The Magnificent Seven is not a film I grew up with. For whatever reason, perhaps because my father was not really familiar with it himself, it was not among the westerns I frequently watched as a kid which included Sons of the Pioneers, The Searchers, Stagecoach, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, and a select number episodes of Bonanza and The Lone Ranger that we owned on VHS. I discovered it in my teen years when I first became interested in film. The western genre was always of particular interest to me and I wanted to catch up on many of the classics I hadn't seen. Films like High Noon, Shane and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly quickly became new favorites, as did The Magnificent Seven.
The Magnificent Seven is, in some ways, a perfectly succinct delineation of the genres central themes,
exploring the cost of living a violent lifestyle and the invisible
barrier that exists between violent men and the society that they fight
to protect or oppress. The seven are called in to help the people of the Mexican village because they possess the skills necessary to do this. The villagers can offer them very little in return but, at this late stage in their careers with work drying up and the west disappearing, they are willing to do almost anything to continue to lead the life they've chosen, and find it impossible to settle down to a "normal life". In addition, many of them hope to do something truly noble with this job as opposed to cynically selling their guns to the highest bidder.
In some ways these themes are rather explicit. The old man (Vladimir Sokoloff) tells Chris "You are like the wind, blowing over the land and passing on." On the other hand there are questions the film poses which remain unanswered because the audience, assuming they have even a passing familiarity with the genre, already know the answers. When Calvera is expresses his confusion as to the motivation for the American gunfighters aiding the villagers the only answer he gets is Vin's cryptic, "it seemed to be a good idea at the time." But we, as an audience, know why they took the job, and why they return to finish it. Like Will Kane, Shane, the Ringo Kid and so many other western heroes before them, the seven cannot turn down this call for help, this challenge with which they are confronted. Of course, much of this thematic heft is thanks to Akira Kurasawa, along with screenwriters Shinobu Hashimoto and Hideo Oguni, whose Seven Samurai provided
a beautiful template for John Sturges and William Roberts to follow. While not as
artistically as ambitious as Samurai, Sturges was able to condense
Kurasawa's four hour opus with admirable economy.
The director had a real penchant for handling large ensemble casts of characters. The way he introduces the seven, one by one, in a series of memorable vignettes, is nothing short of brilliant. We very quickly learn what kind of people these men are and what motivates them. Chris and Vin (played by Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen respectively) are introduced together, taking a job riding shotgun for a hearse, a scene which establishes the violent prowess of both men and, in particular, the natural leadership and cool-headedness of the former and the audacious, wild tenacity of the latter. Soon after we meet Horst Buchholz's Chico, a hot-headed, wannabe gunslinger who fails to pass muster with Chris. Brad Dexter's Harry Luck is then introduced as an old friend of Chris, who is sure that he has some fortune seeking scheme in the works.
Charles Bronson's Bernardo O'Reilly is introduced next, "chopping wood for his breakfast." We immediately recognize that he's down on his luck and soon discover, thanks to some well written exposition, that he was once a highly prized mercenary. James Coburn's Britt is given the most memorable introduction (and the one owing the most to Kurosawa's film), cooly beating a man a in a draw using a throwing knife against his opponent's six-gun. It is obvious that Britt is a hired gun of the highest caliber, and one more interested in the challenge then the money, a fact that Chris emphasizes. Finally, Robert Vaughn's Lee is introduced as a shadowy, untrustworthy figure, on the run from the law, but we later find that that Lee is really running from himself.
The film continues to explore these characters over the next few hours and, by the time we reach the climax, and the seven are faced with a choice to abandon the village or return and likely be killed, we completely understand why each man makes the choice he does. Lee must prove to himself that he's still a man. Britt must return as a matter of pride, "Nobody throws me my own guns and says run." O'Reilly, having endeared himself to the young boys of village, cannot turn his back on them. The same is not true for Harry, who leaves initially only to have loyalty to his old friend get the better of him at the last hour. For Chico, the son of Mexican peasants himself, there is really no question, especially since he has fallen for one of farmer's daughter. Vin, who was committed himself so far, simply sees no reason to back down now "It took me a long, long time to learn my elbow from a hot rock. Right now, I belong back in that border town, sleeping on white sheets." Chris, finally, will not leave until he has finished what he started.
What sets The Magnificent Seven apart from Samurai is the clash of so many larger-than-life personalities. Yul Brynner was an established superstar while McQueen was his quickly rising rival and James Coburn and Charles Bronson would both go on to successful starring careers later on. Alongside these icons are experienced character actors like Eli Wallach and Robert Vaughn. Brynner's steely presence and swaggering confident demeanor make him a perfect choice to play the stoic leader of the seven. This is contrasted by McQueen, who brings all his energy and charisma to bear as the reckless, impulsive Vin. It is well known that the two actors had a fairly intense behind-the-scenes rivalry, and that McQueen did everything he could to upstage the his more established co-star, often improvising little things to do on set like shielding his eyes with his hat or rattling his shotgun shells. Rather then distracting from Brynner, who's very presence seems top command your attention, these things all add to his character, emphasizing his restless, energetic nature.
Horst Buchholz, meant to be a magnetic romantic lead akin to Toshiro Mifune in Samurai, understandably falls a little short of that, but he does a good job in the role nonetheless and brings a volatile sense of unpredictability to the seven. Charles Bronson brings his unique blend of exotic charm and tough-as-nails resolve to the role of Bernardo O'Reilly, the half Irish/half Mexican mercenary who hides his kind, sensitive nature under a hard, irritable demeanor. James Coburn, best known for playing laid-back, sardonic characters, puts in a surprisingly nuanced performance as the withdrawn, hyper-focused Britt. Thanks to Coburn the character has a subtle, winking sense of irony and, at times, tragedy. The ever suave and sophisticated Robert Vaughn is allowed to flex his acting muscles here, hiding beneath this thin demeanor an almost manic sense of fear. Eli Wallach is, of course, great as Calvera and brings a layer of humor and humanity to the witty, philosophical bandit leader.
I would be remiss to overlook the biggest star of the film, Elmer Bernstein's magnificent score. Bernstein makes good use of leitmotif and there are three central themes that he uses, again and again, throughout the picture. The main theme, undoubtedly one of the most iconic ever composed for a western, draws from the work Aaron Copland and it perfectly captures the uniquely American spirit of the genre. Calvera's theme, characterized by driving percussion and harsh strings, simply oozes menace. Finally, the Mexican flavored theme for the villagers, written in a slow dance rhythm, lends a further air of authenticity to the film's south-of-the-border setting.
The contrast between these different themes, and the way Bernstein weaves them together, helps to emphasize the gulf that exists between the villagers and the gunfighters, who must unite in their fight against Calvera. When the seven's theme is introduced, it is bold and brash and continues to be played that way until the action shifts to the village. After this it is more muted and subtle, as if the seven are being viewed from the point of view of the villagers. Sturges, in his direction, aided no doubt by the incomparable cinematographer Charles Lang, also emphasizes these contrasts. As the seven ride to the village, accompanied Bernstein's rousing theme, there is one shot where they ride up a slope, the camera capturing them from a low angle as they seem to rise above the tops of the distant mountains. This framing is typical of the seven early in the film but, once they enter the village, they are usually dwarfed by the surrounding landscape, hemmed in along with the people of the village. Sturges also has a steady handle on the action, it's as well choreographed as a ballet and as easy to follow as a well designed instruction manual. Much of the excitement is supplied by Bernstein's score. His music lends an almost brash sense of energy to the film's action set pieces, driving them forward with a breathless sense of momentum.
Finally its the film's sheer sense of fun, the escapism offered by it's timeless story, aided by a stellar cast ably directed by John Sturges, and by the an all-time great score from Elmer Bernstein, that make me return to The Magnificent Seven again and again. The Magnificent Seven is not a film I grew up with, but I wish I had.
