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Ford, a member of the James Gang who shot Jesse James for the amnesty for past crimes and an offered reward (which was rescinded).

And a legendary status as a turncoat and a "dirty little coward" which was never rescinded.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

The Baron of Arizona

The Baron of Arizona (Samuel Fuller, 1950) The second film directed by Samuel Fuller—the first was I Shot Jesse James—was another take on "The Old West," combined with a True Tall Tale of an entrepreneur who tried to win the West—by cheating—and, for a time, pulled off one of the greatest attempted swindles in the United States...of the United States. There is a saying that no great fortune was made without larceny and The Baron of Arizona tells the story of James Addison Reavis (played with a malevolent charm by Vincent Price), who conducted a decades length long-con back in the day when land was unclaimed and the paper-trail was basically three sheets to the wind, and when the previous residents were indigenous people...who never kept records.

So, Reavis came up with a plan (fictionalized by Fuller): He finds an orphan with Spanish roots and invests in her (and his) future, placing her with a governess (Beulah Bondi) who will raise her with a regal breeding. Leaving them for years, he travels to Spain and, of all things, joins a monastery with the intent of gaining access to its land records and forging a document indicating that the Arizona territory were granted by King Ferdinand of Spain to a fictitious baron of the territory, Miguel de Peralta. To complete the claim, he gains access to a duplicate archive and repeats the forgery.  

Reavis travels back to America and reunites with the orphan, Sofia (Ellen Drew), who has now grown to womanhood. He marries her, and, with the bogus records carefully set in place, claims her as the descendant of the fabricated baron, the true baroness of the territory, before all other claims, and, conveniently, making him the baron. He manages to make the case to the U.S. government that Arizona is deeded to her by Spanish decree, and then sits back, king of his own makeshift kingdom. The U.S. Government, under the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo and the terms of the Gadsen Purchase, is bound to honor the earlier claim, but the land has since been settled with towns, government and blocks of land for the development of a transcontinental railroad, all of which are now held by the "previous owner," and Reavis imposes a duty ("revenues, rents and royalties") for the use of "his land."

Those who don't pay it or can't afford it (that would be the settlers) are kicked off their land. This, of course, does not sit well with the citizenry that start rumbling about the situation,  and start to take matters into their own hands, even fire-bombing the Reavis home, previously the mansion of a railroad baron. The scheme brings Reavis thousands of dollars and a large headache for the government, which attracts the attention of John Griff (Reed Hadley) who works for the Department of the Interior who suspects the forgery ("It's a bad cigar wrapped in a rich Spanish leaf") but has difficulty proving it. As a quick fix, the Government sends the Secretary of the Interior to buy Reavis out for $25 million. He refuses. After all, as he says at one point (quoting what he is called by Pulitzer) "Nothing is sufficient for the man who changed geography"

When a surveyor general disputes the claim, and the citizens' resentment turns to mob-violence, Reavis doubles down and sues the government for $11 million dollars, prompting a more thorough government investigation and the further resentment of the settlers. But their increasing resentment outside causes rumbles inside the Reavis home, and it's here where Fuller the writer stumbles a bit with conflicting emotions and strained credulity for the motivations of both Reavis and Sofia. She fears the mob and the violence but at trial, she stands before the court and vehemently defends her husband despite her doubts. Reavis, for his part, risks everything with his actions, the only saving grace of the episode (besides having Price and Drew "selling it") is a cracker-jack line that Reavis delivers when asked why he does what he ultimately does: "I fell in love with my wife."

Shot in just 15 days with a cost of around $135,000, The Baron of Arizona rarely betrays its threadbare budget or quick shooting schedule, thanks to the cinematography of James Wong Howe (a stroke of luck for Fuller—Howe was a veteran of the Hollywood studio system since the silents) who manages to burnish the high-noon scrub and midnight street scenes with a high contrast richness far beyond the dollars spent on the cheapest locations and the backwater western town sets.

It is a Western, but based on a true incident in the Western migration and not on the romantic myth of Manifest Destiny. It is just as much a part of the American story and the snatch-and-grab greed behind the taming of the West in the name of fresh starts and seeking the Dream. There are ranchers but no cowboys, no shoot-outs and the Cavalry doesn't come to the rescue. No Indians to fear, but only what they feared—the naked avarice of white men who wanted it all for themselves.

Without the trappings of the Western, it may be the truest Western of all. 

The Baron of Arizona—a story of two "miracles in the rain"