Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Hud (1963)--4/5

For maximum dramatic convenience, the denizens of “Hud” serve as surrogates for absent “traditional” family members. Fifteen years ago, a car accident caused by Hud Bannon (Paul Newman) killed his older brother. Hud’s father has raised Lonnie (Brandon De Wilde), the brother’s son. Hud is essentially Lonnie’s cool, dangerous older brother. Alma (Patricia Neal), the housekeeper, completes the group as a lone maternal voice.

“Hud,” based on a Larry McMurtry novel, is a rare western in which languor and repetition trump action and dynamism. The lone bar fight sequence is as sad as it is thrilling. Geneses of characters’ behaviors are buried deep in the events of their lives. By the end of the film, accumulated behaviors and imagery define a complete picture of each star.

Hud spends much of his time driving into and from town in his gaudy pink Cadillac. The amount of time the film spends on the road indicates the distance the farm is from anybody else. Over the years, this long, necessary journey has been the defining motif of Hud’s life. The accident that killed his brother hasn’t taught him to drive carefully. Rather, he drives faster, more recklessly (and drunkenly), as if to get it over with as quickly as possible.

“Hud” is also a rare modern western, taking place during the time of its release. Despite this, the film is not based on a pining for an earlier, purer cowboy archetype a la the McMurtry film “The Last Picture Show.” Instead, change is defined as incremental generational differences. The three ages of the Bannon family men effectively delineate these changes. And although the sequence screams “Symbolism!,” the shooting of a herd of sick cows later in the film speaks to encroaching government regulation.

Most of the strength of “Hud” stems from its gorgeous black-and-white photography. The camera lingers on the far horizon, sometimes populated with gloomy cows, sometimes free of any movement. Paul Newman plays such an electric character that his presence is felt even in the empty vistas.

No comments: