The History of John Ford: My Darling Clementine

When Orson Welles was asked what movies he studied before embarking on directing Citizen Kane he replied, "I studied the Old Masters, by which I mean John Ford, John Ford, and John Ford." 

Running parallel with our series about Akira Kurosawa ("Walking Kurosawa's Road"), we're running a series of pieces about the closest thing America has to Kurosawa in artistry—director John Ford. Ford rarely made films set in the present day, but (usually) made them about the past...and about America's past, specifically (when he wasn't fulfilling a passion for his Irish roots). 

In "The History of John Ford" we'll be gazing fondly at the work of this American Master, who started in the Silent Era, learning his craft, refining his director's eye, and continuing to work deep into the 1960's (and his 70's) to produce the greatest body of work of any American "picture-maker," America's storied film-maker, the irascible, painterly, domineering, sentimental puzzle that was John Ford, John Ford, and John Ford.

 

My Darling Clementine (John Ford, Lloyd Bacon, 1946) Stuart Lake's 1931 biography of Wyatt Earp, "Wyatt Earp: Frontier Marshal," had already inspired two previous Earp movies—one in 1934 and one in 1939, both titled Frontier Marshal—and in 1946, he published another book "My Darling Clementine." John Ford took an interest in the latter and bought the film rights, using it to make the last film he owed on his contract with 20th Century Fox.

Ford had revolutionized the Western genre with his 1939 film of Stagecoach and My Darling Clementine was his return to making horse operas since that film. Ford also wanted to make the film as he had conversed with the real Wyatt Earp during his silent-movie days, and he wanted to make an accurate depiction of the frontier town of Tombstone and of the climactic Gunfight at the O.K. Corral, a 30 second skirmish in the city's streets that author Lake had mythologized in "Frontier Marshal".

There are those who say this is Ford's best Western, though, as great as it is, I find it slightly problematic. Great, but there are little details that paw at the dirt. For the first point, it is wildly inaccurate about events during Earp's tenure in the law while he was in Tombstone. He was never sheriff as the film depicts—that was his brother Virgil (played in the film by Tim Holt)—the Earps weren't cowboys but gamblers and pimps...and opportunists. Old Man Clanton (played by Walter Brennan at his most repellent) who, in the film, is the instigator of the bad blood between the Earps and the Clanton and whose killing of Virgil leads to the famous "gunfight"—which also *cough* took place in 1881, not 1882—died before any of this took place. Doc Holliday was a dentist, not a surgeon, and there was never any "Clementine." One isn't even sure of the details of that gunfight, even though Ford says he staged it as Earp described it to him when the two found themselves on the same silent film-shoot. But, who lived and who died in real life is nothing like presented in the film.

Earp was well-known for "polishing his badge" in interviews—and Blake Edwards, in his 1988 film Sunset has Earp say "that's just how it happened...except for a lie or two." Certainly, Lake's biographies are rife with inaccuracies, due to writerly creativity, Earp's sketchy relationship to Truth and the efforts of Earp's widow, Josephine, to white-wash history in her husband's favor.

But, then we're also talking about John Ford, who, in two years, would make Fort Apache where John Wayne's Cavalry Captain Kirby York would lie to the press about the actions of his fallen superior Lt. Col. Owen Thursday (Fonda again) "for the sake of the Corps" and who would articulate the sentiment in 1962's The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance when a member of the press says "This is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend." Ford mythologized the West in his movies, even if, in later films, he would puncture those myths for a more nuanced perspective on "Manifest Destiny."

There's a story of Ford being confronted by a historian of the Old West about all those fictions in Clementine and Ford replied "Well...did you like the picture?" to which the guy said he did very much. To which Ford hammered back "What more do you want?"

 

Good argument, that. Really.

But, the other issue I have is that director's credit. What we have now as My Darling Clementine isn't exactly the film Ford made. 20th Century studio head Darryl Zanuck thought it was okay, but wanted to make changes to it—and employed studio employee Lloyd Bacon to shoot other scenes, while Zanuck trimmed some 17 minutes out of the film. Those non-Ford scenes include Henry Fonda's Wyatt Earp talking over the grave-site of his brother James (Don Garner), killed in an ambush by the Clantons. The other big change? The ending, where Earp bids farewell to Clementine. In Ford's version they shake hands. But, preview audiences felt...unfulfilled. So, Zanuck had Bacon shoot a new close-up of a farewell kiss. Afterwards, when Zanuck offered Ford another contract to do more movies at Fox, the director turned it down to make films, without Zanuck's interference, through his own studio, Argosy Pictures. 

So, what do we have in My Darling Clementine, that odd mixture of fiction and legend? History as we'd like it to be. Simplistic delineations between good and evil out on the edge of civilization. And where young Wyatt Earp has revenge on his mind—that part's certainly historically accurate—for the harm done to his family, it's a case of Good versus Bad (certainly less complicated than the testimonies given at the Earp's real-life trial after the incident) with Good triumphing and even getting the girl. Maybe it was Zanuck's treatment of it talking, but Ford dismissed it as "essentially a film for children."

Ford was toiling in the fields of Myth, not History. He was telling a far bigger story than the one leading to the rumble at the O.K. Corral; Ford was examining the story of the dawning of a frontier civilization. When the town of Tombstone is first introduced by old man Clanton he describes it as "wide-open". That's an understatement; it's not even a town, just a single row of "growing concerns"—a hotel, a boarding house, a saloon, a brothel, a store, "that" corral...and a barbershop. There isn't even a defining thing as a street—the doors of buildings face open landscape, interrupted by transitory covered wagons. It's rough and in its genesis.

It's certainly no place to raise a family, the only examples of which are the Earps and the Clantons, polar opposites—one defining anarchy and the other abiding by the rules, such as they are. The Earps come to Tombstone for a respite from the trail, leaving young brother James to look after their herd, only having that moment of relief lead to the young man's death, presumably ambushed by the Clantons. The Earps settle in town—after Wyatt resolutely handles a disturbance—ultimately to settle scores.

Their positions as law-men will be a challenge to the Clantons, but also to Tombstone's most prominent citizen, "Doc" Holliday (Victor Mature), once a surgeon, now a drinker, gambler, and gun-fighter. He has come to—appropriately—Tombstone to die, running from his past life to the drier desert, hoping it will help his tuberculosis. He has come to town a dead man walking, and he's lost hope...in his health, himself, and in everything. His existential crisis is first irritated by the presence of the Earps—he can't exactly throw his callousness around anymore—but it comes to a respectful kindredship. He begins—against a thousand reasons not to—to hope.

Part of this transformation is due to his friendship with Wyatt, who is centered, contained, confident, and unflappable. Henry Fonda's interpretation of Wyatt is not given to overzealousness or going off half-cocked. He's steady...even in a crisis...in stark contrast to the Clantons who know no bounds or ethics. The man who no longer believes in anything, starts to find purpose. And the rough-hewn Earp begins to gradually become more dapper, in no small part due to the presence in town of Holliday's former flame and assistant, Clementine Carter (Cathy Downs), who has come there to try to bring Holliday back to his old life.

The balance of Tombstone shifts from merely trying to persevere against adversity to appearing to thrive, to build, and—once the Clantons are taken care of—why, they even presume to hire a schoolteacher. How's that for putting down roots and hoping for the future? 

You boil down those "legends of Wyatt Earp" (forget all those troublesome details)—and you get the story of the building of community, which is far less exciting than the turf-battles and gun-fights of less-considered examples of the Western, but the more protracted, difficult story of mending fences.

That's the story of My Darling Clementine. Not "the taming of the West" but the taming of our worst instincts.