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Kevin Costner’s The Highwaymen
The Highwaymen, directed by John Lee Hancock, is a rare movie - it respects the audience.
The story is a quest, with a hero and his loyal follower journeying through the wilds in search of truth. In this story the protagonists are searching for evil to destroy it, and along the way discover truth within themselves.
The wilds are the open spaces of Texas and Oklahoma, and the sad squalor of poverty. John Ford could have filmed it with the same awe and beauty of depth of meaning as John Schwartzman and his crew, but surely no other living cinematographer can match Schwartzman’s art.
The accuracy of the film is a mystery; the shock of the situation obscured the memories of those involved, and their narratives sometimes disagreed, but the makers certainly got two historical matters right: Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker were pathological murderers, and the Rangers and other lawmen did the right thing in stopping them.
The film’s characterizations, as in all its other elements, are perfect. Kevin Costner as retired Ranger Frank Hamer is brilliant in his layers of intent, determination, introspection, and occasional but unspoken bewilderment.
Woody Harrelson is not as effective as Maney Gault, though good enough. Honestly, his Gault looks demented most of the time, as if he might want to devour a child, or just howl at a traffic light.
The relationship between Hamer and Gault is seldom harmonious except in action, when they coordinate perfectly through long association.
As Rangers Hamer and Gault remind us of the Byzantine Akritai, borderers loyal to the Empire but resistant to unrealistic controls attempted by the cynical emperor in far-off Constantinople. The borderers protect the people and the state, and the people and the state despise them. This was true in the 11th century, the 20th century, and now.
Kathy Bates as the odious, scheming, treacherous Governor “Ma” Ferguson, is perfect. She is the far-off emperor - in this instance, empress - who wants the state protected but does not like or trust the men who do so. As governor she is a sort of drawling Lady Macbeth - in one scene she viciously humiliates her staff and then instantly, as a door is opened for her, she grins and aw-shucks as she enters a room full of her supporters and money-men. One is reminded of the original Lady Macbeth’s dictum, “…Look like the innocent flower / But be the serpent under’t…” (Macbeth I.vi).
A conversation late in the film between Hamer and Barrow’s father is a gem of cinema thinkfulness - Mr. Barrow loves his son but is honest with himself in realizing that Clyde is no good and must be destroyed. This is Greek tragedy indeed.
Another good use of characterization, in this instance the lack of it, is that we are never close to Bonnie and Clyde. We see them only at distance, save for Bonnie murdering a downed man; we mostly only hear about them. Like Grendel in Beowulf, who also is never seen, they are more frightening that way. If we can see an evil, we can then figure out how to overcome it, but the unseen booger in the night is more frightening because we can’t see it and so don’t know have enough information to begin thinking logically about how to overcome it.
And the thoughtful viewer certainly appreciates the consideration of morals and ethics - the mandate about offering murderers and bandits a chance to surrender is clear, but so is the reality that murderers and bandits are not under any such mandate. But then, if a citizen or police officer skates by a mandate, where does it end? Who decides? The film is philosophical in asking that question, developing it, and then not answering it. The audience must consider how justice and ethics must be served. Part of the film’s excellence is that the characters do not preach at the audience, unlike so many films now that are little more than propaganda.
The ambush scene, filmed in Louisiana where the real one occurred, is tense and brilliant up to a point. The six lawmen who have come together to stop the murderers wait through the night and into the day, growing more stressed and impatient with each other as the hours pass.
The deaths of Barrow and Parker, replaying the absurdity of the worthless 1960s movie, come close to destroying the film. Dead people do not dance about in car seats because dead people don’t dance at all, and in this nonsense the horror of violent human death is reduced to unintentional comedy. This could have been avoided if, as with most of the movie, we are not shown Barrow and Parker, but only the lawmen, and then at a distance.
However, the denouement, the falling action, restores the integrity of the plot, with the Rangers and the local lawmen dealing silently with the emotional consequences of their necessary but violent resolution to the Barrow gang’s murders.
Further, the depiction of the citizens in the small town degenerating into a screaming mob grabbing at the corpses for ghastly souvenirs causes us to ask ourselves: are we worthy of the physical and psychological sacrifices law officers make in our defense, or are we ourselves as savage as the Barrow gang, shedding all decency so easily?
It must be said again: The Highwaymen, directed by John Lee Hancock, is a rare movie - it respects the audience.
A favorite quote, Maney Gault taking care of three Barrow toadies who have menaced him: “Clyde Barrow might be the king, but I’m a Texas Ranger, you little ****.”
Whoop!
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