The Future of the Western Genre

For the last couple of decades, enthusiasts have lamented the demise of Westerns. The rest of the world went about their business, ignorant that anyone cared about a genre relegated to a few obscure shelves at the local bookstore. Westerns were hugely popular for over a hundred years. Not only were Westerns popular in the United States, but the whole world devoured them. The Western was a staple of fiction, Hollywood, television, and daydreams. What happened?

Overexposure, for one thing. In 1959, there were twenty-six Western series on prime time television. On the silver screen, John Wayne banished his Winchester at countless bad guys. Paperback Westerns could be found in abundance in any drugstore, most of them with Louis L’Amour’s name on the cover. The big names did some wonderful, quality stuff, but the demand was so great that a lot of trash made it into print and celluloid.

The common perception is that the Western genre is moribund. Yet somehow, Larry McMurtry and Cormac McCarthy made a good living off Westerns. (Their books, however, are seldom stacked up with the straight-to-paperback variety of Westerns.) Robert B. Parker temporarily abandoned private eye Spencer to embrace the western genre for a trilogy about two guns for hire. In film, Appaloosa grossed a respectable $28 million at the box office, while 3:10 to Yuma grossed over $70 million. Productions like Godless, Yellowstone, and Old Henry keep the genre alive. DVD sales of vintage Westerns do well, and Louie L’Amour, Zane Grey, and even Max Brand still sell a respectable number of books.

So, the Western isn’t dead, but it’s just as certainly not the rage, especially for the upcoming generation. Thrillers, fantasies, sci-fi, and romance novels garner all the shelf space. Action movies sound tracks are filled with revving motors, not thundering hoofs. And television … well, television just broadcasts another police drama. In fact, the Western excesses of the late fifties are being repeated today with cop shows. Perhaps tired audiences are ready for a resurgence of Westerns.

Perhaps. But what type of Western? Probably a new breed. There have been three distinct western eras. I called them: wholesome, the flawed hero, and the violent eras.

The wholesome era lasted until the late fifties. It was epitomized by Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy, and a host of other cowboys sporting white hats. Instead of killing bad guys, they shot guns out of their hands. If someone was killed, they damn-well deserved it, and their death would be bloodless, with a pledge-like hand to the chest to cover unsightly bullet holes. As in all eras, there was overlap, and during the later stages of the wholesome phase, Wayne and others made more realistic Westerns—but these, of course, were quarantined to movie houses, and only at night.

The flawed hero of the sixties wasn’t the antihero of today. He merely had faults; like Josh Randall, the bounty hunter portrayed by Steve McQueen in Wanted Dead or Alive or the gambling Maverick brothers who proudly proclaimed themselves cowards. Richard Boone wore black and looked mean as a gun-for-hire in Paladin. The Magnificent Seven were reluctant, saviors of a small Mexican village—and flawed to a man. Again, overlapping eras. The spaghetti Westerns of the late sixties took the genre into new territory.

From the seventies on, the antihero ruled a frontier filled with slow-motion violence. The violent era was ushered in by Sergio Leone with his Man With No Name trilogy (1967) and Sam Peckinpaw with The Wild Bunch (1969). From then on, red dominated the color spectrum and the hero was only a step removed from the bad guy. The raw realism was inappropriate for television until cable brought Deadwood (2004) into our living rooms.

What’s next? Luckily, these eras overlap, so seeing the direction of the Western genre is not guesswork. Larry McMurtry, Cormac McCarthy, and Robert B. Parker pointed the way. The future of the Western genre is historically accurate storytelling. A story can take place in the past, the present, or the future. If the story occurs in the past, we call them historical novels—except for Westerns. They get consigned to a niche genre that still carries the taint of pulp fiction. But a story that takes place in the nineteenth century American frontier has as much legitimacy to be called a historical novel as Ken Follett’s World Without End.

McMurtry, McCarthy, and Parker have found the key. Good writing, sound plots that move with assurance, and great characterization. They concentrated on characters that are forced to deal with hardships and human frailty at a particular point in history. These are the basic elements of good storytelling. A Western historical novel can indeed be action-adventure, but it can also borrow elements from the detective, suspense, romance, mystery, and other genres. Lonesome Dove took from all of them.

The world has tired of cookie-cutter cop shows, superheroes, and endless permutations of suspense tales about secret societies that are about to take over the world. Westerns may very well again rule the page and screen

Is the Mythology of the Old West Dead?

 “The fascination that the Old West has will never die." John Wayne

The mythology of the Old West has been denigrated by the people who set literary fashion. They say it is idealized, simplistic, tired, and, above all, untrue. The good guys were never that good. Frontiersmen and settlers displaced noble people already occupying the land. Coarse immigrants came in droves to desecrate a pristine wilderness. Eulogized heroics usually involved vigilantism, which offends those who honor the rule of law.

The same mythology escapes criticism in fantasy and science fiction, so why is it disparaged in Westerns? They’re all made-up stories, but morality plays in these other genres find acceptance. The battle between good and evil, selfless sacrifice, idealized heroics, and venturing away from home are popular themes in extremely popular genres. Few doubt that the Harry Potter series, Lord of the Rings, or the work of Arthur C. Clark and H. G. Wells are respectable literature. An argument could be made that similar themes are even reflected in nursery rhymes. Could the difference be that the Old West actually happened?

Before we answer this question, we should take another look at the mythology of the Old West. It’s about more than gun-slinging paladins. There are three major elements, with many tributaries. The first is the romance of a new beginning. Second, in this new world, the battle of good versus evil is clearly defined and won by good. The last element is the lone warrior who sets things right.

The West, outer space, the future, or a make-believe land represents a new beginning in a fresh place away from home—the shedding of disappointments and a chance to start over. The romance and adventure of the frontier draw people desperate to escape the travail of their current existence. We’ve seen this in real life with the migrations to the New World and the Old West, but today many people satisfy this longing vicariously with fiction. If you’re poor, your family makes you miserable, you’ve committed an act that offends society, or wanderlust has gripped you, then the adventure and limitless opportunity of a frontier beckon like a siren’s call. Emigrating to a frontier means you get a do-over in a land with no rules, no fences, no referees.

Real life is a greyscale, somewhat skewed toward the darker side of the spectrum. A new life in a new world wouldn’t entice us if we had to bring our old baggage. As envisioned, the new world is black and white. There’s strength in righteousness, perseverance and risk are rewarded, good people do right, and bad people get their just deserts. This is a world of hope. Hope for riches, hope for justice, hope for a different path in life. Good fights evil and good always triumphs. This is a theme that has been part of storytelling in every society since the first cave drawings.

A raw frontier is dangerous, so good needs help. Elements and carnivorous animals threaten at every turn. People fight ruthlessly to claim a piece of terrain for themselves. No civilization means no restraint on bad people doing bad things. Help comes in the form of an idealized hero, possibly an anti-hero who overcomes his moral deficiencies to help the innocent. This is usually visualized as a lone warrior, like the one eulogized by Tom Wolfe in The Right Stuff. The hero is capable of violence, but he is essentially good. The gunman in Westerns carries a simple solution on his hip. Frodo has the ring and Potter his wand. In these mythical realms, the hero risks his life to save the day and demands nothing in return.

Western mythology beguiles us because it promises a world different from our own. Hard work gets rewarded. We have freedom of movement by horse and train.  We get vicarious revenge against the unpleasant people in our lives. And riches. Wealth comes from the land and the land is free. The whole package is wrapped in idealized virtues that make us feel safe and hopeful.

And we can experience it all by reading in our favorite easy chair.

Which brings us back to our question. Are these themes less acceptable in Westerns because the Old West actually existed?

 Yes.

History shows that the idealized frontier was a myth. This gives fantasy and sci-fi a huge advantage, since they aren’t bound by reality. In the real Old West, bad guys often won. More accurately, the strong and willful won, many times using bullying tactics. In the gritty real world, Native Americans were vanquished by hordes of pioneers. Miners raked the surface of beautiful countryside and then ran off when there was no more easy money. Historical records make it easy for someone to say, “but it wasn’t like that.” Does this mean that Western mythology is inappropriate for fiction?

Not entirely. Authors need to approach Westerns as historical fiction. Larry McMurtry and Cormac McCarthy already did. They told stories that incorporated elements of Western mythology, but they used gradation in their storylines and nuanced stereotypical plots. Their books are populated with realistic characters, and they get the facts right.

Fantasy and science fiction can get away with an idealized, binary world, but Westerns must navigate the nineteenth-century frontier with realism and respect for the genuine experiences of pioneers and Native Americans. The mythology of the Old West is dead … but the stories continue.

Honest westerns. Full of dishonest characters.

Thomas Edison—Good Guy or Bad Guy?

Thomas Edison was a much more complex person than generally realized. The Wizard of Menlo Park was a character in the Steve Dancy Tale , The Return. In researching this iconic inventor, I learned that he was single-minded when he got something stuck in his head. This worked exceptionally well for solving a puzzle like finding a proper filament for his light bulb, but didn’t work so well in his personal relationships. His fixated behavior also didn’t enhance the business side of his groundbreaking discoveries. Edison made enemies. Sometimes, as with J. P. Morgan, he made enemies out of longtime friends and supporters.

Portraying real persons in fiction can be risky. The author has an obligation to reflect their character and actions honestly. After all, they are generally defenseless to an assault by the mighty pen. There is another problem with historical characters.  In fiction, if you deviate too much from the common image of an historical character, you can disrupt the flow of the story. As the reporter famously said in The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

Kindly Genius?

Or Intense Competitor?

In The Return, I tread carefully around Edsion’s image as a gentle genius, but I also dropped hints about his peculiar personal behavior and his ability to be just downright mean. I had a story to tell, and I included Edison in a Western to show that at the same time people struggled to settle a raw frontier, other pioneers in New York City were reinventing the world.

Nonfiction, of course, is completely different. In a history book, it is important to tell the unvarnished truth about people and events. When I was approached to assist with Glenn Beck’s new book, Miracles and Massacres, I accepted because Beck insisted that this book would tell it like it really was. It was a fun experience, and the final product is unique. It explains underplayed episodes of American history in an engaging story format.

So, was Thomas Edison a good guy or bad guy? Get the book and decide for yourself. As Joe Friday used to say, “Just the facts, ma’am, just the facts.”

Note: The Dragnet character Sargent Joe Friday never said, “Just the facts, ma’am, just the facts,” but as noted earlier, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”

How do you express civic pride when your namesake shot himself in his private parts?

I loved to ski, and my favorite mountain is Mammoth, California. When a friend owned a condo, I also skied the perfectly groomed slopes at Deer Valley. Deer Valley is skiing as life style, while Mammoth Mountain is skiing as sport. As I get older, my preference seems to be sliding toward lifestyle.

When I was talking about our winter ski plans with my brother-in-law, we got to talking about Lee Vining, a tiny village of about 200 hardy residents just north of Mammoth. The town is named after a miner who founded the encampment in 1852. By 1857, Vining was the town’s leading citizen, owning the sole sawmill that provided crucial timber for shafts and buildings.

Perhaps Mr. Wayne had not heard this story.

The town wasn’t named after Vining because of his pioneering spirit or philanthropic Last Will and Testament; it was named after him because he shot himself to death in nearby Aurora, Nevada. The story I heard was that he was drunk in a saloon and somehow the pistol tucked in his waistband went off. Everybody jumped because no one knew where the shot had come from or where it went. Vining just stood there a minute and then stumbled outside. There, he fell into the street and bled-out from a fatal wound to his most private parts.

Granted, this is a wretched story with a sad ending, but the silver lining is that in 1953, the town honored their fallen champion by naming the town after him. Actually, Lee Vining Creek and Lee Vining Canyon have served as the eastern gateway to Yosemite National Park for nearly a century.

I’d love to be remembered down through the ages with my name plastered on a town, mountain or post office, but Vining’s price seems steep. Maybe I’ll just try to win the lottery so a grateful UCLA will name a building after me. 

How do you think Westerns have evolved in film?

Robert Duvall is one of my favorite Western actors. (Others on my list include John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, Tom Selleck, Gene Hackman, Sam Elliott, Steve McQueen, … oh never mind, there are too many.)

Duvall starred or had a major role in Lonesome Dove, Open Range, Broken Trail, True Grit, Joe Kidd, Lawman, and The Great Northfield, Minnesota Raid.

Recently in an interview, he was asked, “There have been some takes on the western genre recently, with Quentin Tarantino's Django Unchained and The Lone Ranger. How do you think Westerns have evolved in film?”

He answered: “Well, if that's what it's evolved into, I don't know what to say (laughs). That's all I'll comment on at this point.”

‘Nuff said.

Guns and Horses: Getting it Right

Western writers are like other fiction writers in that they have super powers. They can bend time, compress space, and sweep away boring people, mundane tasks, and toilet needs.  Writers can magically have their characters do and say whatever’s necessary to incessantly move the story forward. Instead of wielding a wand, writers brandish a keyboard. No wonder so many writers are egotistical.

The exception: John Wayne got guns right

There is one major difference between Western writers and other authors—they need to get guns and horses right. Western enthusiasts will suspend disbelief in every other aspect of a written story, but not guns and horses. Odd, because Western movies enjoy forbearance that a novel does not. A film can run a horse forever, fire eight shots from a six shooter, or shoot with precision from horseback. Western readers, on the other hand, tend to be sticklers for accuracy about these two areas when they occur in print. That’s why I use gun and horse specialists to proof my Westerns.

What brought all this to mind was a Cracked article about “6 Stupid Gun Myths that Everyone Believes (Thanks to the movies).” The piece deals mostly with modern guns, but a few of the 6 myths relate to nineteenth century guns. For example, a dropped Colt Peacemaker could go off. That was not a myth in the olden days. Reputedly, it happened to Wyatt Earp when he sat in a saloon chair. That is why Westerners often kept the chamber under the hammer empty, making their pistol a five-shooter. 

“Shotguns Are Room-Clearing Murder Factories” applies equally to the Western double barreled shotgun. Marshals who held off a lynching party with a shotgun looked threatening, but could only kill two vigilantes before reaching for a pistol. As Wild Bill Hickok and Bat Masterson attested, the myth that "Deadly on the Gun Range = Deadly in Real Life” is apropos for gunfighters in the Wild West.

The article is a fun read, but unfortunately many of the movie clips have been disabled due to copyright issues. Too bad. The clips that work do a fine job of illustrating Hollywood gun myths.

Honest westerns filled with dishonest characters.

The complex lives of common people

Shane is one of my favorite Western films. The Jack Schaefer book is also one of my favorite Western novels. There are great films and there are great books, but Shane is a rare instance where both the book and film are distinguished in their own right. The movie is an honest rendition of Schaefer’s story, while artfully making adjustments for a visual presentation of a novel.

In honor of its 60th anniversary, Andre Soares wrote a Alt Film Guide piece about the movie. I didn’t like the article. Among other things, Soares seems apologetic that he admires the film. After all, this is an art film site, and how could a Western be art? The following paragraph reveals his prejudice.

“Now, what makes Shane special is that while Stevens and Gurthrie Jr.’s movie feels like a paean to the Old West and to Western movies in general, it actually demythologizes both American history and the film genre that turned into stars the likes of Tom Mix, John Wayne, Gene Autry, Roy Rogers, and, later on, Clint Eastwood. Read between the lines and you’ll see how subversive Shane is — how unheroic its heroes are, how complex the lives and minds of its "common people," how civilization can be just another manifestation of barbarism; and, no matter their righteousness, how hollow human victories can be.”

What claptrap. This is basically a glass-half-empty view of humankind. The film I saw was far more uplifting and hopeful. Shane is a story of redemption, not the barbarism of civilization. To justify his admiration for Shane, Soares basically claims there is a depth to the story that is uncharacteristic of the genre. He needs to read and watch more Westerns. Sure, there are lots of junky Westerns, but despite Raymond Chandler writing great fiction, a lot of crime drama is also unmemorable. The depth and nuance of Schaefer’s story is not uncommon, nor are instances of quality in Westerns any more rare than for other popular genres.

Shane is a great story, presented admirably in the print and film versions. Just ask Clint Eastwood and Robert Day, the directors of Pale Rider and The Quick and the Dead, both basically remakes of Shane.

Ink Tank does: The 8 sexiest cowgirls to kiss John Wayne

John Wayne was a lucky man. As the leading man in 142 films, he had the honor of working with somewhere near 142 leading ladies. Ink Tank does a fun job of selecting "The 8 sexiest cowgirls to kiss John Wayne."

King Maker

John Wayne was not only a great star, he was a king maker. Louis L'Amour had been selling well, but was hardly a household name prior to Wayne approving a blurb for Hondo that said, "Hondo was the finest Western Wayne had ever read." 

Wayne also endorsed a TV Western that was somewhat successful. (Gunsmoke still holds the record for the greatest number of episodes at 635.)

Are Heroes a Fantasy?

A review of Hollywood productions and published fiction might lead the casual observer to believe that the traditional hero is dead. The antihero now reigns supreme, and even the antihero is moving further and further toward the dark side. (The flaws of James Bond, Batman, and Spiderman are etched more deeply in recent films.) Protagonists are increasingly nasty characters that you would seldom invite into your home. What gives? Are the publishing houses and movie studios just giving audiences what they want?

I don't think so. The public is still drawn to traditional heroes, despite the fact that the creative class has relegated them to fantasies. People flock to Harry Potter, Frodo Baggins, Luke Skywalker, and Superman. John Wayne's continuing popularity shows that traditional heroes endure across the years and generations. Hollywood and publishers attribute the popularity of fantasies and old style westerns to blind escapism. The filmmakers and publishers have come to believe that art must depict the mundane everyman or a sadly decayed society. Meanwhile, the public is forced to search out heroes where they can find them.

Are heroes a fantasy? No, they exist in real life and we admire them not just their deeds, but for their selflessness. Every civilization in ascendancy honors and depends on their heroes. And one way to honor heroes is with our stories, whether around the campfire, in print, or on celluloid. Good fiction lifts and inspires us.

Wouldn't it be great if everyone aspired to be heroic.