Hour of the Gun (1967)

Hour of the Gun (1967) is director John Sturges' (The Magnificent Seven, The Great Escape) retelling of the incidents and characters of his own 1957 film, Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. Burt Lancaster and Kirk Douglas portrayed Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, respectively, in the previous film. Ten years later, it’s James Garner as Wyatt and Jason Robards (1922-2000) as the tuberculosis-ravaged Doc Holliday. As for the rest of the cast, Sturges (1911-1992) initially chose to reuse the actors who played Earp’s brothers from the previous movie, but as it turned out, none of them were available (including Star Trek’s DeForest “Dr. McCoy” Kelley), so the director went with both actors of young, promising talent (Jon Voight; Steve Ihnat) and tried-and-true veterans (Robert Ryan; Albert Salmi; William Windom) to fill out his cast. The movie is largely seen as a flawed, below-average effort from one of Hollywood’s “action” directors, but what fails to get mentioned is how well the movie works as a tale of friendship and loyalty.


“Get this through your heads. If this was the east, I could make law the way they do. But the best I can do out here is buy it.”

~Ike Clanton (Robert Ryan) in Hour of the Gun

The movie begins with the October 26 1881 gunfight in Tombstone, Arizona that served as the climax to all the previous movies on the subject. After the gunfight is over, we get a deliberately-paced account ("slow" to the movie’s detractors) of the events that took place after the famous battle. There’s much political maneuvering between the Earps and the powerful, patriarchal Ike Clanton (Robert Ryan), who manipulates the fragile western law. (I'd wager that if Ryan's Clanton had lived in New York, he would have run Tammany Hall). Ryan doesn't have much screentime, but he carries enormous presence in his scenes, and his character’s power is felt, even when he's not there.

The political underhandedness gives way to the Earps and the Clanton gang waging a war of attrition, knocking each other off in brutal fashion. However, I prefer the wonderful character interplay between Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday over the traditional narrative elements and gun blazing action of Hour of the Gun. The character dynamic between Earp and Holliday indicates that this was a "Buddy Movie" decades before that term was coined.

“I don't care about the rules anymore. I'm not that much of a hypocrite.”

~Wyatt Earp (James Garner) in Hour of the Gun

There’s nary a trace of sunny and affable Bret Maverick or Jim Rockford in James Garner’s Wyatt Earp. When Wyatt’s brother, Morgan (Sam Melville) is murdered and dies in his arms, Wyatt becomes a dark avenger with vengeance running hot in his heart. It’s a disturbing portrayal unequalled in Garner’s career. Only his other western roles of this period (1966’s Duel at Diablo, 1970’s A Man Called Sledge) come close to comparison in terms of a nasty Garner characterization. Earp’s one mean S.O.B., a facet of his persona not really touched on the character until Tombstone (with Kurt Russell as Wyatt) and 1994’s Wyatt Earp, when Kevin Costner played the lawman. Costner's Earp was hurt by tragedy and not very likable, but Garner’s Earp is frightening. He’s cold, callous, and boiling with rage—except for the relative warmth in his scenes with Jason Robards’ Doc Holliday.

“I'm just educating myself. I've never been on the right side of the law before. I want to see how much good it does you when you are.”

~Doc Holliday (Jason Robards) in Hour of the Gun.

Compared to Earp’s obsession with vengeance, Jason Robards’ Doc Holliday is the calm, reserved member of the tandem and he gives a gem of a performance. You won’t find Robards’ take on the character on many favorites lists, but I’d be so bold as to state that Robards gives the best portrayal of Holliday ever put on film. Robards’ low-key, wryly humorous take on Holliday is the perfect counterbalance to the rigid, humorless Wyatt Earp. Robards delivers the film’s best and most telling lines. He is as much an observer and commentator as he is a participant in the bloody events depicted in the film. Holliday has done his share of killing and now that he nears death, has nothing but his loyalty to his best friend Earp to keep him going. Robards’ rough, boozy voice and wiry frame add genuine flavor to his portrayal of Holliday, and he looks like the sick man that Holliday was. Robards is infinitely superior to the effete and bafflingly over-praised caricature that Val Kilmer popularized in Tombstone. I don’t know if anyone agrees with this opinion of Robards' or Kilmer’s Doc; judge for yourself.

Besides Garner and Robards, the other standout element of Hour of the Gun is the music. When watching the movie, listen to how well Jerry Goldsmith's score works within the film. It’s often understated and subtle but propels the action along when needed (and sometimes this movie needs it). The film’s opening with the Earps and Holliday heading to the gunfight plays out with Goldsmith adding tense, deliberately-paced underscore of the film’s main titles, (of which a “hipped up” 1960s-style version is available on the album). There are dark, ominous passages and delightfully melodic portions of the score that all succeed in enhancing the action sequences. One musical cue (not on the album) is a comparatively "happy" piece. It plays when Wyatt comes to visit the dying Holliday. It’s understandable why it was left off the original LP, as it’s in cheery contrast to the rest of the alternately moody and action-packed score. But it’s the sensitively scored scenes between Earp and Holliday that make this music so special. Goldsmith fashioned a malleable main title that has several wonderful variations.

Hour of the Gun is primarily recommended for those already familiar with the other more famous Wyatt Earp films, especially Sturges’ earlier Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and John Ford’s My Darling Clementine (1946). Both the previous films add depth to the character relationship between Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday, and this movie adds yet another layer. For the fine character interaction between Earp and Holliday, Hour of the Gun is a better movie than its reputation suggests.

Hour of the Gun will air Wednesday, June 3 on Turner Classic Movies (USA).

Recommended Reading: Escape Artist: The Life and Films of John Sturges. By Glenn Lovell.

Random Raves: Burt Lancaster

But as long as I got a foot, I'll kick booze!

As long as I got a fist, I'll punch it!

And as long as I've got a tooth, I'll bite it!

And when I'm old and grey
and toothless and bootless,

I'll gum it, till I go to heaven,
and booze goes to hell!

~Burt Lancaster in Elmer Gantry


Burt Lancaster’s Oscar-winning performance as unholy con man Elmer Gantry (1960) is quite simply the most enjoyable performance I’ve ever had the pleasure to watch. From the moment he’s onscreen, Lancaster charms and amuses as he’s sliding across the floor on his knees, railing against sinners, or telling his rapt audience what they want to hear. Burt would appear to have sixty-four teeth instead of the traditional thirty-two, as his zillion megawatt star power shines brighter than any other performance ever. The fact that Lancaster doesn’t get swallowed up by the sometimes lumbering film is testament to his charisma. Witness his rousing singing of the spiritual I’m on My Way, the way he chows down on a simple plate of black-eyed peas and acts as though it were manna from heaven. Lancaster is always “on." Elmer Gantry was his crowning achievement as an actor and anyone who’s seen the movie will never forget his performance. He's commanding on the screen; preaching, shouting, and spellbinding. The movie is eminently quotable, with every confident line delivered in Lancaster’s singular voice (which I've been known to impersonate for unwilling friends, hated enemies, and complete strangers).

In 1997 I was fairly new to classic film (outside of westerns, war, and the Three Stooges) and Lancaster was among the first movie stars I took an interest in watching. He had made a lasting impression on me years before after I saw him in Gunfight at O.K. Corral, but it wasn’t until 1957’s Sweet Smell of Success that I became fascinated with the actor. I had originally sought out the movie because I wanted to soak up the film’s 1950s NYC atmosphere; the nightclubs, the dirty cops, sleazy performers, and down-and-out losers. A friend and I had a weekly ritual of watching two movies every Friday night. The first film of the evening varied, but the finale was always Sweet Smell of Success, which we watched for fifteen consecutive Fridays. The movie itself is brilliant, capturing the New York City in that time and place, and Burt Lancaster’s JJ Hunsecker mesmerized me with his reptilian chill and icy reserve. A character surrounded by expensive art yet asking the slimy Sidney Falco how many S’s there were in “Picasso.” Everything about the character was cold. Then along came 1960 and Elmer Gantry, and a completely hot-blooded character. With these two performances I saw Lancaster in two very different roles at the peak of his powers.

Lancaster was my introduction to the Hollywood I’ve since come to love so much. He wasn’t strictly an action hero like John Wayne and he lacked the polish and sophistication of Cary Grant. But he was so much more adaptable to various roles. Lancaster was always one to choose interesting and challenging parts, ones that sometimes forced him into awkwardness onscreen, Come Back, Little Sheba is the first example of Lancaster “stretching out.” It did nothing for him awards wise, but it enhanced his reputation at a time when leading men stayed well within their limitations. Lancaster was too young for the role, but executes his part admirably. Watch Lancaster with fellow tough guys Robert Ryan and Lee Marvin in 1966's The Professionals. This was the film that made me realize that Burt could hang with the toughest of hombres and still come out on top. His character is by far the most engaging of the group. Lancaster must have learned from his experience with Gary Cooper in 1954’s Vera Cruz, when Lancaster mugs, chews scenery, and carries on while Cooper ends up looking all the better for it! Ten years later, Lancaster underplays Marvin’s tough S.O.B. persona because no one was nastier than Lee Marvin. No one. So Burt goes in another direction and remains the most memorable character in the movie. There’s also The Swimmer (1968), a film based on a haunting John Cheever story about a middle-aged man in crisis—aren’t they always—and having quite a time in dealing with it. I won’t reveal the plot, but I couldn’t imagine any other actor from Lancaster’s generation taking on such a role and being so vulnerable. Burt’s brilliant in it and The Swimmer is one of the great forgotten movies of the 1960s.

Good for the Ladies: Here are Lancaster's female co-stars who were nominated or won Oscars in their films with him: (*won)

Barbara Stanwyck- Sorry, Wrong Number (1948)

Shirley Booth*- Come Back, Little Sheba (1952)

Deborah Kerr- From Here to Eternity (1953)

Anna Magnani*- The Rose Tattoo (1955)

Katharine Hepburn- The Rainmaker (1956)

Shirley Jones*- Elmer Gantry (1960)

Susan Sarandon- Atlantic City (1981)

I admire actors whose performances improve as they age (Paul Newman, Gene Hackman, Clint Eastwood, John Wayne) and I’ll add Lancaster to that list, too. It would seem that Lancaster was the best possible actor for a novice film buff to follow because his career remained interesting for its entire run, whether it was in a late 1940s Noir (The Killers; I’ll Walk Alone; Criss Cross) the mega star period of the fifties (The Crimson Pirate; From Here to Eternity; Gunfight at the O.K. Corral), his career peak of the early 1960s (Elmer Gantry; The Birdman of Alcatraz), the studied character roles of the late sixties-early seventies (a trio of gritty westerns; Go Tell the Spartans) or his status as elder statesman in the 1980s (Atlantic City; Field of Dreams). Burt Lancaster was my introduction to “grown up” classic films and I couldn’t be happier, or more entertained.

A Man and a Woman: 1960 Best Actor Burt Lancaster with Best Actress winner Elizabeth Taylor. April 17, 1961.