Woman-centered westerns are rare birds, but a small punchy flock of them emerged in the ’50s, including Rancho Notorious, Forty Guns, Johnny Guitar, Strange Lady in Town, even the Doris Day musical Calamity Jane. Annie Oakley was also popular on TV. We can speculate whether this trend was encouraged by Preston Sturges’ intriguing flop of 1949, The Beautiful Blonde From Bashful Bend, but the likelier source is 1950’s Annie Get Your Gun, a hit film of the hit Broadway musical.
Republic Pictures, which released a lot of westerns (to put it mildly), contributed several pictures to this theme, including the aforementioned Johnny Guitar and several items directed by Allan Dwan, of which today’s example is Woman They Almost Lynched. It’s not a lost masterpiece, just an entertaining and sometimes fascinating pleasantry.
Set during the Civil War, the story posits that an Ozark town called Border City sits literally on the border between Arkansas and Missouri, and maintains a peaceful neutrality by supplying both North and South from its lead mine to supply their bullets. The mayor is a stout, strident battle-axe named Delilah Courtney (Nina Varela), elected because “no man had the courage for the job”, and she’s as autocratic and hypocritical a fatcat as any of her male counterparts.
She also happens to own the mine, and all her political decisions are the expediencies of commerce. She’s surrounded by a petticoated chorus of matrons (including Minerva Urecal and Ellen Corby), and the fact that they run the town while making sundry disparaging remarks about the men whose proclivities they fear and exploit is unusual enough to catch our attention and invite analysis, but there’s much more going on.
The main character is really Sally Maris (fourth-billed Joan Leslie), a proper Michigan lady — and crack shot — who arrives on the stage and promptly inherits the saloon from her brother (Reed Hadley), whereupon she converts to brassy dance hall queen in five minutes. Her mighty opposite, whom we may call the Mercedes McCambridge to her Joan Crawford (see Johnny Guitar ), is vulgar, cross-dressed, blonde outlaw Kate (noir icon Audrey Totter, third-billed), who married the brutal outlaw Quantrill (second-billed Brian Donlevy) after he “kidnapped” her.
Kate’s now running with the infamous Quantrill’s Raiders, fresh from bushwhacking Lawrence, Kansas, who include a baby-faced Jesse James (Ben Cooper), his brother Frank (James Brown), and Cole Younger (Jim Davis of TV’s Dallas ). They meet Sally’s carriage (not gently) on the way into town, and while boyish Jesse is charmed by Sally’s genteel ways, Cole announces his plan to carry her off.
After whetting our appetite with an especially brutal knockdown drag-out “catfight” between the women (appreciated by all onlookers), one of the story’s refreshing subversions involves how Sally handles the archetypal quick-draw showdown in the street, and another involves Kate’s instant pop-psychology analysis of her motives regarding Quantrill’s rape of her, although nobody ever says that word.
The movie consistently hammers at the notion that women have a different way of running things that forms a better alternative to the male world that begat the Civil War. The female alliances (including the saloon girls, among whom is Ann Savage of Detour and Virginia Christine of Folger’s Coffee) are strong enough to best the various male gangs (soldiers, raiders, whatever–only the men care) that blow into town.
This also has its chilling aspect, as the respectable women are initially judgmental of Sally, and an early scene shows the mayor supervising the hanging of a man for “making inflammatory speeches”. Apparently, this means inciting violent sympathies, which belong to the same male world as the absent institutions of justice.
Oh yeah, Sally wastes her time falling for a bland local (John Lund, top-billed though a virtual supporting player) who is really a Confederate spy. When asked who won the war, he answers “Nobody won. We just quit fighting.” That could be a general commentary on war, though the movie’s implicit Southern sympathies (ending on a rousing rendition of “Dixie”, which Sally had brawled with Kate to prevent her from singing) are among its least progressive elements.
The screenplay by tough-guy crime writer Steve Fisher, based on a Saturday Evening Post story by Michael Fessier, falls somewhere between absurd and ridiculous, plotwise. That’s no mark against it, as many a relatively credible western is dull as dust.
What matters is the crisp, sometimes exciting direction of prolific master Allan Dwan. He corrals a capable cast, keeps a handle on this crazy story with no lagging, and injects some vital visuals, like where the camera is atop the galloping stagecoach, and some graceful moments where Kate indulges a couple of songs. The street showdown is simple and effective, and not too much time is wasted on the perfunctory almost-lynching, as we’re kept guessing about which woman it might be.
Dwan was important in stressing women in westerns of the ’50s. He’d already made Montana Belle, an RKO project starring Jane Russell as Belle Star. He followed Lynched with Cattle Queen of Montana starring Barbara Stanwyck, and Tennessee’s Partner. The last two are primarily seen as Ronald Reagan vehicles, but they feature strong women who motivate the plot in crucial ways instead of just standing by to hug the hero or be put in danger. During the ’50s, he was making lots of “spunky women” movies (sometimes violent women), including Belle Le Grand and Pearl of the South Pacific. All this stuff is worth watching, including his great Silver Lode and Slightly Scarlet.
Now available on Blu-ray from Olive Films, sublicensed from Paramount, is an excellent print showing off Reggie Lanning’s crystalline black and white photography. His curious career began with two wonderful silent features for Buster Keaton, whereupon he was consigned to many long years in the wilds of westerns and other Republic B-films, before moving to TV and ending on the high note of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. The year 1953 was a busy one for him and Dwan, as they also knocked out the delightful and woefully obscure period musical Sweethearts on Parade.
Let’s also acknowledge the fine work of editor Fred Allen. When a print is as sharp as this one, we can appreciate the technical contributions all the more, for a B-movie can look very good when made by pros who do little else in a well-humming studio. The disc offers no extras.