"All gunfighters are lonely. They live in fear. They die without a dime, a woman or a friend."
Wyatt Earp (Burt Lancaster)
I love to watch movies that are based on famous people or events from history — like John Sturges' "Gunfight at the O.K. Corral," which made its debut on this day in 1957.
But I seldom recommend such movies to people as reliable sources for, say, facts a student could use in a term paper.
For that kind of purpose, you're usually better off referring to books on the subject, and that is certainly the case here.
Not that the real gunfight at the O.K. Corral was lacking in drama, but, as is so often the case, the facts apparently weren't dramatic enough, which led to several historical inaccuracies.
None of those inaccuracies alone could change the outcome of the gunfight — but the cumulative effect was enough make you wonder who survived and, for that matter, who won the shootout.
Most of that would be speculation, but you would be right to wonder who was actually there. Johnny Ringo, a well–known outlaw played by John Ireland in the movie, wasn't there at all and shouldn't have been a character in the movie. Nevertheless he was.
Doc Holliday (Kirk Douglas) apparently was in Tombstone that day, but the movie suggested that he came there with Wyatt Earp (Burt Lancaster). That wasn't true. He showed up much later.
And, while the movie indicated that Earp saved Holliday's life, it was actually the other way around.
Jo Van Fleet and Rhonda Fleming played the female roles in the largely male ensemble. Van Fleet played Holliday's girl, and Fleming played Earp's love interest. As I understand it Van Fleet's character was, in real life, a prostitute and Holliday's common–law wife. I haven't been able to find out anything about Fleming's character, but I do know that Earp came to Tombstone with a common–law wife of his own. He had three during his lifetime and none had the name of Fleming's character in the movie.
These inaccuracies didn't prevent the movie from being a big box–office hit.
It was entertaining, and I suppose folks were willing to overlook some things.
Like the fact that the actual gunfight lasted just 30 seconds, three men were killed in mostly face–to–face encounters and only a few firearms were involved. In the movie the gunfight lasted five minutes, and there were considerably more fatalities shot from medium range with a large arsenal.
But, hey, if you're gonna have a movie with the word gunfight in the title, you've got to have a lot of guns and a lot of gunshots, right?
"Gunfight at the O.K. Corral" was nominated for two Oscars and lost both — Best Sound Recording and Best Film Editing.
By the way: Dennis Hopper, who was appearing in only his fourth movie, was born and raised in Dodge City, Kansas, which is where Wyatt Earp was sheriff a few years before the gunfight occurred.
Myra Fleener (Barbara Hershey):You know, a basketball hero around here is treated like a god. How can he ever find out what he can really do? I don't want this to be the high point of his life. I've seen them, the real sad ones. They sit around the rest of their lives talking about the glory days when they were 17 years old.
Coach Dale (Gene Hackman):You know, most people would kill to be treated like a god, just for a few moments.
There were a few exceptions, but just about every kid I knew when I was growing up fantasized about being at bat in the bottom of the ninth of the seventh game of the World Series with the game on the line or diving into the end zone for the game–winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. I'm sure the scenario played out in every head when we played pickup games after school and on weekends.
"Hoosiers," which was in theaters on this day in 1986, appealed to that kind of fantasy — one that was equally improbable. It was about a small high school basketball team in Indiana rising from obscurity to win the state championship. But it was about more than that. It was about second chances.
I was once asked on a job application form to identify my favorite word and explain why it was my favorite. I immediately entered the word redemption. It has long been my favorite word. I couldn't say how long — since whenever I first realized that storybook lives in which people make steady uninterrupted climbs to the tops of their chosen professions are rare — but I can tell you why.
Life has a way of doing its thing and taking you along for the ride. Even if it is taking you in a totally different direction than the one you intended, your objection means nothing. As John Lennon wrote, "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."
That is where redemption comes in. Redemption is the assurance that, no matter what happens in your life, no matter how badly you may think you have screwed up, it need not be permanent, and just about everyone in "Hoosiers" seemed to be seeking redemption of one kind or another.
Redemption offers hope.
At first I thought it was kind of a "Rocky" sort of movie — you know, the underdog wins it all, defying all odds and naysayers — although I did not realize until recently that "Hoosiers" made its theatrical debut about a week before the 10th anniversary of the premiere of "Rocky."
But subsequent viewings have persuaded me that Hickory's climb to the top was really secondary. The story was about being given a second chance.
"I was a sportswriter once for a couple of years in downstate Illinois," Ebert wrote in his review of the movie. "I covered mostly high school sports, and if I were a sportswriter again, I'd want to cover them again. There is a passion to high school sports that transcends anything that comes afterward."
I had a similar experience. When I was fresh out of college, I too covered high school sports, mostly football (but not full time; I was a general assignment reporter so I wrote about a wide range of things, not just sports), and one of the schools I covered was probably as small as Hickory, the school that was featured in "Hoosiers," but I never had the experience of covering a high school team, large or small, that was on its way to a state title.
When I was in high school, though, the basketball team won the state championship, and that was very exciting but hardly unexpected. The out–of–the–blue quality of fictional Hickory's rise to the top was the kind of stuff dramatic movies are made of.
But, oh, those second chances — when a character in a movie makes the most of a second chance and wins redemption, that is what truly brings a lump to one's throat. That's true, audience–engaging drama. The viewers, reminded of the shortcomings in their own lives, always respond to a character successfully seeking redemption. It is the classic underdog, with or without a sports backdrop. And doesn't everyone feel like an underdog at least part of the time?
"Hoosiers" was mostly about a second chance for a fellow named Norman Dale (played by Gene Hackman), a gifted but volatile coach. His temper got him into trouble in the past, and he became an untouchable in the coaching world. The Hickory job was clearly his opportunity — perhaps his last — to get back in the game of life.
He struggled at first, prompting the mother of one of Hackman's faculty colleagues to observe, "Sun don't shine on the same dog's ass every day, but you ain't seen a ray of light since you got here."
"Hoosiers" was also about a second chance of sorts for the town drunk (Dennis Hopper), whose son was on the team and embarrassed by his father's public antics when under the influence. Hackman made the basketball–savvy Hopper his assistant — on the condition that he remain sober — which was a second chance for the fractured father–son relationship. Hopper received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor.
And there was a talented basketball player who, for his own reasons, had decided not to play. Like just about every place in Indiana, Hickory was basketball crazy, and there was a widespread belief that the team could do great things if this young man would play.
But the faculty member whose mother made that remark to Hackman had encouraged the young man to pursue things that would help him get out of the small town; she did not believe basketball could do that. This faculty member (Barbara Hershey) had her own issues and was, in her own way, seeking redemption, too.
As I say, just about everyone in Hickory was seeking redemption of one kind or another. And they all coalesced around the basketball team.
I have admired Hackman's work for a long time, and I will never understand why he wasn't nominated for Best Actor for his work in "Hoosiers."
But the movie received only two nominations — Hopper's for Best Supporting Actor and Best Original Score.
"Looking back you never regret the ones you did, only the ones you didn't."
Dr. Evans (Hal Holbrook)
I always liked Dennis Hopper. I can't think of a performance he gave that I didn't enjoy, and I was very sad to learn of his death nearly six years ago.
If a typical story has its hero and its antihero, I suppose you would have to classify most, if not all, of Hopper's roles as antihero — not necessarily in the sense that he was a villainous character (although he did play some villainous types at times) but usually in the sense that he definitely was not an heroic figure. Whether he played a villain or not, he was usually weak, flawed, imperfect. He was always very human, neither truly evil nor truly good, neither black nor white but 50 shades of grey — like most humans. In that sense, he was truly an Everyman.
Having said that, I feel compelled to observe that Hopper's work in "Carried Away," which premiered 20 years ago today, was a more introspective and thoughtful performance than moviegoers saw him give in most of his movies. In many ways, I felt I really knew his character — Joseph, a middle–aged farmer/teacher who had a lame leg because of an accident in his youth and, perhaps as a result, never strayed far from where he was brought up. At the age of 47 he lived with his cancer–stricken mother in the farmhouse in which he was raised. He taught in the local school and tended the farm when he wasn't teaching.
It was a predictable existence — including the routine outward appearance of Joseph's ongoing courtship of a widow and colleague (played by Amy Irving).
That is the thing about Everymen, I guess. After a certain point in their lives, they don't tend to take risks — if they ever did. They stick with what is safe and familiar.
And that is how it was with Joseph and Rosealee.
Another thing about Everymen. At some point, they seem to realize their limitations — or, at the very least, they recognize that they have limitations.
And they live within those limitations, whatever they happen to be. They are realists. Joseph certainly was a realist. A brutally honest one. "I'm a mediocre teacher," he said at one point, "and an even worse farmer."
Joseph was a man who lived a safe life — until he found himself being forced out of his teaching job because he didn't have the academic credentials that were required by the school district. He was told his services would no longer be needed after the current school year ended. Not long after, a beautiful young girl (Amy Locane) came into his life through his classroom. She was the daughter of a retired Army major (Gary Busey) who wanted to board his daughter's horse on Joseph's property. She came over regularly to ride her horse — and seduced Joseph, who found himself caught in the classic conundrum — torn between pleasure and guilt.
It was a challenge at times for Joseph to keep his relationship with the girl secret, but he managed — until the local doctor (Hal Holbrook) happened upon the two of them in Joseph's barn.
He advised Joseph not to continue the relationship, pointing out the 30–year difference in their ages.
And Joseph's mother (Julie Harris) knew what had been going on. "I don't know who you think you've been fooling," she said to him.
Well, he had been fooling Rosealee, for one. She found out about Joseph's relationship with the girl when, after Joseph's mother died, Rosealee took it upon herself to answer the sympathy cards — and one was a suggestive card from the girl. Rosealee confronted Joseph and stormed out on him.
And, at the end of the movie, Joseph and the major had a discussion about the girl. Or, at least, the start of one. He conceded that what had happened was probably more his daughter's idea than Joseph's, which it had been.
(I have often wondered if Busey's character inspired Chris Cooper's character in "American Beauty" a few years later. Both were military men who had teenage children who had become involved with — or appeared to have become involved with — an older neighbor going through a midlife crisis. Busey's character was much more restrained, but "American Beauty" was a different kind of movie in many ways. Busey's character wouldn't have worked in "American Beauty," and Cooper's character wouldn't have worked in "Carried Away."
(Cooper's character, of course, killed Kevin Spacey's character in the mistaken belief that he was involved in a homosexual relationship with Cooper's character's son. Busey's character's daughter actually was in a relationship with Hopper's character — and Busey and Hopper went hunting together, but Busey never threatened Hopper.)
The movie struck me as being a slice of life. Life's events rarely have neat endings in which everyone sees the lessons that were intended to be learned, and "Carried Away" was like that. At the end, Joseph and Rosealee seemed to have reconciled, but the audience was not sure what would become of them — or even what the moral of the story was.
Perhaps it was, as Joseph acknowledged, the power — and the lure — of being carried away. Nothing more and nothing less.
"You've got a nice place. It's not every man that can live off the land, you know. You do your own thing in your own time. You should be proud."
Wyatt (Peter Fonda)
"Easy Rider," which premiered on this day in 1969, is part time capsule, buried in the late 1960s, and part timeless road/buddy picture.
The basic story was that Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda had pulled off a cocaine deal and were riding their motorcycles through the southwestern United States. The backstory was missing, though.
Every time I have seen it, I have thought that parts were hopelessly dated and other parts were relevant — but they haven't been the same each time. It is (pardon the pun) a moving target.
Well, I suppose the violent ending is mostly a reflection of the deep division in American society in those days and probably always will be seen that way — but, even there, one can see relevance to modern times.
While there were undeniably rough moments to get through in "Easy Rider," the flip side was the joy the lead characters — Hopper, Fonda and Jack Nicholson — experienced on their journey.
And that, to me, sums up the '60s.
There was a lot of pain and a lot of conflict. There were demonstrations against the war in Vietnam and demonstrations for civil rights.
But there were also moments of bliss and pure joy. Young people reveled in their freedom as perhaps no other generation before them. Some felt threatened by that. Others were liberated by it.
Film critic Roger Ebert wrote that people like Henry Fonda (Peter's father) — and, certainly, his more conservative friends in the movie community — were bewildered by "Easy Rider." It didn't have a story.
That sort of went against the conventional grain.
"[I]n fact, director Dennis Hopper has done an old and respectable thing," Ebert wrote. "He has told his story in cinematic shorthand, instead of spelling it out in dreary detail. Fifty years ago, Hollywood figured out that if you put the good guys in white hats you could eliminate 10 minutes of explanation from every Western. Hopper has applied this technique to the motorcycle movie."
I'm not entirely sure that is what Hopper did — at least, not deliberately.
"If you follow the story closely in 'Easy Rider,' you find out it isn't there," Ebert wrote. "The rough cut of the movie reportedly ran over three hours, and Hopper edited it to a reasonable length by throwing out the story details and keeping the rest. So the heroes are suspended in an invisible story, like falcons on an invisible current of air. You can't see it, but it holds them up."
There was a lot of talk, around the time that "Easy Rider" was showing on the big screens of America, of gaps. That wasn't really new, I guess. Five years earlier, "Dr. Strangelove" mocked the politicians and their "missile gap" rhetoric. By 1969, the culture was awash with angst about all kinds of gaps — between the generations, the races, the genders, you name it.
(Several small children could be seen in a segment of the story that took place in a hippie commune. One of those children, Henry's granddaughter and Peter's daughter, 5–year–old Bridget Fonda, was making her movie debut, about 20 years before her breakthrough part in "The Godfather Part III.")
Those gaps were becoming increasingly violent, too. So the ending of "Easy Rider," as obscene as it was, was the only way the movie could have ended — to end it any other way would have robbed the story of its meaning.
Rod Serling:Where will he go next, this phantom from another time, this resurrected ghost of a previous nightmare — Chicago? Los Angeles? Miami? Florida; Vincennes, Indiana; Syracuse, New York? Anyplace, everyplace, where there's hate, where there's prejudice, where there's bigotry. He's alive. He's alive so long as these evils exist. Remember that when he comes to your town. Remember it when you hear his voice speaking out through others. Remember it when you hear a name called, a minority attacked, any blind, unreasoning assault on a people or any human being. He's alive because through these things we keep him alive.
Most of the episodes in the original Twilight Zone series were half an hour long.
But the episodes of the 1962–63 season were an hour long. There were only 18 of them (it's a long story); all the episodes in the other four seasons were half an hour in length.
For the most part, I didn't think much of the hour– long episodes. That was really too much for the type of show Twilight Zone was — most of the time.
An exception to that rule was the episode that aired 50 years ago tonight, "He's Alive."
Dennis Hopper played a wannabe fascist, trying to win popular support but failing. He was visited by someone who was always in the shadows but who offered seemingly knowledgeable advice on how to build a political movement.
And Hopper's character followed the advice, apparently never realizing the identity of the source.
But the shadowy figure told the story of the rise of Adolf Hitler. And he told it with authority — for the shadowy figure was Adolf Hitler.
He told Hopper all the things he needed to do to consolidate his base and his power. He knew those things would work because they had already worked for him.
Ultimately, though, Hopper was fatally wounded, and the shadowy figured slinked off, presumably in search of a new protege to mold.
The message was that, no matter how much one may want to imagine otherwise, prejudice and hate will always be with us.
That wasn't an uplifting message, but it is one that is always worth repeating.
Because there are always those naive souls who, like Hopper's character, think hostile movements end because leaders die.
Oh, I was sad to hear the news. But I had been expecting it, the same way I had expected the death of Farrah Fawcett last year.
Hopper's death was not out of the blue, like Michael Jackson's a few hours after Farrah's. I was sorry to hear that Hopper had died, but I was prepared for it. It was not a shock.
I will miss him, though.
So many of his performances resonated with me, whether I saw them on the big screen or on TV. He was truly a gifted actor who gave much of himself to the parts that he played. Sometimes he paid a price for that openness, that honesty, that outside–the–box naivete with which he sometimes seemed to approach his projects, but I am glad he lived long enough to see his work recognized with his own star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
I can't remember the first Hopper performance I ever saw. What I do remember is the many times I was touched by what he did — and I am astonished when I realize that he co–starred with James Dean in two of his three movies. Dean was an actor who was greatly admired by Hopper — and he has been dead more than 50 years.
Jason Ankeny wrote, for the allmovie website, that Hopper's "odyssey" — and that certainly is a good word for it — was "one of Hollywood's longest, strangest trips."
Hopper never won an Oscar, but some people will tell you that he, along with Peter Fonda and Terry Southern, should have received one for their original screenplay for "Easy Rider." (Instead, William Goldman took home the Oscar for his screenplay for "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.")
But, as Calvin Wilson wrote in the St. Louis Post–Dispatch, the movie was a "touchstone for a generation" that "captured the national imagination."
As good — and perhaps as deserving — as Goldman's screenplay was, no one ever said anything like that about "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."
"Easy Rider" may be Hopper's creative legacy. He wrote it, directed it, co–starred with Fonda and Jack Nicholson in it.
But another part of his legacy is his turn as a photojournalist in 1979's "Apocalypse Now," which is considered truly brilliant by many today, but it didn't do much at the time to reassure people of his stability. And that was something with which he had been struggling.
As always, he did other things between his most memorable or noteworthy achievements, but the next time he showed up on the mainstream movie audience's radar was when he appeared in "Hoosiers" as the reluctant — and alcoholic — assistant coach.
He got an Academy Award nomination for that one, too — for Best Supporting Actor — but, again, he came home empty–handed.
Did Michael Caine deserve that statuette? How about the others who were nominated?
You can judge for yourself tonight on Turner Classic Movies at 7 p.m. (Central). It just so happens that TCM is showing "Hoosiers," followed by "Rocky" and then "The Natural," thanks to guest programmer Rich Eisen of the NFL Network.
The timing of this showing of "Hoosiers" is purely coincidental. It was scheduled long before Hopper died.
But it seems to me there could be no better way to remember the life and career of Dennis Hopper than by watching his Oscar–nominated performance.
I don't know what most people think of when they hear Dennis Hopper's name.
Perhaps it depends on how old you are.
I'm sure many people think of 1969's "Easy Rider" when they hear Hopper's name. He not only appeared in the film, he directed it, too. Others remember his role in 1979's "Apocalypse Now." Sports enthusiasts may think of his performance in "Hoosiers" from 1986. Younger moviegoers might remember him as the disabled and rather dull teacher who has an affair with one of his students in 1996's "Carried Away."
And moviegoers who are at least 65 may remember that he co–starred with the late James Dean in "Rebel Without a Cause" and "Giant" in the mid–1950s.
Personally, I think of an old Twilight Zone episode, a 60–minute program (in which Hopper played a Hitler wannabe) called "He Lives."
The 73–year–old actor has been around longer than you may think. But along with all the high points in his career have come numerous down periods as well, during which he has been well out of the range of the public's radar.
Hopper was obviously not doing well, but he seemed to be in good spirits. And there is no doubt in my mind that Hopper's career, erratic as it may have seemed at times, deserved to be honored.
I got my bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Arkansas, and I got my master's degree in journalism from the University of North Texas. Most of my adult life has been dedicated to writing and editing in one form or another. Most recently I have taught writing (news and developmental) as an adjunct journalism professor at Richland College, where I advise the student newspaper staff. Go, Thunderducks!
