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The Worst Best MovieWhy on earth did The Searchers get canonized?

By Stephen Metcalf
Posted Thursday, July 6, 2006, at 12:37 PM ET
The Searchers DVD cover

The Searchers, John Ford's epic 1956 Western, is a film geek's paradise: It is preposterous in its plotting, spasmodic in its pacing, unfunny in its hijinks, bipolar in its politics, alternately sodden and convulsive in its acting, not to mention boring. Impossible to enjoy, and yet not as obviously medicinal as, say, The Spirit of the Beehive, The Searchers segregates the initiated from the uninitiated; and so it is widely considered, by the initiated, at least, to be among the four or five best movies of all time. At his maiden screening, a young Cahiers du Cinema critic named Jean-Luc Godard wept, later adding, "How can I hate John Wayne … and yet love him tenderly … in the last reel of The Searchers?" Martin Scorsese and Paul Schrader routinely name The Searchers as one of their favorite films, adding, "I see it once or even twice a year" (Scorsese), or, "I make sure to see The Searchers at least once a year" (Schrader), though such encomia have the curious effect of making the movie sound dutiful and unpleasant, like a prostate exam. Maybe the analogy isn't so outlandish as it seems.

Even its adherents regard The Searchers as something of an excruciating necessity. The film, which is now out in a plush new DVD re-release, tells the story of Ethan Edwards, an Ahab-like obsessive who spends seven years searching for his little niece Debbie, kidnapped by Comanche Indians. ("Co-mansh," in Ethan's defiant pronunciation.) As played by John Wayne, Ethan is an embarrassing relic, a man who once fought proudly for the Confederacy and who now glories in his hatred of Indians. Ethan's racism may be cloddishly depicted, but it's the source of all the movie's kinky allure. Ethan wants to find Debbie not to rescue her but to kill her for having been contaminated by what Ethan imagines to be her society, such as it is, with Indians. "She's been living with a buck," spits Ethan, referring to Debbie's probable marriage to Scar, the Indian warrior-chief who engineered her theft.*

Coming to The Searchers for the first time, I was surprised at how fidgeted-together this supposedly great film is, how weird its quilting is, of unregenerate violence with doltish comic set pieces, all pitched against Ford's signature backdrop, the buttes and spires of Monument Valley. Though visually magnificent, the movie is otherwise off-putting to the contemporary sensibility, what with its when men were men, and women were hysterics mythos and an acting style that often appears frozen in tintype. (Hank Worden's turn, as the lovable village idiot, is particularly gruesome in this respect.) Not coincidentally, pop critics like Pauline Kael, who found much in the film "awkward," "static," and "corny," and Roger Ebert, who finds the movie flawed and "nervous," have been the most vocal dissenters in the cult of The Searchers. Its reputation lies elsewhere, with two influential and mutually reinforcing constituencies: critics whose careers emerged out of the rise of "film studies" as a discrete and self-respecting academic discipline, and the first generation of filmmakers—Scorsese and Schrader, but also Francis Ford Coppola, John Milius, and George Lucas—whose careers began in film school. The hosanna chorus for The Searchers is impossible to imagine, in other words, without the formalized presence of film in the university curriculum. The question, then, is: Why did the curriculum attach so intensely to so obviously flawed a movie?

That Ford should be admired and dissected by a legion of academics would have been amusing to Ford, a self-styled man's man (and by many accounts, a self-styled drunk's drunk) who once said, "My name is John Ford. I make Westerns," as laconic a kiss-off to one's nerd-cultists as one could imagine. But of course, it is Ford's status, and even more so Wayne's, as troubling anachronisms that help levitate the reputation of The Searchers. For everything in The Searchers can be said to be "problematized," that favored term of art for film and culture studies, starting with the old standbys race and gender but moving on quickly to Wayne and Ford themselves. As has been pointed out, Wayne's image, a vital component of which had been made in war films like Back to Bataan and The Sands of Iwo Jima, films contemporary to a popular war, was in serious decline by the 1970s; and that image, the distillation of white American machismo, was not surviving an unpopular war intact. (Both Ford and Wayne were vocal supporters of the U.S. intervention in Vietnam.) The argument that Ford, and by extension Wayne, set about in the mid-'50s to "subvert" (another film-studies byword) their own meticulously constructed personas as defenders of a heroic code of the unsettled West was first floated in the early days of film studies, and has been catnip to the institutional critic ever since.

For what The Searchers fails to provide (by way of pleasure) to a paying audience is well-compensated for by what it offers up (by way of raw material) to the interpretation factory. Every woman in the film is a tautly drawn and sexless pioneer wife, until we finally see the Comanche-adopted Debbie, played by the ravishing Natalie Wood. "These are my people," says little Debbie, now not so little and quite the stone fox in her snug Comanche outfit. "Unt-mea. Go. Go." Later, in the climax of the film, Ethan finally has Debbie in his sights. He has scalped—though not himself killed—his nemesis, Scar, but does not know that Debbie has at last consented to return to white society. And so he prepares, gun drawn, to exterminate her. I stand with the detractors of this silly film, but what follows must count as one of the more thrilling moments in anyone's movie-watching life. Wayne places his hands under the terrified Natalie Wood's armpits, then raises her up to the sky, examining her—murderously? Paternally? He then drops her into his arms and utters his first soft words of the film: "Let's go home, Debbie."

Now, "Why didn't he kill her?" is right up there with "Why does Hamlet dither?" and "Did the governess really see Quint and Miss Jessel?" as one of the great seminar unanswerables; it is sure to keep discussion going for the allotted 50 minutes, along with: Wait, why did he want to kill her in the first place? Was he in love with Debbie's mother, his milquetoast of a dead brother's dead wife? Why is Debbie the only hint of good sex in the movie? Are Ethan and Scar doppelgängers? Does Ethan spare Debbie because the scalping of Scar has purged him of his own most perturbing desires? Who knows? In later years, Wayne was asked about the strange depth of Ethan's obsession. "He did what he had to do," answered Wayne, mangling the basic details of the plot. "The Indians fucked his wife." A movie made by semiprimitives will submit more docilely to extensive Rorschaching than a self-consciously dark and mature Western like Little Big Man or McCabe and Mrs. Miller. As is so often the case, Kael deserves the last word: "You can read a lot into The Searchers, but it isn't very enjoyable."

Well, not quite the last word. Why did The Searchers become, as one critic has put it, the "Super-Cult movie of the New Hollywood," inspiring such '70s classics as Star Wars, Taxi Driver, and Hardcore? In styling themselves as something other than well-credentialed nerds, the first generation of film school grads to take over Hollywood had two archetypes of directorial cool to draw upon—the sly European émigré (Wilder, Lubitsch, von Stroheim, Lang) or the homegrown American he-man (Ford, Huston, Hawks). They sampled liberally from both, of course, but in Ford's Ethan the avatars of New Hollywood found a very romantic allegory for the director as monomaniacal obsessive, on a quest that others along the way may only find perverse. Ethan was reborn in Travis Bickle, et al., because Ethan and Travis Bickle were means for allowing otherwise unworldly men to live out, vicariously, an earlier romance of moviemaking, before filmmakers pedigreed themselves with advanced degrees. (Ford hadn't gone to film school; he started as a studio ditch-digger.) Ah ha! So that is why Ethan doesn't kill Debbie! Because at the end of the day, the half-crazed auteur must finally give way to the crowd-pleaser, right? And so when Wayne finally hunts down Debbie, only to raise her up, it's a moment of pure cinema. … Well, I don't know. And neither did John Ford.

*Correction, July 14, 2006: In the original version of this article, a quote was misattributed to the main character in The Searchers, Ethan Edwards. The quotation has been removed. Click here to return to the corrected paragraph.

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Stephen Metcalf is Slate's critic at large. He is working on a book about the 1980s.
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Remarks from the Fray:

What about those of us who saw the film when it was released, never read a critical comment or a good or bad review, but found something utterly compelling in the film and returned to it time and time again, not because we were told we ought to, but because the movie wove a spell around us and revealed new strands of meaning every time we saw it?

I was such a person, discovering the movie at about seven, and without even knowing its title, knew that more was going on here than in most movies I saw. I've seen it at least fifty times, and always find elegance and power and fine questions and depth and richness in it, and new moments of insight and revelation. I've never taken a film course. Of course, if I had, I'm sure one of my professors would have nailed me to the blackboard if he'd caught me making a point about one character's philosophy by quoting that character with dialog actually spoken by another character. It's not John Wayne's Ethan who says the line about "the leavings of a Comanche buck," but Vera Miles's Laurie. It may not diverge much from Ethan's own viewpoint, but it's dishonest to put her words in Ethan's mouth to make a point about him. But then, I never went to critic school, either.

--jumblejim

(To reply, click here.)

I think Metcalf misrepresents Roger Ebert's opinion of The Searchers. Metcalf failed to note that Ebert included the movie in his "Great Movies" series. Also, Ebert essentially drops in the words "flawed" and "nervously" in an otherwise glowing review. But Metcalf highlights them here as if they represent Ebert's strongest opinions about the film. To maintain credibility, Metcalf shouldn't twist critic's words around to suit his opinions.

--Giveadogabone

(To reply, click here.)

With "The Searchers," one suspects that the powers-that-be decided this one reflected John Ford's vision best: the artfully framed Monument Valley vistas, the iconography of John Wayne turned here about as dark as it would ever get, the savageness of the whites-vs-Indians tale, the broad knockabout humor which was central to so much of Ford, if very much of his era and dated today. Funny thing is: "The Searchers" might indeed be the best representative of the John Ford movie, warts and all. But its not much fun, either.

--lucabrasi

(To reply, click here.)

If you go through the list that Metcalf cites, you'll see one thing in common -- fascination with a peculiar kind of male brutality and boozy indifference to the general run of human feeling. Godard and Mamet are both fascinated by The Animal, in a way that hasn't anything to do with politics or any of the theoretical "isms." They look at Wayne and they see their fathers. They get some kinda closure from the movie, and isn't closure something we're all looking for constantly? [...]

--melvil

(To reply, click here.)

The Searchers is an excellent movie which succeeds in the true purpose of a great movie: it envelops the viewer into the colors, emotions, personalities, and passions of the story. It is a movie where you aren't supposed to like the lead character - and often don't throughout the movie. He isn't supposed to be likeable or warm or vulnerable. He is competent, lethal, and - even though this reviewer apparently finds it repellent - strong. Strong in that wonderful old-fashioned sense, where men actually did risk their lives for the ones they loved.

--USMCVet

(To reply, click here.)

The Searchers was a homage to racists and racism and the end of the movie seemed more to show that Wayne's character recognized the WHITE in the girl-woman, beneath all of the RED that had consumed her through no fault of her own.

--yerevan

(To reply, click here.)

That the Searchers rates so highly among filmakers is a reflection of how beautifully it is filmed. Taking Ebert's infatuation with Dark City as an example, for film buffs and film makers alike sometimes the technical qualities of film making in a movie rate higher than the sum of the movie's parts. On that point the theory that the movie is so well regarded by directors for cultural reasons seems weak. I think the technical qualities of the movie are more important.

--ihasch

(To reply, click here.)

Film studies isn't just about showing positive examples of character types, generic conventions, and unequivocably "great" films. It's also about making students aware of the missteps in film history. The Searchers also provides much fodder for discussion on this count.

--NickCharles

(To reply, click here.)

Ford is not interested in the moral instruction against uncool attitudes and action and made it his job to put his viewers in the thorny center of pitched emotion that proceed by their own improvised imperative; anger and rage are not explainable nor comprehensible in terms that anger management classes and sensitivity training can take care of. It merely is, and true to Tragic form, it's a dramatic process that unfolds unceasingly once started. The entire point is to get a dramatic view of the chaos characters are capable of.

--Ted_Burke

(To reply, click here.)

The reason he did not kill her, as should be obvious was the times. For one the censors of the day would have balked and the movie goers were of a different breed. Were the Searchers to be made today Debbie would be dead as door nail and with all the blood and guts the director could muster. We would have seen Scar's scalping up close and personal.

--mrnighttime

(To reply, click here.)

This movie is [...] about a lonely man, maybe the loneliest man in the world who comes home to his distant family years after his lost cause (the Civil War) because he has no place else to go. Then that too is taken away from him. His country gone, his family gone what else does a man do but turn to his rage. He finds a target of his rage in Scar and sees Debbie as corrupted by his hated enemy. His search for Debbie is not just a search for Debbie it is his obsession, an identity for a man who has nothing to identify with.

--rebcav

(To reply, click here.)

Ethan "searches" for both his niece and for his personal redemption. Why did he bring his entire family to this forsaken land? What role did he play in the death of two related families? His is a love-hate relationship with the savage land and the people who live there - both red and white. Like any man or woman faced with similar circumstances, Ethan displaces his internalized guilt with blame for those most easily found culpable - the Comanches. After 7 years of searching, Ethan finds his niece who still remembers him and the family. She recounts how she longed to be rescued by her uncle. Finally, Ethan's heart-of-stone is softened and he effects a safe rescue and returns Debbie to civilization. Ethan's search has cleansed his soul, rescued his niece and restored his humanity.

--Tsmith2579

(To reply, click here.)

What makes Ethan's character so fascinating is that while he despises the Indians, nobody understands their culture better than he does. He knows their language and their belief systems. He is the classic case of the warrior who studies his enemy so carefully that in some ways he becomes one of them. Ethan is far more at home on the frontier trailing a nomadic Indian tribe than he is settled down on the homestead, a fact underscored by the final shot of the door closing on Ethan, standing alone outside the house, ready to return to the wilderness from where he came. It is this dichotomy in his character that makes Ethan so fascinating.

The fact that Wayne doesn't kill Natalie Wood is the rebuke the film makes to Ethan's racism throughout the rest of the movie. It is his acknowledgement that he has been wrong in viewing her as less than human all these years. Holding her in his arms, looking her in the eyes, his hatred for her as a symbol melts away in his love for her as his kin. It may be a hopeful reading into the human heart on Ford's part, but it is what gives "The Searchers" its uplifting message. If Ethan hadn't been such an unregenerate racist, his conversion wouldn't be so powerful.

--Utek1

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(7/10)

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