Bad Company is so great at times
yet my how it struggles to live up to its ultimate potential. This film had
everything going for it when it came out: it re-teamed Robert Benton and David
Newman, the writers of Bonnie and Clyde, and it had Benton in the director's
chair, as well. Then as its star it had one of the best young actors of the
time, Jeff Bridges, who was fresh off his success in The Last Picture
Show. Topping that off was the movie’s DP, Gordon Willis, already on his ascension to greatness with The
Godfather, released in March of ’72, seven months before Bad Company came
out.
Benton’s agenda seems pretty
clear early on: to make something that’s real. A kid named Drew (played by
Barry Brown, a good young actor at time, bearing many similarities to James
Stewart, but who unfortunately committed suicide six years after this movie
came out) runs away from home to avoid fighting in the Civil War, and joins up
with a gang of young thieves, led by Jake Rumsey (Bridges). Benton takes his title
literally: these fellows are bad company. There are very few redeeming
qualities about them. Drew is pretty straight-laced and he winds up with them
sort of by default. He needs to go out West and he doesn’t want to do it alone.
One of the pleasures of the film
is watching Rumsey balance his conniving treachery with his charisma. As played
by Bridges, he’s a natural leader, which is one of the reasons Drew (and the
other kids) are inclined to follow him. He’s got a winning smile and an amiable
personality when he needs it. With his slightly hefty physique and wonderfully
deep, rich voice, he’s got a presence you might call domineering. He’s also got
experience, exemplified in the great scene when he orders one of the others to
skin a rabbit. His command is indicative of his often imperious nature, yet
when he ends up skinning it because no one knows how to, it become clear why
he’s the leader of the pack. They wouldn’t survive without him.
But he’s also selfish and often
mean-spirited, untrustworthy and devoid of the honorable codes we see in the
idealized Old West. Our ultimate impression of Rumsey is negative, which leads
me back to what I said about Benton’s realist motives. But if that’s the case,
I’d argue Bad Company suffers from
some serious tonal problems. The movie more often than not fulfills its agenda,
even over-compensating in some instances (as when the youngest member of the
gang, only eleven, is abruptly shot in the head when trying to rob a house).
However, there’s a playful piano
soundtrack by Harvey Schmidt that would have been at home in something Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, but
not this. In one scene, Drew and Rumsey engage in a shootout with an older gang
who they keep crossing paths with out on the prairie. It’s one of the few action
scenes in the movie, and inexplicably Benton chooses to set the scene to the
goofy piano melody. It lends a comedic spirit to the scene, which is
completely out of place. The tone erases the proper mood of what's really an important scene.
Another major problem is that
while the movie does take its time early on (and that’s a beautiful thing), it suddenly seems to realize it only has fifteen minutes left and still a lot of material
to cover. The final few minutes of the movie are simply awful, while the final
shot, which I won’t reveal, is brutally ineffective.
And so we’re left scratching our
heads, trying to figure out why this movie wasn’t the awesome film it could
have been. On paper it looks like something that would stand along side the
great Westerns of its time, McCabe and
Ms. Miller and The Wild Bunch. I’m
inclined to believe Benton and Newman maybe weren’t cut out for the revisionist
Western. After all, in ’68 they worked on What’s
Up, Doc? And guess what their project was after this? Superman.
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