The Virginian (1946)

Directed by Stuart Gilmore; produced by Paul Jones

In 1885, new schoolteacher Molly Wood (Barbara Britton) heads out west to a position in Wyoming. There, she meets the easy-going but tough ranch foreman (Joel McCrea) known only by his point of origin. Amid a growing relationship, reluctant on her part, determined on his, the pair become involved in fighting a cattle-rustling gang, headed by the suave Trampas (Brian Donlevy).

A meandering movie with a dual personality, The Virginian spends its first half as a gentle romance, then seems to recall that its western genre isn’t just to provide a backdrop to courting, and switches to cattle-reiving and hangings. Unfortunately, it isn’t very interesting in either guise.

In comparison to the contemporary films of another big western star, Randolph Scott, some of McCrea’s seem poorly written. Ironically, Scott’s movies usually have less story, but, for that reason, come across as leaner, and more tightly-scripted. Even on its own merits, The Virginian is rather bland. Donlevy makes a good villain, as he usually does, but more due to his presence than Trampas’s character. He dresses completely in black and is an excellent shot, though, other than his garments’ colour being the tell-tale sign of movie malevolence, any traits given him are almost insignificant.

Britton’s character is spirited but pretty much the stereotype of the woman newly arrived in the Old West. Viewers must attribute her suitor’s attraction merely to that indefinable something that causes love at first sight. The girl’s reciprocation is more realistically gradual, but, like much in the story, predictable.

The hero’s best friend, Steve (Sonny Tufts), provides the only touch of imagination to the cast. He is an amiable cowboy whose money comes and goes with whatever job or card-game is current. His drift into criminality, and stoicism at its outcome, are probably the most watchable aspect of The Virginian.

There is a potentially intriguing ingredient in the debate between the teacher and a local woman (Fay Bainter) regarding the validity of unofficial law enforcement – lynching – in a land with no police or honest courts. This part of the movie is quickly allowed to fade, however, perhaps because the writers didn’t want to offend either side, or because they didn’t have any real conclusion, or simply because they didn’t want to turn the film into a polemic.

Over the whole film is a sense of theatricality. There is not the aura of realism that can be found even in other movies of the same era. The sets, the costumes, the behaviour are, by and large, standard western elements, and could have been recycled twenty years later in any of the tv series set in the Old West. Even so, they seem bargain versions: when some cowboys halt for the night, they complain about the cold, yet there isn’t a coat or jacket or even a bedroll among them. (They light a fire, the smoke of which – not the flames – is seen from a distance in the supposed darkness.)

While McCrea was a fine actor and his performance in The Virginian cannot be faulted, the movie itself comes across as ordinary, the preparation and execution of which seem lazy; nothing worked on diligently, time enough spent to make everything acceptable, but no more. Fortunately, the star had another thirty years of westerns in which to do better.