The definition of the "elegiac western", The Hired Hand was the directorial debut of the ubiquitous Peter Fonda. Fonda also stars, as Harry, a world-weary wanderer finally planning to move back to his ranch and make good on his marriage to his wife Hannah (Verna Bloom) and their daughter. Tagging along is his BFF Arch (Warren Oates) – although at some point he too will move on, and Harry will have to up his game as a family man.
Meanwhile, the ghosts of the past are stirring. It seems like there's some bad blood in Harry's home town, and – to mix in yet another metaphor – the chickens are coming home to roost.
If it sounds like I'm being vague, that's because the plot of The Hired Hand is looser than a half-tied lasso. Remember, this came hot on the heels of another Fonda vehicle, Easy Rider, and as such you'll regard its laid-back tempo and mannered editing either as richly layered or a load of hippie nonsense. Personally, I found the mix of Bruce Langhorne's eerie music and the mournful rhythm quite hypnotic.
This is a slow and moody western where the dramatic beats come from the exchanges between characters rather than exchanges of gunfire. Bloom is exceptional in the role of Hannah, a woman who is at once rebuked for sharing her bed with other men in Harry's absence, but then who in one withering speech entirely justifies her behaviour. Her presence, as a fully-fleshed out female character in a male- swamped genre, is most welcome.
Thematically it's tempting – as with all American New Wave cinema of the decade – to position The Hired Hand in the context of the Vietnam War. It's a link that can be overstated, but there are undoubtedly parallels: the gunman yearning to return home from a long journey; his struggle to adapt to civilian existence in a place where life has continued without him; the breaking of brotherhood in favour of fatherhood; and the violence of his past returning to haunt him.
So, a deep sorrow hangs over the film. Fonda was only 31 when he made this, and it's questionable whether, with his slight frame and young eyes, he can beard himself up to achieve sufficient world- weariness. Oates, however, nails it, that permanent grimace of his both warm and worn in equal measure. Capturing them exquisitely is the peerless Vilmos Zsigmond (the first casualty of this year's terrible roster of obituaries), who virtually takes us back in time with the preciseness and depth of his framing. The desperately sad final shot is worth the (relatively brief) running time alone.
One reason The Hired Hand isn't better-remembered is because it is by its nature low-key; quiet and sombre. Consider as well that at the time the western genre was in decline – the real classic, McCabe and Mrs Miller, also came out in 1971, and Robert Altman's film (also shot by Zsigmond) is the superior of the two. Still, there is much to admire about The Hired Hand – and I use that verb carefully because it's as much a film to sink into for its mood as it is to conventionally enjoy.
Meanwhile, the ghosts of the past are stirring. It seems like there's some bad blood in Harry's home town, and – to mix in yet another metaphor – the chickens are coming home to roost.
If it sounds like I'm being vague, that's because the plot of The Hired Hand is looser than a half-tied lasso. Remember, this came hot on the heels of another Fonda vehicle, Easy Rider, and as such you'll regard its laid-back tempo and mannered editing either as richly layered or a load of hippie nonsense. Personally, I found the mix of Bruce Langhorne's eerie music and the mournful rhythm quite hypnotic.
This is a slow and moody western where the dramatic beats come from the exchanges between characters rather than exchanges of gunfire. Bloom is exceptional in the role of Hannah, a woman who is at once rebuked for sharing her bed with other men in Harry's absence, but then who in one withering speech entirely justifies her behaviour. Her presence, as a fully-fleshed out female character in a male- swamped genre, is most welcome.
Thematically it's tempting – as with all American New Wave cinema of the decade – to position The Hired Hand in the context of the Vietnam War. It's a link that can be overstated, but there are undoubtedly parallels: the gunman yearning to return home from a long journey; his struggle to adapt to civilian existence in a place where life has continued without him; the breaking of brotherhood in favour of fatherhood; and the violence of his past returning to haunt him.
So, a deep sorrow hangs over the film. Fonda was only 31 when he made this, and it's questionable whether, with his slight frame and young eyes, he can beard himself up to achieve sufficient world- weariness. Oates, however, nails it, that permanent grimace of his both warm and worn in equal measure. Capturing them exquisitely is the peerless Vilmos Zsigmond (the first casualty of this year's terrible roster of obituaries), who virtually takes us back in time with the preciseness and depth of his framing. The desperately sad final shot is worth the (relatively brief) running time alone.
One reason The Hired Hand isn't better-remembered is because it is by its nature low-key; quiet and sombre. Consider as well that at the time the western genre was in decline – the real classic, McCabe and Mrs Miller, also came out in 1971, and Robert Altman's film (also shot by Zsigmond) is the superior of the two. Still, there is much to admire about The Hired Hand – and I use that verb carefully because it's as much a film to sink into for its mood as it is to conventionally enjoy.