There are these bad guys in 1870s Texas, see, led by the wealthy Paul Kelly and the underhanded Victor Francen from New Orleans. What they and their henchmen have been doing is rustling cattle by the horde, or by the herd, whichever you prefer. Then they run the stolen cattle across the Mexican border, rebrand them, and filter them back into the states to sell at a profit. Many honest ranchers and small cattlemen get shot up in the process.
Errol Flynn was one of them, his ranch destroyed, his cattle driven off, and he himself shot full of holes. A friend, John Litel, seeks him out in his Hollywood-style Mexican village where he finds Flynn now completely recovered and in possession of a ledger that proves Kelly's guilt. Also, need it be pointed out, Flynn is as gay and cheerful as ever. Flynn and Litel now set out for Texas to see to it that Kelly and Francen pay their debt to society.
The rest of the plot gets complicated. Alexis Smith, gorgeous in Technicolor, enters the picture along with S. Z. ("Cuddles") Sakall. The first is beautiful, the latter is less funny than silly, though the tastes of contemporary audiences may be responsible for that impression.
Poor Litel is shot unawares by Francen. It does not come as a surprise. We know as soon as we meet his character that he is dead meat. The smoothly groomed miscreants steal the ledger or the diary or the MacGuffin or whatever it is -- the evidence. Flynn has to do a bit of shooting to get it back. He gets it back. The bad guys die. The rest of the good guys live.
It's not a demanding film. It goes down like a double café latte mit Schlag. None of the characters is in the least ambiguous. We never feel sorry for a moment when the bad guys get it. And the good guys have no qualifying quirks. They're all good-natured heterosexuals. I kept wishing for some surprise -- maybe Flynn could open his closet and a copy of Pepys' diary would tumble out with all the ribald passages underlined. Anything.
But, as it stands, the movie, though a bit slow, is enjoyable. The whole Warners factory was at work here. All the expected supporting players are present. The score is by Warners stalwart Max Steiner. How he could write so MANY scores for so MANY movies of different genres is a mystery. Flynn is fine as his usual casual self. He's casual even in action scenes. In the 1937 "The Adventures of Robin Hood," he interrupted a sword fight with the menacing Basil Rathbone to wisecrack. "Did I upset your plans?" Here, he faces down gunman Tom Tyler. They both draw and shoot, and Flynn asks wryly, "Something wrong, McClaine?" Tyler, by the way, then does a reprise of his pre-mortem performance in "Stagecoach." He drops one of his guns, turns and begins to walk slowly away, drops the other gun, takes a few more steps and drops dead.
The superb photography is by Bert Glennon. Alexis Smith is merely decorative, but she IS decorative. S. Z. Sakall, a Hungarian, mangles the syntax of the English language and slaps his blubbery cheeks with his palms when he's frightened, which is most of the time, but his role is perhaps more dramatic than his persona can handle. I genuinely enjoyed the wardrobe and the art direction. San Antonio really looks glamorously Mexican. And the director has Victor Franken at varying times chewing on a tamale and what appears to be a soft taco.
I've often wondered, though, about the livelihood of characters like Flynn's. He rode into Mexico wounded and without a centavo. He returns to Texas to correct the situation -- but he NEVER WORKS. He has multiple Western outfits, can afford to eat in what passes for fancy restaurants, carelessly tips a tiny Mexican messenger boy -- but he NEVER WORKS. Whatever his source of income is, that's the one I want.
Flynn didn't have much of a career ahead of him after this movie but you'd never know it by watching him romp through this retrograde nonsense with such zest.
Errol Flynn was one of them, his ranch destroyed, his cattle driven off, and he himself shot full of holes. A friend, John Litel, seeks him out in his Hollywood-style Mexican village where he finds Flynn now completely recovered and in possession of a ledger that proves Kelly's guilt. Also, need it be pointed out, Flynn is as gay and cheerful as ever. Flynn and Litel now set out for Texas to see to it that Kelly and Francen pay their debt to society.
The rest of the plot gets complicated. Alexis Smith, gorgeous in Technicolor, enters the picture along with S. Z. ("Cuddles") Sakall. The first is beautiful, the latter is less funny than silly, though the tastes of contemporary audiences may be responsible for that impression.
Poor Litel is shot unawares by Francen. It does not come as a surprise. We know as soon as we meet his character that he is dead meat. The smoothly groomed miscreants steal the ledger or the diary or the MacGuffin or whatever it is -- the evidence. Flynn has to do a bit of shooting to get it back. He gets it back. The bad guys die. The rest of the good guys live.
It's not a demanding film. It goes down like a double café latte mit Schlag. None of the characters is in the least ambiguous. We never feel sorry for a moment when the bad guys get it. And the good guys have no qualifying quirks. They're all good-natured heterosexuals. I kept wishing for some surprise -- maybe Flynn could open his closet and a copy of Pepys' diary would tumble out with all the ribald passages underlined. Anything.
But, as it stands, the movie, though a bit slow, is enjoyable. The whole Warners factory was at work here. All the expected supporting players are present. The score is by Warners stalwart Max Steiner. How he could write so MANY scores for so MANY movies of different genres is a mystery. Flynn is fine as his usual casual self. He's casual even in action scenes. In the 1937 "The Adventures of Robin Hood," he interrupted a sword fight with the menacing Basil Rathbone to wisecrack. "Did I upset your plans?" Here, he faces down gunman Tom Tyler. They both draw and shoot, and Flynn asks wryly, "Something wrong, McClaine?" Tyler, by the way, then does a reprise of his pre-mortem performance in "Stagecoach." He drops one of his guns, turns and begins to walk slowly away, drops the other gun, takes a few more steps and drops dead.
The superb photography is by Bert Glennon. Alexis Smith is merely decorative, but she IS decorative. S. Z. Sakall, a Hungarian, mangles the syntax of the English language and slaps his blubbery cheeks with his palms when he's frightened, which is most of the time, but his role is perhaps more dramatic than his persona can handle. I genuinely enjoyed the wardrobe and the art direction. San Antonio really looks glamorously Mexican. And the director has Victor Franken at varying times chewing on a tamale and what appears to be a soft taco.
I've often wondered, though, about the livelihood of characters like Flynn's. He rode into Mexico wounded and without a centavo. He returns to Texas to correct the situation -- but he NEVER WORKS. He has multiple Western outfits, can afford to eat in what passes for fancy restaurants, carelessly tips a tiny Mexican messenger boy -- but he NEVER WORKS. Whatever his source of income is, that's the one I want.
Flynn didn't have much of a career ahead of him after this movie but you'd never know it by watching him romp through this retrograde nonsense with such zest.