Cinema Vitæ

(Warning: Potential spoilers ahead)

Experience tells me that there exists two types of film goers. First, those that are quick out of the gate . . . the theater lights are up and their mouths are off quickly galloping around the track of their minds analyzing this or that part of the movie. The second category of people I like to brand “The Mullers.” You can immediately identify these folks by their dead-eyed gaze and slow movements. In the full throws of mull-mania, these people ponder, formulate, double-back insulating themselves in their tortoise shell of thought oblivious to external stimuli (excepting perhaps their full bladders).

For my part, I fall in the first camp. In my defense, however, I do allow for a full credit roll before I start out of the gates . . . after all, I’m not heartless. This said, every once in a while a film comes along that forces me into my version of the twilight zone — I’m walking down a long tunnel, sound muffled, light far off in the distance. I’m mulling. I can’t believe it, I’M MULLING! 3:10 to Yuma (2007) put me in the zone.

Now, I know what you’re saying. “Come on, Andy, it’s a Western . . . really, how much could there be to mull?” I know, I know, in most instances I would completely agree. There’s a salon, a fire, a woman, a bad guy in black, a few horses, a wild chase, some guns, and, of course, the hero. Seriously, this of all genres should not inspire mulling. But it did. What follows is some scatter shot thoughts about 3:10 to Yuma from a man not well-versed in the art of the mull.

To begin, let’s just accept that Russell Crowe (playing the infamous outlaw Ben Wade here) and Christian Bale (acting the desperate small-time rancher Dan Evans) are two of the finest actors on screen today. By throwing in Ben Foster as Crowe’s right-hand man, 3:10’s casting director (Lisa Beach) surely deserves an amazing bouquet of flowers . . . or perhaps a fine bottle of whiskey (this is, after all, a Western). Outside of the acting, however, there isn’t a lot cinematically compelling here. The music is forgettable, the cinematography underwhelming, and the story has a few holes (for instance: at one point after Ben Wade’s posse realizes he is not in the decoy stagecoach, they say they have to double-back 80 miles to catch up with him. Yet, across the plain is the real Ben Wade and his captors watching the posse through binoculars . . . 80 miles you say, hm). But I am willing to forgive all these “less-than” elements in the film because at its center this movie is about a person — Dan Evans — and his struggle to reclaim his masculinity. For me, this is compelling cinematic material.

At the outset of the film, we find a stagnate Dan Evans. A man barely capable of action because of the weight of life’s circumstances and a deep rooted self-doubt caused by an internalization of supposed past cowardices. The entrance of the outlaw Ben Wade into the story presents Evans with what he consciously reasons as an opportunity to save his ranch, but subconsciously hopes will salvage his manhood. With an amputated foot (due to an injury sustained in the American Civil War), a disinterested wife, a failed ranch, and a teenage son that doubts both his courage and competence, Dan Evans is a search of someone to believe in him . . . most notably himself. This film is less a wrestling match between Wade and Evans and more a rough-and-tumble internal battle between Dan Evans and Dan Evans. He must win, not only for his son’s sake, but so that he can hold his head-up high — perhaps for the first time in his life.

I don’t know about you, but I can relate to this kind of internal battle. “Can I do this difficult thing of bringing Ben Wade to justice?” “Do I have the courage, skill, and guts to be the last man standing.” I ask myself these types of questions everyday. “Can I do this difficult task?” “Can I make the right decision at the critical time when everything is on the line?” And, perhaps even more important than these “big” decisions, “Am I man enough to do the daily, monotonous, little duties that are before me today or will I shirk my responsibilities and do only those things that bring immediate pleasure?” Men (in particular) are usually capable of coming up big in the clutch, but it’s in the little things where we so regularly fail.

As much as I liked 3:10 to Yuma for its courage-infusing action (I walked away feeling encouraged that I could do the “big” things looming large in my future), the filmmakers just missed in portraying a true masculine redemption. This “true” redemption comes in the small things . . . in Dan’s regularly communicating his feelings to his wife; in his standing up with grace and confidence to defend his ranch; and in his regaining his son’s respect over time. Getting Wade on the train and taking “one” for the team was the easier choice. I appreciate what Evan’s son says at the end, “You did it pa.” Yet, wouldn’t that line be sweeter if it was said to a 70-year old Evans dying in his bed by a son who respected him for a lifetime of masculine choices not from a single extreme instance?

Still, it may not be entirely fair to critique a film for what it isn’t — especially a film as fine as 3:10 to Yuma. While I can’t guarantee that you’ll appreciate this film as much as I did, I heartily recommend you watch it for yourself . . . and mull it over.