Conrad Hall's photography turns the harsh, hostile Mojave Desert into the kind of place in which some entrepreneur might build a high-end spa, or a "land developer" might set up a nice, gated community for retirees, with streets that have names like Happy Trail and No Problem Drive and Party Time Cove. Or, come to think of it, a nice strip mall with tony shops like Vuitton and Starbucks and Banana Republic would do nicely.
Sadly, that's what's been happening since the events described here took place in 1909. Dusty little towns like Banning and Lancaster are now sprawling environment engulfers but I digress.
Robert Blake is the Paiute Indian, Willie Boy, who kills the white father of his girl friend, Katherine Ross, and takes off with her into the desert, which Hall captures as a rather benign place with towering Washingtonian palms creating a shady oasis, the breeze whooshing gently through the fronds. There is an abundance of springs and other sources of water.
I guess I'm dwelling on the environment because it's just so damned pretty, while the people in the story are all kind of crass. Robert Redford is Sheriff Cooper ("Coop") who pursues Blake and Ross from one picturesque place to another. Redford's posse is made up of diverse types, as posses tend to be in such movies. One is a hardbitten old Indian killer, Barry Sullivan, who joins the posse because he "enjoys" it. It's just like the old days, fightin' the Comanche.
Redford himself is taciturn, sympathetic to Blake, and a reluctant hunter. But when Katherine Ross's body is found with a bullet through her heart, he's compelled to track down the worn-out horseless Blake and, finally, shoot him in an act of suicide by Sheriff.
This was directed by Abraham Polonsky, one of the famous blacklisted writers who returned from exile. Having been persecuted doesn't automatically turn you into a genius but in this case it's not badly done. Nice shots of Robert Blake running full tilt across the sand, rifle in hand, leaping creosote bushes as if they were hurdles on a college track.
Polonsky's loyalties are clear enough. "What did I do to them?" asks Blake, referring to the white folks. "What did any of us do?" Well, the Paiute were never particularly brutal, not like the Mojave Indians. They didn't have to be. There was enough water around the Colorado River that they could afford to be farmers rather than warriors. Ira Hayes, one of the heroes who raised the flag on Iwo Jima, was a member of the neighboring Pima tribe.
Polonsky, thank God, doesn't revel in White Guilt. The audience is made to feel sympathy with Blake and Ross, if only because these are two lovers on foot being chased by a horde of horsemen who don't understand them and don't want to understand. But that, and a few remarks here and there, are about as far as it goes. If you didn't know Polonsky had been blacklisted, you'd classify this as a more or less typical example of 1960s antinomian values. It's no more propagandistic than dozens of other films that came out of the same period.
And what it finally boils down to is an exciting and ultimately tragic chase movie. The covert message will be happily unnoticed by most younger viewers, and easily ignored by the more sophisticated. See Willie Boy run. See handsome Coop, the epitome of handsomeness, dodge bullets among the stucco-textured rocks. Look at the enthralling beauty of the natural landscape, free of giant tarantulas and mutated ants.
Sadly, that's what's been happening since the events described here took place in 1909. Dusty little towns like Banning and Lancaster are now sprawling environment engulfers but I digress.
Robert Blake is the Paiute Indian, Willie Boy, who kills the white father of his girl friend, Katherine Ross, and takes off with her into the desert, which Hall captures as a rather benign place with towering Washingtonian palms creating a shady oasis, the breeze whooshing gently through the fronds. There is an abundance of springs and other sources of water.
I guess I'm dwelling on the environment because it's just so damned pretty, while the people in the story are all kind of crass. Robert Redford is Sheriff Cooper ("Coop") who pursues Blake and Ross from one picturesque place to another. Redford's posse is made up of diverse types, as posses tend to be in such movies. One is a hardbitten old Indian killer, Barry Sullivan, who joins the posse because he "enjoys" it. It's just like the old days, fightin' the Comanche.
Redford himself is taciturn, sympathetic to Blake, and a reluctant hunter. But when Katherine Ross's body is found with a bullet through her heart, he's compelled to track down the worn-out horseless Blake and, finally, shoot him in an act of suicide by Sheriff.
This was directed by Abraham Polonsky, one of the famous blacklisted writers who returned from exile. Having been persecuted doesn't automatically turn you into a genius but in this case it's not badly done. Nice shots of Robert Blake running full tilt across the sand, rifle in hand, leaping creosote bushes as if they were hurdles on a college track.
Polonsky's loyalties are clear enough. "What did I do to them?" asks Blake, referring to the white folks. "What did any of us do?" Well, the Paiute were never particularly brutal, not like the Mojave Indians. They didn't have to be. There was enough water around the Colorado River that they could afford to be farmers rather than warriors. Ira Hayes, one of the heroes who raised the flag on Iwo Jima, was a member of the neighboring Pima tribe.
Polonsky, thank God, doesn't revel in White Guilt. The audience is made to feel sympathy with Blake and Ross, if only because these are two lovers on foot being chased by a horde of horsemen who don't understand them and don't want to understand. But that, and a few remarks here and there, are about as far as it goes. If you didn't know Polonsky had been blacklisted, you'd classify this as a more or less typical example of 1960s antinomian values. It's no more propagandistic than dozens of other films that came out of the same period.
And what it finally boils down to is an exciting and ultimately tragic chase movie. The covert message will be happily unnoticed by most younger viewers, and easily ignored by the more sophisticated. See Willie Boy run. See handsome Coop, the epitome of handsomeness, dodge bullets among the stucco-textured rocks. Look at the enthralling beauty of the natural landscape, free of giant tarantulas and mutated ants.