101; Winchester ’73 4, 7 Mann, Delbert 45, 52, 79, 226 Le Mans 96; see also McQueen, Steve María Candelaria 101 María la Voz 100 Marianne, meine Jugenliebe 97 The Mark of Zorro 85 Marlboro commercial 211, 212, 214; see also Bernstein, Elmer; The Magnificent Seven Marnie 221 Marooned 225; see also Sturges, John Marshall, George 40 Martin, Dean 76, 184, 221; The Great Escape 221; Rio Bravo 8; 633 Squadron 41, 76; Some Came Running 123, 184; Texas Across the River 222 Martin, Mary 14, 15 Martínez de Hoyos, Jorge 100 Marty 45, 107 Marvin, Lee 45, 126, 177; The Professionals 219 masculinity 166 M*A*S*H 6, 139, 220 Masina, Giuletta 20

Index Mask of the Avenger 20 Master of the World 223 Mateos, Julian 217 Matz, Albert 95 Maverick 210 McCarthy era 1, 55 McCrea, Joel 5, 42, 44, 206, 211; Bad Day at Black Rock 44; Fort Massacre 42, 77, 94; Gunfight at Dodge City 50, 78, 193; see also Mirisch, Walter McDermott, Tom 95 McGilligan, Patrick 55 McGuire, Dorothy 195 McLaglen, Andrew V. 93 McLintock 194 McNulty, Patrick 206 McQ 100, 225 McQueen, Steve 10, 51, 52, 59, 59, 80, 90, 93, 97, 99, 107, 109–114, 116–122, 125, 126, 134, 135, 135, 136, 144, 149, 155, 157, 158, 159, 159, 160, 163, 167, 174, 189, 190, 205, 208, 209, 213, 213, 214, 217, 223, 226, 227, 264n; Beauty and the Matador 220; The Blob 92; Bullitt 222; The Captain Must Die 220; The Defender 91; The Execution of Private Slovik 95; Four Star 95, 96; The Great Escape 41, 94, 109, 212, 221; The Great St. Louis Bank Robbery 92, 214; A Hatful of Rain (stage) 91; Hell Is for Heroes 220; The Honeymoon Machine 220, 221; Le Mans 96; Love with the Proper Stranger 92; The Magnificent Seven see The Magnificent Seven; McDermott, Tom 95, 96, 220; MGM three-picture deal 94; Nevada Smith 222; Never So Few 52, 90, 91; Ocean’s 11 80, 95, 96, 98, 134; Papillon 222; relationship with media 93, 95, 110, 205, 206; reviews 91, 92, 189; The Sand Pebbles 222; Scuderio Condor 96; Sinatra, Frank 95; Solar Productions 22; Soldier in the Rain 221, 222; Somebody Up There Likes Me 92; The Thomas Crown Affair 222; Time Before Time 220; Towering Inferno 222; Trackdown 91; The Victors 220; Vivacious Lady 220; Wanted: Dead or Alive 91, 93–94, 96, 106, 190, 192, 193, 210, 220; The War Lover 214, 220; The Wild Bunch 220; A Wilderness of Monkeys 220 Meeker, Ralph 53 Mellen, Joan 233 Meltzer, Lewis 58 Men of Tallahasee 91 Men Without a Country 186 Mercouri, Melina 187 Merman, Ethel 25 Mexico 9, 26, 27, 56, 59, 71, 80, 82– 89, 95, 97, 100, 101, 103, 104, 107, 108, 109, 114, 162–165, 168–171 MGM 9, 27, 31, 32, 32, 37, 43, 41, 79, 85, 90, 91, 92, 94, 185, 185, 189, 192, 201

Michaels, Dolores 81 Michener, James 76 Middleton, Ray 15 Midnight Cowboy 220 Midnight Lace 79, 188, 198, 199, 201, 202, 203 Mifune, Toshiro 35, 56, 41, 55, 60, 68, 82, 98, 180; see also Seven Samurai Mimieux, Yvette 92 Minnelli, Vincente 19, 184, 187 The Miracle of Our Lady of Fatima 195, 200 The Miraculous Fish 27, 82 Mirage 222 Miramax 227 Miranda, Carmen 86 Mirisch, Harold 41, 193, 208 Mirisch, Marvin 48 Mirisch, Walter 40, 48, 50, 52, 77– 78, 95, 98–99, 100, 182 Mirisch Corporation 10, 48, 50, 53, 54, 78, 80, 225; The Adolf Eichmann Story 76; The Adventures of Baron Munchhausen 51, 77; Allied Artists 48; Anna Karenina 76; The Apartment 53, 77, 78, 209; Battle 53, 77, 78; Blonde on the Boulevard 49; The Bridge at Remagen 76; Buchholz, Horst 76, 97; By Love Possessed 53, 77, 219, 225; Cast a Long Shadow 48, 50; Chakiris, George 76; The Children’s Hour 209; The Constant Image 76; Cooper, Gary 50; Cortez and Montezuma 51, 77; Curtis, Tony 48; Day Doris 49, 50; Fiddler on the Roof 225; first deal with United Artists 49; Fort Massacre 49, 50, 77; Gargantua 49, 77; The Golem 54, 77; The Great Escape 41, 94, 109, 212, 221; Gunfight at Dodge City 50, 77; Hawaii 54, 76, 225; The Horse Soldiers 50, 52, 53, 77, 78, 209; Irma La Douce 76; King Kong 49; Ladd, Alan 50, 78; losses on films 77–78, 209, 228; Man in the Net 50, 78; Martin, Dean 76; Mila 18 54; Mirisch, Harold 41, 193, 208; Mirisch, Marvin 48; Mirisch, Walter 40, 48, 50, 52, 77–78, 95, 99, 100, 182; Mirisch-Alpha 41; Monogram 48; The Montgomery Story 49; Move Over Darling 49; My Sister and I 49; niche market, mostly westerns 50; The Night They Wailed 49; Noah’s Ark 51, 77; One, Two, Three 51, 97, 209; pays top dollar for talent 54; Presley, Elvis 54, 76; profits on films 78, 209, 228; The Proving Flight 51, 53, 78; A Rage to Live 76; Roar like a Dove 49; Roman Candle 54, 77, 78; Romantic Comedy 225; Saddle and Ride 54; Saint, Eva Marie 49, 50; The Satan Bug 225, 226; The Sheik 51, 77; signs up new acting talent 76; 633

Index Squadron 51, 53, 76, 79; stock swap 212; Sturges, John 42, 52, 54, 225, 226; targets bigger films 50; Taylor, Elizabeth 53, 76; Thieves’ Market 49; Town Without Pity 208; Turner, Lana 48, 53, 77; Two for the Seesaw 53, 76, 219; Wilder, Billy 48, 49, 51, 52, 53, 76, 97, 209; Wise, Robert 54; Wyler, William 48, 49, 54, 76, 209; Zinnemann, Fred 54, 76 Miroslava 87, 87 The Misfits 204, 209, 214, 215 Miss Sadie Thompson 17, 99 Mr. and Mrs. 14; see also Brynner, Yul Mr. Jones and His Neighbors 13; see also Brynner, Yul Mitchum, Robert 62, 87 The Molly Maguires 55 Money Never Sleeps 223 Monogram 48 Monroe, Marilyn 17, 43–44, 77, 79, 195, 261n54; The Brothers Karamazov 37; Right Cross 43–44; Sturges, John 43–44 Montalban, Ricardo 84, 86; Mystery Street 43; Right Cross 43; Sombrero 85, 86; Sturges, John 43 Montand, Yves 195 The Monte Carlo Mob 224 Monteros, Rosenda 100, 101, 224 Montezuma’s Daughter 77 The Montgomery Story 49 The Moon Is Blue 30 Moon Over Miami 24 Moore, Dudley 225 Moore, Roger 92 Morath, Inge 186 Moravia, Alberto 232 Moreno, Rita 76 Morheim, Lou 33, 34, 82, 244n30, 244n40, 244n41, 245n91 Morituri 216 Moulin Rouge 23 The Mound Builders 215 Move Over Darling 49 Movie (magazine) 229 Movie of the Week 225 Muni, Paul 85 Murder Inc. 79, 203 Murnau, F.W. 229 Murphy, Audie 5, 7, 49, 50, 210; see also Mirisch, Walter Musel, Robert 205 Museum of Modern Art 237 Music Is My Beat 123 Mutiny on the Bounty 48 My Darling Clementine 4, 5, 7, 47, 177; see also Fonda, Henry; Ford, John My Dog Buddy 184 My Fair Lady 25 My Sister and I 49 Myerberg, Michael 14 Mystery Street 43, 230; see also Sturges, John

The Naked Spur 5 The Naked Street 26 National Film Registry of the Library of Congress 234 Nazarin 100, 103 NBC Television 8, 200, 211 Negulesco, Jean 17 Nelson, Ricky 8 Nevada Smith 222; see also McQueen, Steve Never Love a Stranger 92; see also McQueen, Steve Never on Sunday 187, 203, 212 Never So Few: action scenes 51; advertisement 91; Bronson, Charles 99; friction between stars 51; Lollobrigida, Gina 51, 53, 91; McQueen, Steve 51; romance 51, 53, 91; screenplay changes 51; Sinatra, Frank 51, 53, 90, 91, 94, 96, 101, 203, 206; see also Sturges, John The New Breed 223 A New Kind of Love 16; see also Brynner, Yul New York Critics Circle 44 New York Times 99; review of Guns of the Magnificent Seven 219; review of The Magnificent Seven 189; review of Return of the Seven 218 Newman, Alfred 123 Newman, Paul 76, 92, 98, 197, 198, 210, 221, 222; McQueen competitiveness 109 Newman, Walter, 10, 56–75, 88, 163; The Buccaneer 56; The Man with the Golden Arm 56, 57; Underwater 56; see also The Magnificent Seven; Sturges, John Nichols, Dudley 55 Nielsen 6 Night of Love 202 Night of Sin 85 Night Passage 5 Night Patrol 105 The Night They Wailed 51 Night Without End 54 The Nightcomers 32; see also Brynner, Yul Nine Hours to Rama 223, 224; see also Buchholz, Horst Niven, David 39, 177, 184, 224 No Time to Be Young 98 Noah’s Ark 51, 77, 246n Noguiera, Rui 57 None but the Brave 222 North, Alex 122, 123 North by Northwest 187, 199, 203 North to Alaska 9, 198, 201, 202, 203, 205, 207, 208 see also Wayne, John Northwest Frontier 54 Novak, Kim 33, 92, 198 Novarro, Ramon 85 nudity 196 numerals in films 191

Nabob 37; see also Brynner, Yul The Naked Runner 224

Oalcalco 103 Oates, Warren 211, 212

275 O’Brian, Hugh 94, 231 O’Casey, Sean 98 Ocean’s 11 80, 95, 96, 98, 134, 200, 201; see also McQueen, Steve Odeon Cinemas, Britain 207 Of Human Bondage 42 O’Hara, John 54 O’Hara, Maureen 20, 86 O’Herlihy, Dan 211 Oklahoma! 14, 19, 24 The Oklahoma Kid 3 O’Toole, Peter 221 The Old Man and the Sea 48, 53; advertisement 43; Bogart, Humphrey 46; box office flop 51; filming on a cinematic barge 47; footage from Walt Disney library 47; Hemingway, Ernest 46; Huston, John 46; logistics of shooting at sea 46, 47; prologue 51; roadshow 51; Sturges, John 42, 43; Tracy, Spencer 43, 46, 47; Zinnemann, Fred 46, 47 Olivier, Laurence 22, 23 Los Olvidos 104 Olympia 32; see also Brynner, Yul On the Beach 39 On the Riviera 24 On the Waterfront 76, 129, 198 Onassis, Aristotle 224 Once More with Feeling 37, 55, 186, 187, 205, 233, 266n38 Once Upon a Time in the Italian West 233 Once Upon a Time in the West 224 One Foot in Hell 79, 197 101 Dalmatians 227 One Touch of Venus 14 One, Two, Three 51, 209 Only the Valiant 136, 137 Ophuls, Max 229 Oquni, Hideo 58, 59 Oscar (Academy Award) 9, 13, 14, 17, 20, 23, 24, 26, 29, 30, 31, 32, 47, 52, 53, 85, 86, 95, 105, 107, 138, 219; Bernstein, Elmer 217, 225; Brynner, Yul 24, 30; Coburn, James 223; Kurosawa, Akira 14; McQueen, Steve 222; Sturges, John 45; Vaughn, Robert 113; Wallach, Eli 223 Our Man Flint 223 The Outer Limits 33 The Outlaws 210 The Outrage 222 overlapping dialogue 139 The Oxbow Incident 20 Pakula, Alan 54 Palance, Jack 100 Paluzzi, Luciana 92 Pancho Villa 20 Panic 183 Papillon 222 Paramount Pictures 9, 16, 17, 18, 21, 31, 33, 47, 49, 79, 92; Bernstein, Walter 55; The Blob 92; Brynner, Yul 16, 17, 23, 31, 32, 38; Gunfight at the O.K. Corral 5, 47, 48, 53, 81,

276 169, 177, 192, 205, 206, 225, 231; new talent program 16, 243n; Sturges, John 47, 48; The Ten Commandments (1956) 9, 18, 19, 20, 27, 30, 31, 98, 123, 185, 186, 227; 3D 17 Pardave, Joaquin 83 Parrish, Robert 87 Passage to Marseilles 100 Paths of Glory 34 Patten, Luana 194 Pavilion, London 226 Payne, John 86 Payton, Barbara PBS 238 The Pearl 102 Peck, Gregory 82, 84, 86; The Big Country 5, 9, 10, 51, 123, 205, 210, 214; The Bravados 5, 86, 88; Duel in the Sun 4, 7; The Gunfighter 4, 5, 166, 177; Leather Stocking Tales 32; The Miraculous Fish 82; Mirage 222; Only the Valiant 136, 137; producer 29; The Sound and the Fury 32; Spellbound 20; Yellow Sky 4; Twelve O’Clock High 139; see also King, Henry; Wyler, William Peckinpah, Sam 9, 211, 230, 231, 232, 235; The Magnificent Seven 211; Major Dundee 218, 223; The Wild Bunch 218, 233, 234 The Peerless Knight 27 Penn, Arthur 231 The People Against O’Hara 44, 99, 230; see also Sturges, John Peppard, George 197 Perry Mason 195 Peter Gunn 100; see also Bernstein, Elmer Peticlerc, Denne Bart 217 Philco TV Theater 20 The Philosophy of the Western (book) 233 Picnic 33, 123 Pinal, Sylvia 87 The Pink Panther 214, 219, 225 Pinza, Ezio 15 Pioneer, Go Home 76 Pizzolatto, Nic 227 The Plainsman 3 Please Turn Over 194, 195, 202, 203 The Pleasure of His Company 79 The Plunderers 80 The Poacher’s Daughter 195 Poitier, Sidney 80 Pollack, Sydney 231 Ponti, Carlo 17, 55, 224 Port of New York 14; see also Brynner, Yul Portrait in Black 35 Portrait of a Murder 215, 216 Powell, Dick 43 Powell, Jane 19 Power, Tyrone 38, 39, 85; see also Brynner, Yul Preminger, Otto: Exodus 30; The Man with the Golden Arm 10; The Moon Is Blue 30; as producer 30;

Index and relationship with United Artists 30 The President’s Analyst 223 Presley, Elvis 54, 76, 92, 187, 188, 210 Preston, Robert 195 The Prisoner of Zenda 85 Private Property 195 The Private War of Major Benson 57 The Prize 221 Procter & Gamble 8 The Production Code 30, 196, 197 The Professionals 126, 181, 218, 219, 222, 227 The Proud and the Profane 21 The Proving Flight 54, 77, 78 Psycho 187, 188, 191, 196, 200, 207, 208 Quigley Poll 40 Quinn, Anthony 1, 2, 9, 10, 13, 20, 26, 27, 32–37, 39–41, 51, 56, 81, 84, 86, 87, 100, 101, 215; Antone Productions 26, 27, 34, 81; Attila 20; The Beasts 82; Black Sunday 27; Boetticher, Budd 20, 27; Booth, Shirley 85; The Brave Bulls 20, 87; on Brynner, Yul 26; The Buccaneer 20, 24, 26, 33, 38, 243n100; Catari 27; Danger 20; De Mille, Cecil B. 20; Don Quixote 82; Douglas, Kirk 20, 22, 34, 35; El Amante 27; El Cid 27, 31; The Farm 27; Ford Theater Hour 20; Gallery 81; Gauguin, Paul 27, 82; The Gothic Line 82; Grossman, Milton 26; The Guns of Navarone 36, 81; Heller in Pink Tights 35, 36; Hideout 20; Hot Spell 35; Hunchback of Notre Dame 27, 35; The King and I (stage) 19; La Strada 20; Last Train from Gun Hill 35, 51, 81; Lights Out 20; Lloyd 249n38; Lollobrigida, Gina 27, 35; The Long Wait 20, 26; Loren, Sophia 20, 34, 25; Lust for Life 26, 31, 34, 81, 82; The Magnificent Matador 20; The Man from Del Rio 26; Man of Blood 82; The Man on the Island 27; Mask of the Avenger 20, 21; Mexico 20, 26; MGM 27; The Miraculous Fish 27, 82; Moment of Truth 27; Naked Street 26; Oscar 20, 26, 30, 31, 86; Oxbow Incident 20; Pancho Villa 20; Pancho Villa (television) 20; Peck, Gregory 82; Philco Television Theater 20; Portrait in Black 35, 215; producer 10, 26, 28, 30; Pulitzer Prize Theater 20; Rossen, Robert 20, 27; The Shoemaker Takes a Holiday 27; Spartacus and the Gladiators 34; A Streetcar Named Desire (stage) 20; Taras Bulba 81; Turner, Lana 35; Ulysses 20, 22; Viva Zapata 20; Warlock 35, 81; Wellman, William 20; Wild Party 26; Zorba the Greek 215

Radical History Review (periodical) 233 Radin, Paul 34, 41, 56, 245n88; see also The Magnificent Seven A Rage to Live 54, 77 Ran 239; see also Kurosawa, Akira Rapper, Irving 82 The Rare Breed 222 Rashomon 13; see also Kurosawa, Akira Rasputin 82 Rawhide 91, 217, 218, 223 Ray, Nicholas 231 The Rebel 8 Red River 4, 6, 7, 28, 199, 233; see also Clift, Montgomery; Hawks, Howard; Wayne, John Reed, Carol 81 Reed, Donna 46 The Reluctant Debutante 187 Relyea, Robert 100 Republic Studios 199 Resnais, Alain 197 The Restless Gun 101 The Return of Ringo 233 Return of Sabata 226 Return of the Seven 2, 214, 217 Revue Productions 210 Rey, Fernando 218 Reynolds, Debbie 54, 220 Richie, Donald 237 Ride a Crooked Trail 7 Ride Lonesome 99 Rider on the Rain 224 The Rifleman 8, 94, 223 Right Cross 43 Rio, Dolores del 84, 113 Rio Bravo 5, 6, 8, 93, 94, 184, 204, 205, 233; see also Hawks, Howard; Wayne, John Rio Grande 4, 5; see also Ford, John; Wayne, John Ritt, Martin 14, 23, 53, 81; Alciona 33; Bernstein, Walter 55; The Magnificent Seven 34, 55; The Sound and the Fury 32, 36; Spartacus and the Gladiators 34 Ritter, Thelma 24 RKO 42, 47, 62 Road to Hong Kong 214 roadshows 188, 199, 238 Roar Like a Dove 49 Robbins, Jhan 24 Roberts, William 10, 55, 57–59, 64–75; see also The Magnificent Seven Robson, Mark 52 Rodgers, Jimmie 92, 194 Rodgers and Hammerstein 13, 14, 19, 24, 25; see also The King and I Rogers, Ginger 93 Roman Candle 54, 77, 78 romance 130 Romantic Comedy 225 Romero, Cesar 84 Rooney, Mickey 80 Rope’s End (original title of Escape from Fort Bravo) 44 The Rose Tattoo 47

Index Rosenthal, Sol 215 Rossellini, Roberto 20, 115 Rossen, Robert 20, 27, 84, 86, 87, 230 Rounders 217 Roy Hill, George 225 Run of the Arrow 99 Run Silent, Run Deep 100 Russell, Bing 101 Russell, Jane 47, 62 Ryan, Robert 45 Sabado Negro 100 Sabrina 49, 105 Saddle and Ride 54 Saint, Eva Marie 49, 50 salary 216 Samurai 176 Samson and Delilah 198; see also DeMille, Cecil B. Sand Pebbles 222 Sanders, George 108 Sandford, Christopher 95 The Sandpiper 223 Saratoga Trunk 47 Sarris, Andrew 229–232, 234 Sartre, Jean-Paul 31 The Satan Bug 225, 226 Saturday’s Hero 123 Savile, Victor 20 Sayles, John 234 Sayonara 188, 190, 198 Scala, Gia 7 Scaramouche 85 The Scarlet Coat 46 scene stealing 111 Schaffner, Franklin 224 Schell, Maria: The Brothers Karamazov 32, 37, 38; Cimarron 189; The Hanging Tree 6 Schlitz Playhouse 20 Schnee, Charles 43 School for Scoundrels 195, 196, 198 Schulberg, Budd 76 Scorsese, Martin 231 Scott, Randolph 4, 42, 55, 99, 125, 206 Scott, Vernon 110 Screen Actors Guild: actors working abroad 80; deal with Sinatra, Frank 80; strike 78; “struggle to the death” 79; Vaughn, Robert 97, 98 Scuderio Condor 96; see also McQueen, Steve The Sea Chase 93 The Searchers 2, 5, 42, 48, 93, 205, 231, 233, 234; see also Ford, John; Wayne, John Seberg, Jean 92 Secret Crimes of Joseph Stalin 24; see also Brynner, Yul Secrets of the Purple Reef 194, 198, 200, 202 Seiter, William A. 14 Sellers, Peter 197 Selznick, David O. 28, 54, 134 Separate Tables 105, 184 September Storm 199, 200

sequels: Guns of the Magnificent Seven 220, 228; The Magnificent Seven Ride 219, 225, 227, 228; Return of the Seven 212, 213, 214, 217–218, 219, 228 Sergeant Rutledge 9, 205 Sergeants 3 215, 225 set design 104 Seven Brides for Seven Brothers 19 Seven Cities of Gold 26 Seven Days in May 221 Seven Guns for the McGregors 232 Seven Guns from Texas 232 The Seven Magnificent Ones 40; see also The Magnificent Seven Seven Samurai 129, 134, 139, 190, 233; Brynner, Yul 33–34; Logan, Joshua 33; Morheim, Lou 33, 34; Quinn, Anthony 13, 33; reissue 237–239; remake 227, 240; title change 13, 241n2; U.S. release 13, 33, 242n; Venice Film Festival 13; see also Kurosawa, Akira; Mifune, Toshiro Seven Thieves 97 The Seven Year Itch 49 77 Sunset Strip 93 Sex Kittens Go to College 200 Shadow of a Gunman 98 Shadowed 42 Shane 2, 4, 5, 48, 177, 193, 198, 231, 233; see also Zinnemann, Fred Shaw, Irwin 55 She 224 She Devil 93 She Wore a Yellow Ribbon 4, 5, 7, 199; see also Ford, John; Wayne, John The Sheepman 5, 40, 57 The Sheik of Araby 51, 77 Sheldon, Sidney 54 Shenandoah 194 Sherlock Holmes 33 Sherman, George 84 Shimin, Symeon 134 Ship of the Dead 97 The Shoemaker Takes a Holiday 27; see also Quinn, Anthony A Shot in the Dark 214 Shotgun Slade 210 Showboat 19 Showdown at Boot Hill 99 Sidney, George 44 Siegel, Don 44, 97, 231; and Bad Day at Black Rock 44, 231 Sight and Sound Poll 238, 239, 240 The Silver Chalice 92 Silverado 227 Simmons, Jean 10 Sinatra, Frank 19, 45, 51, 53, 76, 90, 91, 94, 95, 96, 100, 101, 109, 112, 123, 184, 200, 201, 203, 206, 210, 221, 224; actors strike 80; The Devil at Four O’Clock 247n67; Execution of Private Slovik 95, 109; The Great Escape 221; Never So Few 51, 53, 90, 91, 94, 108, 187, 192; None but the Brave 227; Ocean’s 11 95, 96, 98, 134; pro-

277 ducer 29, 80, 95; Some Came Running 123, 184 Six Gun Mystique (book) 231 633 Squadron 41, 53, 76, 77, 217 Skoble, Aeon J. 169, 170 Slotkin , Richard 233 Smith, Frederick E. 51 So Bright the Flame 44 Sokoloff, Vladimir 100, 114 Solar Productions 222; see also McQueen, Steve Solares, Gilberto Martinez 83 Soldier in the Rain 221 Solomon and Sheba 38, 39, 108, 134, 178, 181, 186, 204, 205; see also Brynner, Yul Some Came Running 123, 184 Some Like It Hot 39, 49, 50, 77, 79, 105, 208, 229; see also Mirisch, Walter Somebody Up There Likes Me 92 Son of the Ram 42 Song Without End 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 20, 201, 202, 203 Sons and Lovers 196 The Sons of Katie Elder 48 The Sound and the Fury 32, 35, 36; see also Brynner, Yul The Sound of Music 25 Sour Apple Award 115 South Pacific 51 South Seas Story 17 spaghetti western 232, 233, 234 Spain 27, 39 Spartacus (Kirk Douglas film) 34, 194, 201, 202, 203, 204, 207, 208 Spartacus and the Gladiators (Yul Brynner film) 34, 35, 39; see also The Gladiators Speigel, Penina 118 Spellbound 20 Spiegel, Sam 16 Spillane, Mickey 26 The Spy Who Came In from the Cold 222 Squad Car 194, 198, 200 Stack, Robert 185 Stagecoach 3, 10, 28, 43, 55, 177 Stagecoach to Tombstone: The Filmgoers’ Guide to the Great Westerns (book) 233 Stagecoach West 8, 210 Stalag 17 49, 191 Stalmaster, Lynn 98 Stanley, Kim 97 Stanwyck, Barbra 47, 53 Star! 14 A Star Is Born 25 Star Trek 6 Starlight Theater 14 State Fair 19 Steinbeck, John 102 Steinem, Gloria 223 Steiner, Max 123 Sternberg, Josef von 62, 229 Stevens, George 4, 6, 28, 42, 45, 106, 112; advice to John Sturges 102, 106; Shane 2, 4, 5, 48, 177, 193, 198, 231, 233

278 Stevens, Leslie 212 Stevens, Stella 92 Stewart, James 5, 29, 92, 110 Stockwell, Dean 43 Stoney Burke 212 Stopover at El Paso 55 The Story of a Cheat 216 La Strada 20 The Strange Loves of Martha Ivers 47 Strangers When We Meet 188, 197, 198, 204 Stratton-Porter, Gene 194 A Streetcar Named Desire 10, 198 The Student Prince 85 Sturges, John 5, 40–48, 51, 52, 54, 61, 63, 65–66, 71–73, 102–106, 108, 109, 112, 115, 121, 122, 126– 128, 130, 132, 138–156, 167, 175, 211, 225, 226, 230–232; Alpha Corporation 52; Anderson, Paul Thomas 234; Army Signal Corps 42; Backlash 46, 47; Bad Day at Black Rock 4, 42, 45–48, 52, 103, 106, 143, 192, 206; Baxter, John 232; Beatty, Warren 221; Bogart, Humphrey 46, 47; Borgnine, Ernest 45; Bronson, Charles 99; Brooks, Richard 44; By Love Possessed 43, 77, 209; Calder, Jenni 169, 232, 233; Cannes Film Festival 45; Carpenter, John 234; Corkin, Stanley 169, 170, 233; Douglas, Kirk 47, 51, 53; The Eagle Has Landed 103, 225; early films 42; Eastwood, Clint 234; Empire (magazine) 233; Escape from Fort Bravo 5, 44, 230; Fast Company 44; fight scene 45; Ford, John 106; Francis, Anne 45; French, Philip 233; Friedkin, William 234; Garfield, Brian 233; A Girl Called Tamiko 225; The Girl in White 44; Gow, Gordon 233; The Great Escape 41, 94, 109, 212, 221; Gunfight at the O.K. Corral 5, 47, 48, 53, 81, 90, 169, 177, 192, 205, 206, 225, 231; The Hallelujah Trail 225; Harris, Richard 221; Harvey, Laurence 221; Hemingway, Ernest 46; Hour of the Gun 225; Hughes, Howard 233; Huston, John 46; Ice Station Zebra 225; internment camp 44; Jeopardy 44, 52, 53; Joe Kidd 225; joins RKO 42; Jones, Du Pre 232; Kasdan, Lawrence 234; Ladd, Alan 44; Lancaster, Burt 47, 53, 90; landscape 44, 45, 106; Last Train from Gun Hill 5, 51, 81, 205, 231; The Law and Jake Wade 44, 51, 232; Lemmon, Jack 221; Lollobrigida, Gina 51, 53, 91; The Magnificent Yankee 44; Marooned 225; Martin, Dean 221; Marvin, Lee 45; McCrea, Joel 44; McQ 100, 225; McQueen, Steve 51–52, 109, 264n; Mellen, Joan 233; Mifune, Toshiro 60; Mirisch, Walter 52;

Index modern western 44; Monroe, Marilyn 43–44; The Mutiny on the Bounty 48; National Film Registry 234; Never So Few 51, 53, 90, 91, 94, 96, 99, 101, 203, 206; The Old Man and the Sea 42, 43, 46– 48, 51, 53; opening re-shot by another director 45; original title Bad Day at Honda 44; Oscar nomination 45; The People Against O’Hara 44; physique 47; producer 52, 56–57; Quinn, Anthony 51; reputation as fast worker 42, 43, 44, 46, 52; Right Cross 43, 44; Rope’s End 44; Ryan, Robert 45; Sarris, Andrew 229– 231, 234; The Satan Bug 225, 226; Sayles, John 234; The Scarlet Coat 46; Sidney, George 44; Siegel, Don 44; Sinatra, Frank 51, 53, 90, 91, 94, 96, 101, 203, 206, 221; Skoble, Aeon J. 169, 170; Slotkin, Richard 233; The Sons of Katie Elder 48; Stevens, George 45, 106, 112; “Strained Seriousness” 229; Sturges, John 51; Tarantino, Quentin 234; Taylor, Robert 51; 3D 44, 47; Tracy, Spencer 43–47; Underwater 47; The Valdez Horses 225; Variety review 48; The Walking Hills 42; Wallis, Hal B. 47, 51; Washington, Pres. George 45, 46; Widmark, Richard 51; The Wreck of the Mary Deare 48; Wyler, William 42, 48, 115; Zinnemann, Fred 46, 47 Sturges, John 46 Sturges, Preston 16 The Subterraneans 197 Sugarfoot (film) 5 Sugarfoot (television) 101 Summertime 45 The Sundowners 204, 212 Sunrise at Campobello 188, 201, 202, 203 Sunset Boulevard 16, 44 Sure as Fate 14 Surprise Package 39, 186, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 205; see also Brynner, Yul Swiss Family Robinson 204 Switzerland 39 The Sword and the Dragon 199 symmetry 142 Tales of Wells Fargo 90 The Tall Men 8 The Tall T 93 Taming Sutton’s Gal 93 Tarantino, Quentin 228, 234 Taras Bulba 81, 215, 216, 216 Taylor, Elizabeth 50, 51, 53, 54, 76, 107, 223 Taylor, Robert 51 Teenage Caveman 98; see also Vaughn, Robert Teenage Wolf Pack 97; see also Buchholz, Horst television non-westerns: Alfred

Hitchcock Presents 99; Armstrong Circle Theater 90; Batman 6; The Big Story 90; Boston Terrier 98, 99; Climax 90; Danger 14, 20; The Defender 90; Dragnet 101; Father Knows Best 94, 98; The FBI 223; Ford Theater Hour 20; The Goodyear Playhouse 90; Hideout 20; Hustle 223; I Spy 223; Life with Snarky Parker 14; Lights Out 20; M Squad 99; The Man from U.N.C.L.E. 6, 222; Man with a Camera 99, 100, 192; M*A*S*H 6; Mr. and Mrs. 14; Mr. Jones and His Neighbors 13; The Outer Limits 33; Perry Mason 101, 196, 223; Peter Gunn 100; Philco TV Playhouse 20; Pulitzer Prize Theater 20; Sherlock Holmes 33; Somerset Maugham Television Theater 20; Star Trek 6; Starlight Theater 14; Sure as Fate 14; 20th Century Fox Theater 90; United States Steel Hour 89; The Untouchables 223; West Point 90; Zorro 98 The Ten Commandments (1923) 17 The Ten Commandments (1956) 9, 18, 19, 20, 27, 30, 31, 98, 123, 185, 186, 227 Ten Days to Tulara 84 Tender Is the Night 54 Tepoztlan 103 A Terrible Beauty 40 The Texan 91 Texas Across the River 218 Texeira, Virgilio 218 That Kind of Woman 55 That Man from Rio 214 There Must Be a Lone Ranger (book) 232 There’s Always a Price Tag 196 There’s No Business Like Show Business 24, 25 They Came to Cordura 5, 84, 86 They Died with Their Boots On 20 Thieves Market 49 This Is Cinerama 188, 201, 202, 203 This Property Is Condemned 223 This Too I Saw 55 Thomas, Bob 93, 107 The Thomas Crown Affair 222 Thomas Crown Affair/The Magnificent Seven 226 Thompson, Howard 219 Thompson, J. Lee 112, 196 Thoroughly Modern Millie 225 The Thousand Plane Raid 225 Threatt, Elizabeth 230 Three Amigos 234 Three Coins in the Fountain 17 3D 17; Escape from Fort Bravo 44; Underwater 3:10 to Yuma 5, 40 Three Violent Men 5 Thulin, Ingrid 76 Thunder in Carolina 184 Thunder of Drums 223 Thunder Road 214 Thy Name Is Woman 85

Index Tiara Tahiti 224 Tiger Bay 97 Time (magazine) 233 Time Before Time 220 Tin Pan Alley 24 The Tin Star 5 Tiomkin, Dmitri, 122 Toho Inc. 33, 34, 59, 239, 244n30 Top 100 Movie Stars of the 1960s 215 Top 100 Movies of the 1960s 223 Tosca 224 Toth, Andre de 6, 101 The Towering Inferno 222, 225 Towers, Constance 76 Town Without Pity 208, 209 Trackdown 91 Tracy, Spencer 43–47, 48, 51, 92, 103, 110, 112, 177, 178, 210; Bad Day at Black Rock 5, 44, 45, 143; Broken Lance 5; Inherit the Wind 50, 188; The Magnificent Seven 36, 55; Mutiny on the Bounty (remake) 48; The Old Man and the Sea 43, 46, 47 The Travelers 94 Travels of Jamie McPheeters 211 The Treasure of the Sierra Madre 86 triple bill 226 Triple Cross 224 Troika 220 True Grit 219, 220 Turner, Lana 35, 48, 49, 51, 53, 77, 224 Twelve Angry Men (stage) 223 Twelve O’Clock High 139 Twentieth Century Fox 9, 18, 19, 20, 25, 31, 39, 49, 92 20th Century Fox Hour 90 Two Different Worlds 31 Two for the Seesaw 50, 76, 77, 209 Two Worlds 100 Ulmer, Edward G. 101 Ulysses 20, 22, 26; see also Quinn, Anthony The Undefeated 220 Underwater 47, 53; see also Sturges, John Underworld USA 80 Unforgiven (1960) 9, 42, 102, 204, 205, 210 The Unforgiven (1992) 233, 234 Union Pacific 3 United Artists 1, 9, 10, 28–29, 39, 50, 212, 239; The Alamo 9, 50, 54, 83, 93, 103, 169, 187, 188, 195, 198, 199, 200, 201; Benjamin, Robert 29; Brynner, Yul 32; early history 28; exploits soundtracks 212–213; The Great Escape 41, 94, 109, 212, 221; The Horse Soldiers 5, 9, 39, 50, 101, 103, 184, 185; Krim, Arthur 29; Oscars 29; production deals 29; profit 29–30; Solomon and Sheba 38, 39, 108, 134, 178, 181, 186, 204, 205; Some Like It Hot 39, 49, 50, 79, 105, 208, 229; see also The Magnificent Seven; Mirisch, Walter

United Nations 16 United States Steel Hour 90 Universal Studios 29, 188 The Untouchables 185, 223 Unwed Mother 98 Up Periscope 94 Uris, Leon 54 The Valdez Horses 225 Van Fleet, Jo 48 Van Gogh, Vincent 17 Variety (magazine) 14, 16, 17, 42, 48, 92, 96, 113, 189, 194, 200, 224 Vaughn, Robert 58, 59, 80, 97–99, 110–114, 117, 118, 128, 132, 135, 157, 158, 159, 159, 160, 163, 192, 193, 208, 209, 213, 218; Aubrey, Jim 98; BBC 223; The Boston Terrier 98; Bronco 98; Bullitt 222; Carson, Johnny 98; Corman, Roger 98; Edwards, Blake 98; A Good Day for a Hanging 98; Gunsmoke 98; Hustle 223; Lancaster, Burt 98; The Man from U.N.C.L.E. 222; Mirisch, Walter 98; Newman, Paul 98; Oscar nomination 113; The Rifleman 98; Screen Actors Guild membership 98; Shadow of a Gunman (stage) 98; Teenage Caveman 98; television 98, 222, 223; The Ten Commandments 98; Twelve Angry Men (stage) 223; Unwed Mother 98; The Venetian Affair 222; Wichita Town 98; Young Philadelphians 98; Zorro 98 Velez, Lupe 84 The Venetian Affair 222 Venice Film Festival 13, 32 Vera Cruz 6, 7, 23, 83, 99 The Victors 220 Vidor, Charles 195 Vidor, King 4 Vietnam 165 The Vikings 34 Villa Rides 224 Village of the Damned 193, 201, 210 The Virginian (film) 5 The Virginian (television) 33, 211, 217 Viva Villa 85 Viva Zapata 20 Vivacious Lady 220 Wackiest Ship in the Army 79 Wagon Master 6 Wagon Train 6, 93 Wald, Jerry 36 Walk, Don’t Run 218 Walker, Clint 5, 92, 93, 94 Walker, Robert 14 The Walking Hills 42 Walking Target 198, 199, 203 Wallach, Eli 57, 65, 80, 97, 104, 109, 111–114, 117, 121, 125, 135, 136, 140, 141, 149, 155, 157, 159, 160, 161, 163, 167, 172, 192, 209, 213, 253n91; Baby Doll 97; Camino Real (stage) 97; Cannes Film Fes-

279 tival 204; Godfather Part III 223; The Good, the Bad and the Ugly 223; Hathaway, Henry 97; Jackson, Anne 97; The Journey 97; Kazan, Elia 97; King’s Corner 204; The Line Up 97; Oscar 223; refuses Sinatra role in From Here to Eternity 97; Seven Thieves 97; Siegel, Don 97; Wall Street, Money Never Sleeps 223; Williams, Tennessee 223 Wallis, Hal B. 47, 48, 51, 53 Walsh, Raoul 20, 202, 231 Wanger, Walter 10, 28 Wanted: Dead or Alive 91, 106, 190, 192, 193, 210, 220; pilot episode 91; ratings 93, 94; shooting schedule 96; syndication 220; see also Four Star; McQueen Steve War and Peace 227 The War Lover 220 War of the Worlds 23 Warlock 5, 81 Warner Brothers 8, 9, 25, 29, 42, 43, 46, 47, 79, 92, 93 Washington, Denzel 227 Washington, Pres. George 45, 46 Waterhole 3 223 The Way West 39 Wayne, John 28, 29, 51, 83, 84, 93, 110, 125, 224; The Alamo 9, 50, 54, 83, 93, 103, 169, 187, 188, 195, 198, 199, 200, 201; Fort Apache 4, 5, 7; The Horse Soldiers 5, 9, 39, 50, 101, 103, 184, 185; McQ 100, 225; North to Alaska 9, 198, 201, 202, 203, 205, 207, 208; Red River 4, 6, 7, 28, 199, 233; Rio Bravo 5, 6, 8, 93, 94, 184, 204, 205, 233; Rio Grande 4, 5; The Searchers 2, 5, 42, 48, 93, 205, 231, 233, 234; She Wore a Yellow Ribbon 4, 5, 7, 199; True Grit 219, 220; see also Ford, John; Sturges, John weaponry 106 Webb, Clifton 24 Webster, Ferris 220 Weinstein Company 240 Weissmuller, Johnny 84 Welles, Orson 22, 23, 86, 229 Wellman, William 20, 43, 94, 231 Wells Fargo 3 West, Martin 194 West Point 90 West Side Story 54, 209 Western television series: The Alaskans 100; Bat Masterson 210; The Big Valley 223; Bonanza 8, 101, 210, 211, 223; Border Patrol 101; Bronco 98, 99; Cheyenne 8, 93, 94, 211; Cimarron City 91; The Deputy 8, 210; Dick Powell’s Zane Grey Theater 210; Dundee and the Calhouns 224; Gunsmoke 6, 93, 94, 98, 210, 211; Have Gun—Will Travel 93, 98, 100, 101, 211, 223; Klondike 223; Laramie 101, 217, 223; Lawman 8, 93, 94, 210; The Life and Legend

280 of Wyatt Earp 8; Maverick 8, 101, 210; Men of Tallahasee 91; The New Breed 223; Rawhide 33, 91, 101, 210, 211, 217, 218, 223; The Restless Gun 101; The Rifleman 8, 94, 98, 211, 223; Shotgun Slade 211; Stagecoach West 8, 210; Stoney Burke 212; Tales of Wells Fargo 90, 94, 210; The Tall Men 8, 210; The Texan 90; Trackdown 91; The Travels of Jamie McPheeters 211; The Virginian 33, 211, 212, 218; Wagon Train 6, 93, 99, 100, 210, 211; Wanted: Dead or Alive 91, 93, 94, 96, 106, 113, 190, 192, 193, 210, 220; The Westerner 210; Whispering Smith 110; Wichita Town 8, 98, 99, 101 Western Writers of America 233 The Westerner 210 Westward Ho, the Wagons 5 Westworld 225 What Did You Do in the War, Daddy? 223 When Hell Broke Loose 99 Where the Hot Wind Blows 185, 200, 202, 203, 210 Whispering Smith (film) 5 Whispering Smith (television) 210 White Christmas 19 White Orchid 100 Whitman, Stuart 92 Wichita Town 8, 98, 101 Wicked Go to Hell 184

Index Widmark, Richard 5, 51, 81 Wilcoxon, Henry 23 The Wild Bunch 102, 118, 218, 219, 233, 234 The Wild One 14, 198 The Wild Party 26 Wilder, Billy 16, 17, 44, 48–54, 76, 77, 78, 97, 208–209, 223, 228, 230 The Wilderness of Monkeys 220 Wilke, Robert 101 Williams, Esther 49, 57, 86, 87 Williams, Tennessee 223 Winchester ’73 4, 7 Windjammer 202 Winesberg, Ohio 54, 77 Wisconsin Center for Film and Theater Research 40, 105, 108, 135, 136, 149, 155, 158, 159, 160, 163, 167, 219 Wise, Robert 25, 52, 54, 92, 230 Wistful Widow of Wagon Gap 203 With a Song in my Heart 24 The Wizard of Oz 218, 234 Wonderful Country 87 Wood, Natalie 94 Woodward, Joanne 36 The World of Suzie Wong 54, 187 World War I 84, 85 World War II 84, 85 The Wreck of the Mary Deare 48 Writers Guild of America 57, 58; arbitration on The Man with the Golden Arm 58; arbitration

process 248n; strike 1, 79; see also The Magnificent Seven Wyler, William 42, 48–49, 52–54, 76, 115, 192, 208, 230; advice to John Sturges 115; Allied Artists 49; Army Signal Corps 42; Ben Hur 9, 175, 186, 188, 194, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 203, 205, 207–209; The Big Country 5, 9, 10, 51, 123, 205, 210, 214; Friendly Persuasion 5, 29, 48, 49; Liberty Films 28; Mirisch, Walter 48 X-15 223 The Yellow Sky 4 Yellowstone Kelly 5 You and Me 57 Young, Robert 94 Young, Victor 123 Young and Deadly 80 The Young Lions 55, 198 The Young Philadelphians 98; see also Vaughn, Robert Zanuck, Darryl F. 24, 25, 51 Zinnemann, Fred 6, 46–47, 52–54, 76, 203, 230; High Noon 3, 4, 5, 29, 103, 122, 188, 195, 198, 204, 231, 233, 234 Ziv 211 Zorba the Greek 215