“3:10 to Yuma” joins “Ocean’s Eleven” and “The Departed” as one of the few modern remakes worth a ticket purchase. But what else would one foresee for a western starring Christian Bale and Russell Crowe? Both actors possess the intensity required for the dying genre. On top of that, this film marks the first time the two have shared camera time. Sounds like one helluva deal for filmgoers.
The deal, however, doesn’t appear that great at first. Bale seems lost during the opening 15 minutes or so, almost as if he could never belong in a Western. But actually, Bale’s performance merely contrasts with what we have come to expect from Western heroes. He is unsure of himself, he’s a committed family man, and drawing a gun like “The Man With No Name” is the last thing he wants to do.
On the other hand, Crowe fits the confident Western archetype and emerges as a weird hybrid of Val Kilmer’s Doc Holliday (“Tombstone”), Bud Spencer’s Bambino (“They Call Me Trinity”) and Henry Fonda’s Frank (“Once Upon a Time in the West”).
Crowe hasn’t chewed this much scenery since his role in 1997’s “L.A. Confidential.” He is unpredictable, evil, charming and artistic, rebounding from his sleepwalk in the formulaic “Cinderella Man.”
The plot doesn’t require much exposition. Bale’s Dan Evans needs money to support his family, so he volunteers to escort the criminal Ben Wade (Crowe)-along with a team of other supposed do-gooders-to a train ride headed for prison. As Evans and his party keep their eyes on (and sometimes lose their lives to) Wade, a gang of “animals,” as Wade calls them, follows the trail to rescue their leader from justice. Ben Foster, whose psychopathic character holds Wade as a father figure of sorts, is in charge of this gang.
Thankfully, the screenwriters know that contradictions often make for the best moments in the Western genre. For instance, Foster, in his best role yet, asks a group of men if they’re a posse. Shortly thereafter, he kills them and remarks, “I hate posses,” despite the fact he’s leading one.
Yet contradictions can be taken to the extreme. While I won’t spoil the details of the final scenes, there are many moments during the last 15 minutes when characters betray who they are and what they have said in unbelievable ways. Admittedly, the writers were going for character depth and moral ambiguity, but the conclusion is quite pretentious for what amounts to shooting and killing. The good news is that these script flaws are thought-provoking and add to the mythology of the film.
Director James Mangold, known for the average “Walk the Line,” swipes a few John Ford shots here and there, but overall he presents the film competently. In particular, his positioning of the actors on the extremities of the camera’s view is a welcome technique every time he uses it.
Perhaps an important question is whether “Yuma” will revive interest in the Western genre. At this point it’s hard to say. Yes, it led the box office last weekend with a gross of $14 million.
And yes, maybe the film will inspire contemporary audiences to visit or revisit classic Westerns.
But if a prediction must be made, “Yuma” is probably one of the last of its kind. Director Sam Peckinpah (“The Wild Bunch”) knew the Wild West would gradually ride away, even from the world of film. Along with top-notch work like “The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada” and “The Proposition,” “Yuma” ensures that the last vestiges of the genre ain’t going to be for nothing.