“The Western is a genre that, more than any other, has been connected to white chauvinism, but it’s also the only genre that, during its heyday, consistently gave the impression of the United States being what it actually was and is—an ethnically diverse polyglot experiment in democracy in which misunderstandings and outrages abounded and violence was frequently the first resort.” Nick Pinkerton runs through a dozen or so examples of Hollywood versions of Apache; nearly every one played by whites and “conciliatory rather than revolutionary,” but variously empathic, pained, and shamefaced for all that.
“Inspired by a childhood trip to a film festival honoring James Dean in the star’s hometown of Fairmount, Indiana, Jones decided Harry Dean was just as worthy. And though Stanton traveled from his adopted home of Los Angeles to Lexington in 2014, he was unable to attend the festivities this year, which seemed strangely fitting. As with most Harry Dean Stanton movies, you’re always waiting for him to appear.” James Hughes travels to Kentucky to visit the 5th Annual Harry Dean Stanton festival, whose attendees come off as charmingly obsessed as any other crew you’d find at a film convention, if considerably more laconic.
“‘Would you be shocked if I put on something more comfortable?’ she asks Ben Lyon in Hell’s Angels, taking joy and pride in the way she makes his temperature rise. The distinctive thing about Harlow is her total lack of shame about sex on screen, her sheer anticipatory enjoyment of it as an idea, and an ideal of pleasure, a force that totally loosens her up. Harlow’s relation to sex in her movies makes Bow seem slightly jittery and insecure about it in comparison, and makes Monroe look like a sexual basket case.” Dan Callahan’s superb series of actor appreciations continues with a salute to Jean Harlow’s tragically brief but so very, very bright incandescence.