First of all, the question of the film’s historical accuracy regarding the Earps at the O.K. Coral is all but irrelevant. The opening intro involves a series of film reels, partly authentic and partly fabricated, of cowboy and gunfighter reenactments from the early 1900s, at least 20 years past the events that take place in the story. Narrating the intro is Robert Mitchum, himself an icon of numerous Western classics. Hence, Tombstone establishes itself thematically not as a historical telling but as a figment/homage of early Hollywood Western lore – as much a legend of cinema as it is told through cinema. And yet within this romantic conceit there is an equally credible and semi genre-unique depiction of the Old West.
You’re average contemporary Western feels just that: contemporary – a genre often rendered moody, in muddled browns and depicting the West as a dry and desolate, rudimentary existence. Tombstone, on the other hand, shows a place and era of vibrant color and theatrics. The West was not just a booming economic enterprise, but a frontier of culture, intellect and style--on the verve. The heroes are enthusiastic prospectors; the villains, cheerful gallants. The whole world of Tombstone feels very alive, an exciting place to be. At various points throughout the film are themes of liberation from archaic social lifestyles, notably the romance between Wyatt and Josephine, and even New Age thought; in one scene, the youngest brother Earp muses spiritual literature, the afterlife and the existence of God. Other more general references include Shakespeare, poetry and gunslingers dueling in Latin. The theme is so persistent that it even reaches a certain satirical point; when the corrupt county sheriff praises the town for its sophistication, Doc Holiday, taking his cue from a bloody gunfight in the street, sarcastically rebukes: “Very cosmopolitan.”
If the narrative of the film seems a bit jumpy in the chronology of its events, the overall story is never-the-less told handsomely, with a certain brazen for conflict and action, shared with quaint romantic interludes. The whole movie is very… old fashioned in that way. Like all Westerns, the narrative drive is appropriately simple. The men of Tombstone (a man’s world, no doubt) are choice makers: Wyatt and the brother Earps come to town as honest businessmen who must then choose to enforce law when the lawless terrorize the innocent. A man of the lawless, the gang known as the ‘Cowboys’, chooses to side with justice. Holiday chooses his friend over his own fading health. Death ensues on both sides, all sides.
By the end, our hero must choose a new life, after having his old one obliterated. None of the characters are ever fully explored in any biographical sense, but each of their actions and behaviors are clearly outlined, and the range of acting allows for a great deal of nuance and individual personality. Beyond its two lead stars, Tombstone features some 18 familiar, hard working actors, from Powers Booth to the awesome Michael Bien, then Stephen Lang, Dana Delany, Michael Rooker, Terry O’Quinn, Billy Zane (etc) – a well fed Billy Bob Thorton and even a cameo by Charlton Heston.
Bill Paxton is younger brother Morgan and Sam Elliot, the go-to-guy for countless Western movies, is the oldest brother Virgil. Again, their roles are pretty much reactionary, but both are likewise given just enough room for characterization to make for a well rounded sibling trio. Kurt Russell is simply the best Wyatt Earp ever. I say this with total conviction. Consider Kevin Costner in the same role, or more recent non-yanks like Christian Bale and Russell Crowe playing their own Western leads in 3:10 to Yuma. In my opinion, all of these actors act too much like their trying to act like heroes of the genre.
Like John Wayne, Sam Elliot, Tom Selleck and Ed Harris, Kurt Russell is a natural for the material. There’s something so perfectly “sensible” in his portrayal of Wyatt Earp; a dimensional man, weathered, intelligent and regretful, while also believably deadly when the conflicts arise. The “Hell’s commin’ with me!” speech could have been laughable, and in the hands of a lesser or less appropriate actor it may have very well been. Yet Russell delivers it with aplomb – there’s no room to snicker at his war cry. You believe it, without a moments thought.
This, of course, leaves Val Kilmer. By now it’s pretty a much concrete consensus that Kilmer steals the show as Doc Holiday. I’m in no sense to argue otherwise. He’s pretty damn good. It could have merely been a showy, flamboyant performance, but there’s a blackness and a sadness that Kilmer brings to the Holiday character. In fact, the duality between Doc and Johnny Ringo (Bien) is one of the finer aspects of the story and is also, perhaps, the movie at its most philosophical, in a purely narrative/presentational form. Both men are haunted, both men are sick. But while Holiday’s sickness is physical, Ringo’s is internal.
You get the sense that Holiday is as much a damned soul as Ringo but the difference between the two is that Holiday has come to meet his inner sorrow with a certain and resilient, irreverent charm – a black humor mentality. Doc Holiday does not take his wretched life all that seriously, and is therefore free from it in a way; whereas Ringo is all too serious and hateful of everything and everyone. It get’s the better of him, as Holiday says after the climax of their gunfight: “Poor soul. You were just too high strung.” Holiday also has the advantage of having a genuine and loyal friendship with the noble Wyatt – his one lifeline to something worth living for, and dying for. Their scene together at the end of the film is easily the most emotional for me.
Tombstone is directed by George P. Cosmatos (R.I.P.) who also helmed Cobra and Rambo: First Blood Part II. Cosmatos was brought in after the initial director, Kevin Jarre (son of composer, Maurice)–who also wrote the film as well as Rambo: First Blood Part II–was fired for demanding/attempting to shoot his full script, which was deemed too long and over budget. Allegedly, Cosmatos co-directed, or ghost-directed, the film with Kurt Russell. It was Russell who most likely edited the script and prepared the day-by-day shot list while Cosmatos setup angles then staged and blocked the action. The end result is a rather straight forward, classical, none-too-flashy visual approach. However, the gunfights in particular are edited in heavy contrast between masters and mediums, and intense close-ups and inserts, not unlike Cosmatos’ work on the Rambo sequel. So the action, as a whole, is visually striking and powerful.
William A. Fraker is the cinematographer and, along with the production/costume designers, usurps the conventional Western pallet with lush primary colors, deeply saturated, under natural desert sunlight, in-camera street lamplights and amidst smokey saloons. Still, black is the dominant color, at least on a tonal level, and for obvious-and-ominous reasons via the heroes’ black hats and long dusters. The anamorphic aspect ratio fittingly emphasizes large groups around card tables, lateral rows of men in the street, extreme facial (eyes) close-ups and, of course, the wide Arizona landscape. Bruce Broughton scores the film broadly with a bold title and romantic theme, and surrounds the rest with high-tension bombast. It’s not a notably complex score, but, like the rest of the film, clearly states its purpose.
Tombstone does not end with our hero riding off into the sunset. Instead, he and his true love waltz together happily in a Christmas lit snowy street, laughing about room service, as Mitchum concludes his narration. The last words spoken are that of Earp’s funeral in 1929 and of legendary Western star Tom Mix who wept in his passing, bringing full circle the aforementioned theme of American history mythologized by the silver screen.
Shit, I was avoiding it, but now I kind of want to see it.
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