I Shot Jesse James

I Shot Jesse James (Samuel Fuller, 1949) "Well, what're you waitin' for, Bob? There's my back!" That ironic line comes early on in Samuel Fuller's first director's effort, a low-budget Western he shot in 10 days and runs a quick hour twenty minutes. In it, he traces (somewhat truthfully) the story of Bob Ford, a member of the James Gang who shot Jesse James for the amnesty for past crimes and an offered reward (which was rescinded).

And a legendary status as a turncoat and a "dirty little coward" which was never rescinded.

Weep no tears for Jesse James. The guy was a psychopath drunk on his fame, a racist murderer of women and children, and loved his reputation as a Robin Hood who stole from the rich...and kept it. Forget that it was the money of ordinary citizens. It's those same ordinary citizens who lionized the creep. Fuller thought James was a rat and didn't want to romanticize him the way 20th Century Fox did.

But, he doesn't really paint the picture of James by historical record, either. The way James is portrayed (by Reed Handley), he's a smart, level-headed guy who robs banks and has a steely glare and a bit of a hair-trigger. Fuller always liked a "wow" beginning and after a Title sequence of wanted posters, he whip-pans to the "Cattlemens' Bank" as he holds a bank official at gun-point, while Ford (played by John Ireland) stuffs his money-bag. Fuller builds tension with close-ups of James and the official, who starts sweating more and more. The reason? He's inching his foot millimeter by millimeter to a foot-activated alarm button, as the sweat runs down his face. 

It's a new deal for Jesse and Bob—they've never seen anything like that alarm mechanism before. But, it causes enough confusion for Bob to get shot in the getaway—and drop the money. James decides to lay low for a while with the wife under the alias Tom Howard, and Bob and his brother stay with the James family. "Mrs. Howard" doesn't like it, is suspicious of Ford, but James won't relent. In fact, he gives no argument.

"So, what are you waitin' for, Bob? There's  my back!" The line comes when Jesse is taking a hot bath in the barn, Ford delivering freshly steaming buckets of water. James gives Ford a new pistol, and for long moments he stares at Jesse's naked back in the tub, thinking it would be so easy. But, what Jesse is talking about is scrubbing his back with a brush. The film has a few of these little Fuller tricks, raising expectations of one thing and totally subverting those expectations, keeping one step ahead of the audience.

Where Fuller departs from History is the back-story and what will comprise the main motivation behind the fatal shot to Jesse James. When Ford learns that his old sweetheart, actress Cynthy Waters (Barbara Britton) is in town appearing in a "heart-warming drama" (as they all seem to be), and he sees the amnesty promised for James' death as a way to have a future with Cynthy, who also has an interested suitor with John Kelley (Preston Foster), which only makes Ford more anxious to be able to walk free from regret. Killing James will only speed the way to his marrying Cynthy.

The opportunity will come soon enough, although there will be ample chances to make it happen, chances that Ford lets slip by for one reason or another. But, while James has his back turned, adjusting a picture on the wall, Ford shoots, using the same gun James has given him as a gift and seals both their fates. Ford gets his amnesty, but no reward, and when he rushes to Cynthy to tell her he's a free man, she's aghast, especially as he cites her as his main motivation—"It's just as if I pulled that trigger myself..." Ford is disappointed and confused by her reaction and her hesitancy to marrying him and becomes just as committed to making a stake so that he can have a foundation for a marriage not based on murder and betrayal.

Sounds reasonable, but not to Ford's twisted bubble of reality.

The remainder of the film is a mixture of some (but not much) of the history of Ford subsequent to the shooting of James—yes, he did tour towns doing dramatic re-enactments of the shooting (but no, he didn't quit doing them from experiencing guilt-ridden flashbacks), and yes, he was targeted for reprisals—but, there's more Fuller fictionalization—no, he didn't go into silver prospecting and make a fortune (he ran a series of taverns and dance-halls, usually ruinously), the major character of John Kelly who spirals in and out of Ford's life, and Cynthy's affections, is entirely fictitious (although Ford was eventually killed by an Edward O'Kelley). Given the contrivance of the love interest, and Ford's less-than-thrilling post-assassination career, one can hardly blame him. Besides, Fuller's interest is internal, not external; Ford's fate as a pariah in the eyes of the public, despite ridding the world of a murderous thug is far more interesting than how he earns his money. 

Bob Ford relives his shooting of Jesse James on-stage.

One of most tense scenes parallels that initial bank-robbery where it's done mostly in close-up, as the faces get more tense—it's when Ford is at a bar and a troubadour comes in to sing for drinks and tips and starts to sing a song "that everybody likes." He starts to sing "Jesse James"*, not realizing that one of the bar-patrons is the "dirty little coward" that is mentioned in the song. Once Ford identifies himself, he dares the singer to continue the song to the end, which he does, while sweat pours down his face. 

It's a tense scene with merely the threat of violence at its core. Fuller makes it excruciating and does it entirely in close-up, pushing the audience uncomfortably close, enough to make it squirm with the tension. It's the sort of in-your-face film-making that Fuller would perfect throughout his career. 

* Jesse James (Traditional)

Jesse James was a lad that killed many a man,
He robbed the Glendale train,
He stole from the rich and he gave to the poor,
He'd a hand and a heart and a brain.

Well it was Robert Ford, that dirty little coward,
I wonder how he feels,
For he ate of Jesse's bread and he slept in Jesse's bed,
And he laid poor Jesse in his grave.

(chorus)

Well Jesse had a wife to mourn for his life,
Three children, [now] they were brave,
Well that dirty little coward that shot Mr. [Mister] Howard,
He laid poor Jesse [Has laid Jesse James] in his grave.

Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He'd never rob a mother or a child,
There never was a man with the law in his hand,
That could take Jesse James alive.

Jesse was a man, a friend to the poor,
He'd never see a man suffer pain,
And with his brother Frank he robbed the Chicago bank,
And stopped the Glendale train.

It was on a Saturday night and the moon was shining bright,
They robbed the Glendale train,
And people they did say o'er many miles away
It was those outlaws, they're Frank and Jesse James

(chorus)

Now the people held their breath when they heard of Jesse's death,
And wondered how he ever came to fall
Robert Ford, it was a fact, he shot Jesse in the back
While Jesse hung a picture on the wall

Now Jesse went to rest with his hand on his breast,
The devil will be upon his knee.
He was born one day in the County Clay,
And he came from a solitary race.

(chorus)

Raw Deal

Raw Deal (Anthony Mann, 1948) There's something just a wee bit different about this film-noir featuring the director-cinematographer team of Anthony Mann and John Alton (who were responsible for so many moodily-lit film-noir films that managed to excel in their ability to transcend their B-movie budgets and actually display something of unforgettable visual artististry). It's told from the woman's perspective as she observes the plight her boyfriend-paramour is going through in trying to exact revenge on the gangland boss who did him dirt. Her plans are to spring him out of prison and go on the lam, out of the country, but, first, she has to convince him to let his unfinished business go. And since that unfinished business has a good share of 50 grand attached to it. 

Well...men can be so practical, sometimes.

I mean, he IS still in prison and all.

Joe Sullivan (Dennis O'Keefe) has a lot of time juice-stewing while in the slammer. He's taken the fall for the no-good-high-roller rat named Ricky Coyle (Raymond Burr) and ended up serving time and wasting it. His only high-points in the gray-bar hotel are when the do-gooder legal case-worker Ann Martin (Marsha Hunt) comes to visit him to try and get him out of jail if he'd just turn state's evidence. She's a cute kid and all ("Next time you come up, don't wear that perfume...it doesn't help a guy's good behavior"), but Joe's got other plans for busting out. 

And that's where Pat Cameron (Claire Trevor), our narrator, comes in. She's been working angles outside, so that she and Joe can run away together, even if it is on the lam. Trouble is, Pat's a little on the desperate side and naive, and the plan that she's got for springing Joe comes straight from Ricky Coyle, who's having a very good time spending Joe's share of the loot and doesn't have any plans to split it. It doesn't occur to Pat that, should his prison-break succeed, it won't be just the cops they'll be running from, but Coyle's gang, as well.

But no one but Pat figures on Joe's resourcefulness and he does manage to escape...but just barely. A bullet-riddled gas tank from the attempt and "a dragnet tighter than a fist" forces them to start altering plans and Joe decides to hide out for a couple days at the one address that might hold a sympathetic soul, Ann's. Plan B is to take Ann hostage (for the police...and maybe for Joe) and meet up with Rick at Crescent City to settle scores. Joe and Rick have different ideas of what that means, and so he sends some hit-men to meet up with Joe and rid Rick of the problem for once and for all.

The triangulated action, between the pursuers and the pursued—who have their own internal tensions—makes it a more complicated plot than most noirs, despite the lack of mystery inside it. It's a standard chase, but coming at different angles, with the "wanted" man circled by two forces that want him dead or back in prison, and two women who want him alive, but with conflicting emotions about what that might entail. In the meantime, Mann never gives you a sense of space or of freedom. There's always a sense of entrapment from the dark frames of doors to the grill-work on the prison windows and everyday fences...right down to the veils that the women wear, even if it's a little premature to be in mourning. Still, in the noir-niverse, one can never start too early.

Despite the artistry, Mann directs with a rough savagery that, at times, is unnerving. At one point, during a party that Coyle is giving, the true villainy of the man is displayed by his throwing a flaming chafing into the face of one of the party-goers. It shocks, and makes one a little wary of what might come. The action is brutal, with a particularly frenzied fight at the end that leaves you shocked and more than a little relieved when the end comes and you can vacate this dark Hell that starts in prison and never really leaves.