Such a dense interplay of themes and references could easily render a
film dull and academic, but Leone is so technically gifted that Once Upon a Time in the West
never feels like a seminar in cultural studies. "[Sergio's] movies are
good directly at the surface level," co-storywriter Bertolucci explained
in 1989. "There are other levels, but I think Sergio was stronger as a
pure talent for mise en scene--the relationship between the
camera, the bodies of the people in front of it, and the landscape--than
as a philosopher." Leone's usual effects are all on display in the
film, if anything more pronounced than before: The close-ups are closer,
the silences are longer, the compositions--with characters in
foreground, background, and sometimes midground--are more striking. The
score, again by Morricone, is less giddy (there are no wails or cracking
whips), but more varied and evocative, from Cardinale's tender, wistful
leitmotif to the nerve-jangling electric guitar that accompanies the
revelation of Bronson's identity.
But the fundamental reason that Once Upon a Time in the West
succeeds as a movie as well as a treatise is Leone's undisguised
affection for his subject. The director's work has always held in
brilliant and precarious balance the opposite tendencies to debunk the
Western and to romanticize it, to simultaneously de-mythologize and
re-mythologize. His heroes may not be true heroes, but they always
triumph over the true villains. The Good is always a little bit better
than the Bad or the Ugly. This combination of cynicism and sincerity is
especially pronounced in Once Upon a Time in the West, in which
Leone mourns the death of the Western even as he himself is trying to
kill it off. Nowhere is this dichotomy more evident than in his decision
to briefly move production of the film to the States, so that he could
film a few short scenes in Monument Valley, in front of the sandstone
buttes that John Ford made famous. (The rest of the film, like his
previous ones, was shot in Spain and Italy.) The move feels
simultaneously ironic and earnest, knowing and heartfelt. But as always
in Leone's films, it is the latter sentiment that ultimately prevails.
For all its mannerism and its cleverness, Once Upon a Time in the West is a work of love.
The Home Movies List:
Genre movies about genre movies
Miller's Crossing. The Coen brothers' third movie and arguably their best. Adapted loosely from Dashiell Hammett's The Glass Key and Red Harvest, it is a meta-gangster-movie that opens with hints of The Godfather and closes with a nod to The Third Man. The cinematography, by Barry Sonnenfeld, is gorgeous.
Kill Bill, Volume I. An onslaught of references to
Japanese exploitation flicks doesn't conceal the fact that this is a
crude, senseless little film. (Actually, given its positive reception
from critics, I guess it did.) You've now been warned twice.
Austin Powers. Two sequels later, it's easy to
forget that the first movie didn't really take off until it was released
on video. My own theory: Many of the films it was spoofing (Our Man Flint, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,
the Matt Helm series) were so unfamiliar to its target audience that at
first they didn't fully "get" it. As the character gradually sunk into
public consciousness it became its own, self-sufficient cultural
archetype.
Scream. An improbable balance of parody and sheer
horror, and not for the squeamish. The first sequel was disappointing
but the second was so dada--Parker Posey playing Courtney Cox playing
"Gail Weathers" was a small touch of genius--that it recaptured some of
the energy of the original. (Come to think of it, the same is true of
the Austin Powers movies.)
Down with Love. A silly pink confection spun from
the Rock Hudson/Doris Day comedies of the early sixties. Almost worth
the price of a rental just for Renee Zellweger's outfits and Ewan
McGregor's man-about-town strut. But given that we know both leads can
sing (from Chicago and Moulin Rouge, respectively), why on earth wasn't this a musical?