"Unforgiven" - "Deserve's Got Nothing to Do With It."

SPOILERS ahead.

I was going to write about Unforgiven a few months back when I was covering one western a month, but I got a bit tired of writing about westerns and shelved it. Then a few weeks ago my friend Robie Malcomson asked me to be on his philosophy podcast, Knowing You Know Nothing, to discuss Unforgiven. I figured if I was going to rewatch the movie and prep for the podcast, then I should write an article about it, as well. The podcast we recorded is more focused than this article, so definitely give it a listen for a more philosophical discussion of the film (though we do talk about it in regards to westerns, too). This article will have a little crossover with the podcast, but the podcast was a much more collaborative discussion of the film whereas this article is all my own rambling thoughts. I hope you enjoy both.

The Crown Jewel of Revisionist Westerns.

I’m not going to get into a “history of the western” thing here because I’ve done it before plenty of times. Most of my favorite westerns are considered “revisionist” westerns, which is to say they aren’t like the old John Wayne movies. I do like more traditional westerns (Open Range, Tombstone, most of Clint Eastwood’s early work, etc.[though some would claim that these are revisionist too, but I consider them more traditional]), but in general I gravitate more towards films like The Proposition, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, and The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. 

Unforgiven is the crown jewel of revisionist westerns for me. This film was Clint Eastwood completing his western career by revisiting the genre to turn it on its head. This was a film that acknowledged death, fear, and realism in a genre that rarely does in a meaningful way. Most importantly, it presented a real world in which there are no heroes and villains. There are just people that do things, and it’s much more random than any of us are comfortable admitting. Okay, this is getting way too vague; let me get into some specifics.

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of Unforgiven is the character of Will Munny. He is essentially an old version of one of Eastwood’s past characters, though more evil than a typical Eastwood “hero.” Will was apparently a drunken maniac who mistreated animals and killed anyone, including women and children. In most westerns, a character like this wouldn’t make it to old age. So in many ways, Unforgiven is about what would happen to a western villain if he mellowed out in old age. 

Will Munny is openly ashamed of his past. He constantly tells everyone that he isn’t like he used to be anymore, mainly thanks to his departed wife. Will is constantly being reminded by those around him, mainly the Schofield Kid and Ned, about all the terrible shit he did in the past. But it makes him visibly uncomfortable to talk about it, and when does, it’s only to claim he’s not like that anymore. 

But Will isn’t just a regretful man. He’s actually more of a reluctant bad guy. How many movies have we seen, especially superhero movies, in which the hero has a skill he/she does not want to use and spends most of the movie swearing off that life but ultimately ends up embracing who they really are? I fucking hate that character arc at this point because it’s so common. Oh really, the Hulk is done being the Hulk? Batman is done being Batman? Wolverine isn’t taking the claws out anymore? Give me a fucking break. But this arc is actually compelling in Unforgiven for multiple reasons.

First off, Will is not a hero, and he’s not out to do good deeds. What always annoys me about reluctant superheroes is that they are just being selfish. I get that it adds to their character, and sacrificing your regular life to be a hero would be a tough choice, but they’re still fucking superheroes. I don’t feel bad or care if Bruce Banner doesn’t want to turn huge and green, just do it and help people out, you fucking loser. With Will, it makes sense that he wouldn’t want to go back down that road. He thinks he’s a changed man, and much like how he doesn’t want to drink whiskey anymore, he’s afraid that one step down that road will lead him right back where he was.

Secondly, it’s not nearly as black and white as most reluctant heroes’ situations. Will is going to do something “bad” no matter what. He’s going to go kill two men. Sure, he convinces himself that they are monsters and that they mutilated a woman, but he’s still going to kill people. (Not to mention that Delilah is not nearly as bad as the stories claim, but I’ll get to that more in the next section). Will seems to believe that as long as he doesn’t drink whiskey, he can dip his toes back into the murder for hire game without completely reverting back to his old ways. And he’s right. He and the Kid kill the two cowboys, and that’s that for him, until he finds out that Little Bill killed Ned.

Once he finds out about Ned, Will starts drinking again. Now he’s diving headfirst back into his old ways because he’s pissed off, and he wants to be the old Will. While the film doesn’t make anyone a complete hero or villain (although Little Bill is pretty close to being a straight up villain), I still find myself thinking, “Fuck yeah!” when he grabs that bottle of whiskey from the Kid. 

Perhaps I’m not supposed to react that way, especially since the movie spends so much time ruminating on death. But this is where Saul Rubinek’s character comes into play. He is definitely going to write about the event, and he’s most likely going to embellish it to make it more palatable. So while Will and the Kid may actually grapple with the deaths they cause, the writer is there to continue the cycle of trivializing death in the interest of profit and entertainment, and if that’s not an indictment of the western genre, I don’t know what is.

While Will is the main character of this film, death is the focus. You typically do not see death presented as it is in Unforgiven, and you definitely don’t have scenes in which it’s discussed so much. While a lot of characters die quickly, there are a few slow moments in the film that are prolonged for a reason. The death of the more innocent of the two cowboys, Davey, is the most important. 

After Will shoots Davey (he had to take the gun from Ned, who could not bring himself to do it, which is another rare moment for a western), Davey slowly dies. His age, pain, and fear make this death much more real than a typical western death. He cries out and is generally terrified of dying. It’s realistic, and it’s unsettling. This is important because you can have characters talk about death all you want, but if it’s not presented in a real manner, it’s just talk. Because of Davey’s death, Will and the Kid’s conversation later on holds much more weight.

Aside from having some great quotes, Will’s discussion of killing with the Kid is truly deep. The Kid is clearly not cut out for it, and Will is morosely talking about the power of it. You’re not just ending a life, you’re taking away their future, as well. The Kid didn’t think he would feel this way about it. He thought, like in the stories he has undoubtedly read, it would be simple and exciting. Instead, in reality, he shot a guy in an outhouse, and he feels horrible about it. Will, the seasoned veteran, has come to terms with this long ago, but that doesn’t mean he’s at peace.

We know that Will is still tortured because of his own brush with death. When he thinks he’s dying, he talks about being scared and seeing dead people. He is scared of what is going to happen to him after he dies because he’s done so many terrible things. Will can handle killing better than the Kid and Ned, but that doesn’t mean all the killing hasn’t affected him. Will fears for his soul, and if there is judgment after this life, he’s right to fear for it. For Will, killing is not only about taking away someone else’s life, it’s also about condemning your own soul. He may be able to move on in this life (and apparently prosper in dry goods, if the epilogue is to be believed), but he knows he will ultimately pay for what he’s done. And that’s what makes Unforgiven so amazing. In this western, everyone gets what’s coming to them, eventually.

“Deserve’s Got Nothing to Do With It.”

The podcast episode I did covers the theme of justice in Unforgiven in plenty of detail, but I still want to cover it a bit in this article, as well. The above quote sums up the movie for me. Death and killing at any time, but especially in the old west is more random and chaotic than any of us would like to admit. Good, bad, or in between, people just die. Someone might be drunk during a gunfight. Someone might freeze up. A gun might misfire. And someone who doesn’t “deserve” to die will die. 

The line said to Little Bill before he is killed applies to much more than just his death. In fact, it applies probably the least to him. Aside from being a representative of the law, Little Bill is not a good person. And some people (Will, certainly) could argue that Bill does deserve to die because of what he did to Ned. But the idea of someone deserving something is more interesting when you look beyond Bill.

The whole plot is the result of a group of prostitutes seeking justice for a woman getting cut up by a cowboy. When they are treated as equals to horses and essentially property, they (mainly Alice) decide to take matters into their own hands. Justice has not been served in their eyes. And the cowboys deserve to die.

But do they? Davey certainly doesn’t as he was hardly a participant in the cutting. And the other cowboy doesn’t deserve to die, either, if we’re going with the eye for an eye type of justice. Delilah does not look that bad after her cuts heal, and she doesn’t seem to want the same “justice” that Alice wants. The cowboys do not deserve to die (they deserve more punishment than giving up some ponies, for sure, but a death sentence seems extreme to me), but like Will says, that has nothing to do with it. The cowboys have to die to make a statement. If you attack these prostitutes, you could end up dead.

In this way, the line is not just about how random life and death is, but it’s also about perspective. Little Bill’s idea of what he deserves is not the same as Will’s. The prostitutes think the cowboys deserve more than what they got. So deserve has nothing to with it and everything to do with it.  

The line is so great because it really applies to life in general. It’s essentially a better way of saying, “Life’s not fair.” (It’s also a better, and less dismissive, way of saying, “Shit happens.”) Talking about fairness always sounds a bit childish to me, so we need a better line as adults when life fucks us over, and “Deserve’s got nothing to with it” is a pretty damn good replacement. I’m not sure why, but that line makes me accept the randomness of life more than a line about fairness. 

Why Do I Own This?

I’m obviously a fan of westerns of all kinds, and this film is a must own. I’ve watched it at least twenty times.

Random Thoughts 

I always got the sense that Alice and Little Bill had a history together.

It's fucking crazy that Eastwood was playing a tired old man back in 1992.

The Schofield Kid can't even cuss realistically. Fuckin' poser...

"Hell, they even cut her teats." How is that worse than having your eyes cut out? 

"She ain't got no face left." Uh, her face really doesn't look that bad after it heals. I think Delilah would feel better about things if it wasn't for everyone talking about how worthless she is now.

So Will is only good at killing and shit when he's drunk? It's like that Family Guy episode where Peter can only play the piano when he's drunk.

Will's kids look very confused and troubled as he explains why animals hate him and are getting their revenge on him. Of course, how else do you react to such shit?

"You going to hump 'em a thousand times?!"

"I guess they got it comin'." Do they? Will's even adding to the story now: "Cut her fingers off…"

"I'll shoot for the queen, and you'll shoot for...well...whomever."

Man, Saul Rubinek gets on my fucking nerves in this movie.

"I just don't want to get killed for lack of shooting back."

"Shit and fried eggs." Is that a saying?

"I was tasting the soup two hours after I ate it." I always think of this line when I shave off my beard.

If you want to play the Unforgiven drinking game, just take a drink every time Ned says, “Jesus, Will.” Take a drink every time Will says, “I ain’t like that no more.” Take a drink every time Little Bill says, “Duck.” And take a shot every time someone says, “They cut her teats off.” You’ll be puking an hour in.

I always forget that there's a scene in this movie with Morgan Freeman asking Clint Eastwood about jacking it.

"Duck, I says."

"Innocent of what?"

I want a prequel. Unforgiven: The Drunken Misadventures of Will Munny.

"Well, you sure killed the hell out of that fella today."

God, I love how Will says, "A sign on him in front of Greely's!"

There should've been a Hugo Stiglitz-like guitar riff when Will takes his first drink of whiskey.

"You'd be William Munny, out of Missouri. Killer of women and children."

"That's right."

"I'll see you in hell, William Munny."

"Yeah."

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"The Sisters Brothers" and "Deadwood" - Children in the Wild West

*As always, I write these articles as if you’ve seen the movie, so...SPOILERS.

I’ve slowly but surely developed a monthly plan for this site. I begin each month with a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie, and this past month I wrote about a random comedy I own and decided to make that a monthly entry. Then, after thoroughly enjoying Powers Boothe’s performance in Sudden Death, I decided to look back at some westerns I own. (So for the next few months, expect at least these three types [Van Damme, comedy, and western], with other films peppered in here and there.) It would make the most sense to start with Tombstone, which featured a very fun Boothe performance. But it reminded me more to rewatch Deadwood since the movie is coming out this weekend. I didn’t want to write about an entire TV series (perhaps I will one day cover the entire series of Deadwood), so instead I watched The Sisters Brothers, a movie I recently added to my collection. As you’ll read, this choice makes more sense than you might think in regards to Deadwood.

The Sisters Brothers and Deadwood: Children in the Wild West

When I first watched The Sisters Brothers, I was a little disappointed. I was expecting something a little more traditional, but instead I got a very offbeat, surprisingly funny, modern western. Once I realized what the film was, I embraced, and it made my top ten list last year. I was mostly taken with the relationships in the film, mainly between the titular brothers but also between Riz Ahmed and Jake Gyllenhaal’s characters. These were grown men engaged in typically serious adult things (murder, greed, gold mining, etc.), but they treated each other like children, often getting into petty spats and talking of their feelings being hurt.

I found it funny and touching, which is why I liked it so much. Funny and touching is a difficult combo to pull off. I started rewatching Deadwood recently because of the movie, and I remembered what I loved so much about that show. While it also dealt with similar adult things, many of its characters were very childlike. Most of them simply want to make friends. A. W. Merrick getting giddy when he is able to walk and talk with Bullock, Star, and Utter; Calamity Jane and Joanie Stubbs (and Mose) finding friendship. Blazanov finding joy in acceptance in the camp. There are also multiple instances of characters getting their feelings hurt, and letting people know about it. The obvious example is E. B., who spends much of the series angry at being left out. But there’s also Dan, presented as one of the toughest characters, who nearly breaks down in tears when rebuked by Swearengen. And then there’s the fascination the characters have with children in general. Tom Nuttall (tragically) showing William Bullock his new bike. Mose and Jane’s interest in the school children. There’s certainly a metaphor there about how young our country was, especially in that time and place. But I think David Milch was simply using the western as a backdrop to show that no matter how serious our business gets, we are all still children in many ways.

The Sisters Brothers wholly embraces this. Charlie and Eli are killers, but they are also children. The brother relationship is an easy set up for this: teasing, fighting, etc. But it goes beyond that. Charlie basically has temper tantrums and is prone to hitting someone if he gets upset. Eli is more gentle, forming a bond with his horse, and inquisitive, as he is always amazed at new technology such as the toothbrush. With Hermann and Morris, it’s more the Deadwood route, as they embrace friendship over greed, although greed is steal a big part of their plan.

So what is it that draws me to such stories? I suppose, especially now that I have children, I am fascinated with how long a person can hold onto the simple feelings of childhood. I myself have taken to embracing my childhood love of dorky things rather than feeling too old for them. I find it amusing when an adult embraces their inner child, and I always find it touching when someone can admit they are lonely or their feelings are hurt and want to make things better. So a big moment that won me over in this film was the dinner fight between Eli and Charlie, and Eli’s confrontation of Charlie the next day. He was upset because Charlie hit him in public. The scene is emotionally effective, and it ends very humorously when the tension is resolved by Charlie letting Eli hit him for payback. That is why I love this movie so much. It makes me feel something and think about humanity, then it turns things around and makes me laugh.

Much like Deadwood, I think one of the messages of The Sisters Brothers is that despite out deadly serious actions, we’re all just kids playing and being adults. Just look at the ending. The brothers return home to be taken care of by their mother, and the final shot is a visual metaphor for the perpetual children theme: a grown man lying in his childhood bed, his feet now hanging over the end. It’s a very poignant ending, and it makes this western stand apart in my collection.

This is a weird western, but most are these days.

Once I accepted this as a modern, weird western, I enjoyed it very much. I love traditional westerns, but I’m also a big fan of films like this, which take expectations or tropes and shake things up.

The main aspect I like about The Sisters Brothers is how it shows elements of daily life not always shown in westerns. (Deadwood was pretty good about this, as well.) Some things I noticed included showing them cut their own hair, Eli’s aforementioned discovery of a toothbrush and his struggle to figure out how to use it, Charlie actually being hungover from drinking whiskey nonstop, how long it takes to travel from place to place, the dangers of sleeping outside (no scene made me cringe as much as when that spider crawled in Eli’s mouth), experiencing plumbing for the first time, and actually dealing with horses.

The Sisters Brothers isn’t the first movie to acknowledge these things, but there does seem to be a focus on them. Too often, westerns present this fantasy world, so I like it when one takes the time to show the mundane aspects of life at the time.

On top of that, this movie went in a direction I was not anticipating at all when the gold-finding chemical was introduced. The fact that it worked was one off part, but when Charlie dumped it all in at once and nearly killed everyone, the film took quite the turn. That is, in essence, what impresses me the most with films these days: the ability to surprise. More than that, the ability to surprise me without cheating. The Sisters Brothers is able to exist as a traditional western while also naturally going in a new direction with each scene. This is why I hold it in the same regard as Deadwood.

Why do I own this?

I consider this a companion piece to Deadwood, so in the future when I inevitably Deadwood again and again, I will also revisit this movie, so I should own it.

Random thoughts

Okay, the amount of production companies listed at the beginning is insane. Thankfully it's just on a single screen. If they each got their own title sequence the movie would be five minutes longer.

This movie made me wonder: would I instinctively know how to brush my teeth, or would I try it as John C. Reilly does?

I love how Phoenix keeps talking shit about the pretentious (and Western cliche) language of the letters they read.

"We can kill anyone we want here!"

I like how Phoenix announces that they are the Sisters Brothers when they go from place to place to see if anyone has heard of them. It plays on the Western trope of all these gunslingers being famous and known in each town they go to when the reality was most likely that a lot of hired guns and whatnot were never known.

I love the bluntness of Phoenix throughout the movie.

John C. Reilly and Gyllenhaal are toothbrushing buddies!

Jake Gyllenhaal is doing this faux fancy accent, and it works since Charlie constantly complains about how fake and pretentious he is.

This movie is darkly comedic to me because every time it seems like things are going to calmly, some violence ensues, usually instigated by Charlie. His dumping of the chemical that eventually kills Ahmed and Gyllenhaal is the most tragic example. That moment, among many others, shows how unpredictable this movie is.

Richard Brake is given about as much to do as Rutger Hauer.

"Have you noticed how long it's been since anyone's tried to kill us?"

And the most unpredictable showdown with the bad guy: stopping by his funeral to punch his dead body to make sure he's dead.

John C. Reilly punching the Commodore's dead  body is what really put me over the top with this movie. It just caught me off guard and made me laugh. The whole movie is so random, and that's why I love it.

That has to be the ancestor of Carol Kane's character from Kimmy Schmidt.

"With the participation of Rutger Hauer" That is the most accurate credit I've ever seen.

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"The Homesman" Is Arguably Too Bleak, but It Is Still a Pretty Good "Western."

The Homesman

Americans are taught early on in school that frontier life is hard, but we rarely get evidence of this. It is a portion of history that is either forgotten or romanticized. Few westerns attempt to the deal with the reality of the frontier. There's a reason for this: watching an Old West shootout is more entertaining than seeing miserable things happen to miserable people. The Homesman tackles the miserable life of the frontier, arguably to a fault.

The Homesman takes place in the 1850s in Nebraska (not technically the West, but calling the film a midwestern instead of a western sounds kind of silly) in a small farming community on the frontier. Three local wives show signs of insanity due to the brutal living conditions; disease, isolationism, death, abusive husbands, etc. It is decided to send the women back East so they can return home, but none of the husbands are up to the task. Mary Bee Cuddy (Hilary Swank) volunteers to take them. Single and recently rejected by a prospective husband, Cuddy appears to be a very resilient woman. Still, when she comes across condemned claim jumper George Briggs (Tommy Lee Jones), she enlists him to help her on the journey.

It is a story filled with characters that are either miserable or evil. There is very little hope in this film, which may turn some off from it. But Tommy Lee Jones is a filmmaker that shouldn't be ignored. His previous big screen directing effort, The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada, was one of the year's best films and showed that Jones knows what to do when it comes to films set in desolate locales. Three Burials featured quite a bit of dark comedy, however, which made it easier to get through. There is little humor found in The Homesman.  In fact, The Homesman is possibly the bleakest film of the year.

If you can get past the depressing aspect of the film, there are plenty of positive aspects to the film. First off, the performances are all top notch, if familiar.  Swank can play the role of a tough, independent woman in her sleep at this point, but that doesn't mean it's not impressive. Likewise, Jones can play a cantankerous misanthrope with no effort, but it's still fun to watch at times.  Jones and Swank do play off each other nicely, and their back-and-forth almost makes the film appear lighthearted at times (key word: almost). The strong supporting cast, including Meryl Streep, John Lithgow, Tim Blake Nelson, James Spader, does a fine job in small roles. And Grace Gummer, Miranda Otto, and Sonja Richter portray the afflicted women with disturbing effect. 

The film also looks great. The production value is superb, and all of the location provide a beautiful landscape that is a nice contrast to the terrible events of the film. The score, reminiscent of the beginning of There Will Be Blood completes the mood of the film.  

The Homesman also stands out by featuring story elements that may surprise the audience. I know that it took me by surprise a few times.  I enjoy the western genre, but it can be predictable.  The Homesman is certainly not predictable, which is a rare treat in film today. Wondering how it was all going to end made it easier to get through. Whereas if it followed a more traditional route, I might have been tempted to stop watching.  

Any fans of westerns should check out The Homesman.  It isn't your traditional western, but it's worth seeing just to get a different view of the era. Realism in a western is something to be treasured. Unforgiven, for instance, was a great western that was largely a statement about how romanticized westerns had become.  The Homesman is nowhere near the level of Unforgiven, but it is still worth watching. It is a little hard to get through, but that's the point.

The Homesman receives a: