Rough on the Redskins

Escape from Fort Bravo (M-G-M), riding hard on the hoofbeats of Shane and High Noon, should prove to the movie public that the old mare is what she used to be--and maybe more. Director John Sturges' Bravo is in some ways the best western since 1943's memorable Ox-Bow Incident.

The story describes a Civil War episode in which a small Union garrison, perched alone in the borax wastes of the Arizona Territory, must guard itself from a restless crowd of Confederate prisoners within and from a cruel horde of Mescalero Indians without. A romantic fifth column is also on hand in the shape of a Texas belle (Eleanor Parker) who makes a play for the strong man of the garrison (William Holden). Unaware that Eleanor is really conspiring with the leader of the Confederate prisoners (John Forsythe), Holden plays right along with her--until suddenly both of them discover that they arc playing for keeps.

Despite her new-found love for Northerner Holden, Eleanor loyally joins her Southern beau and three friends in an escape she helps plan. Holden recaptures them, but in the outcome, both sides have to join in fighting off one of the most imaginative Indian attacks ever filmed.

There are all sorts of unexpectedly solid fare in this bag of oats. The implacable, carefully photographed beauty of the badlands stands behind the film every moment, grim as an open grave. The four leading actors do excellent work. Actress Parker is spirited and warm as the heroine. John Forsythe is subtle and easy, a sort of walking diploma from V.M.I. William Demarest manages to wear a week's grizzle, chaw the plug and prospect for laughs without sounding too much like Gabby Hayes. And William Holden again suggests that he is the most versatile leading man in Hollywood. In the last year he has played, and played well, a carefree young worldling (The Moon Is Blue), a heel with a heart of gold (Stalag 17), and now a hard, woman-hungry male.

Scriptwriter Frank Fenton, an old pro of 20 years and about 20 films in Hollywood, has written scenes and characters with the freshness--and some of the clean-limbed naivete--of a first novelist. His dialogue is always clear and quick, and occasionally it reaches down to pluck some nerve of real human sensibility. Apart from the poem he gave one of the Confederate prisoners to speak ("Faith was ... a jungle/ Where two children trod/ Looking for violets/ Angleworms and God"), the bravos for Bravo should go largely to him.

Hondo (Warner) is a western that has provoked a gag question in Hollywood: "Ain't it a Shane about Wayne?" The answer is: yes, sort of. The movie starts off looking like Shane by introducing the hero (John Wayne) as Shane was introduced--staggering out of the desert like a gun-slinging anchorite.

The fact is that all Hero Wayne has shot is a couple of Indians, and all he wants from the heroine (Geraldine Page) is a horse. When she gives him a kiss too, Actor Wayne rides away hastily, as if to assure his large public of small boys that there will not be too much mushy stuff in this one. There is, however, as the reels drone by; but there is also almost enough bare-knuckle work and short-range shooting of Indians to satisfy even a generation of children who have been nourished on the blood of afternoon TV programs.

For grownups, Hondo offers only Geraldine Page, the Broadway star of Mid-Summer, who in her first film lead almost wrecks the picture. She plays a pioneer woman with a fresh face and unaffected charm that make the other actors in the picture look as phony as a bunch of rodeo types.

Actor Wayne, now that he is undisputed top draw at the box office, seems to feel that his mere presence in a picture is enough -- and acting might be too much. In Hondo, which lists him as coproducer. he talks a little more than usual, but on the other hand, plays up his physical presence in a rather peculiar way. On five separate occasions he takes long, slow walks away from the camera, rolling his muscular buttocks like a male Marilyn Monroe as he goes.

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