Appaloosa: this town isn't big enough for generic innovation, but some solid character work should fit quite cosily

The post-classical western characteristically concerns a world in transition, but just as every trail must reach its terminal point, the genre lends itself equally well to tales of lives in transition, especially the end of male friendships. Based on the novel by Robert B. Parker, Appaloosa begins with Virgil Cole (Ed Harris) and Everett Hitch (Viggo Mortensen) entering the eponymous town, still in its infancy, and thus easily overrun by opportunistic criminals. Both being men of few words, the town tamers’ arrival is accompanied by voice-over from Everett that immediately hints at Appaloosa’s role as a catalyst in their partnership, and the subsequent appearance of the widow Allison French (René Zellwegger) clearly seals the deal: she catches Virgil’s eye, and the elder gunfighter’s dormant urges toward domestication rise to the surface, softening his ruddy face and pale eyes and spelling the end of something as surely as the beginning.

The first film helmed by Harris since Pollock, his striking, bleak-poetic biopic and directorial debut, Appaloosa feels like a throwback, making few attempts to depart from the western’s established vernacular. Yet as these characters develop, as these actors flesh them out, and especially as the subtly sophisticated dynamics of their relationships inform the proceedings, it seems as though Appaloosa actually benefits from its comfort with generic tropes: by situating us in familiar territory, Harris help us focus on the details.

As embodied by Harris with transparent inner turmoil, Virgil’s flustered response to Allison’s presence is endearing, as are his attempts to culture himself by reading Emerson and checking with Everett every time he tries out some newly acquired vocabulary. Heightened by Mortensen’s remarkable ability to convey multiple agendas in concert, Everett’s guardedness around Allison makes an intriguing counterpoint, especially once she begins to reveal her true colours, a habit of zeroing in on whichever man seems to be “the boss stallion.” Her opportunism finally feels less like a punishable character defect than a perfectly honorable survival technique for any single, no-longer-young woman trying to eek out some kind of security in the untamed west. Zellwegger feels miscast here, less able to exhibit Allison’s extremes of beguiling and repelling than other, less ingratiating or mannered actresses, yet crucially, she never seems to judge her character, and her conflicted desires remain sympathetic.

The A-story of Appaloosa, in which Virgil and Everett contend with a corrupt, weak-willed establishment while trying to run the local, foreign-accented nasty (Jeremy Irons, suitably nasty) out of town, functions well enough, but is most interesting as a backdrop to the more diverting and subtext-dependent story of Virgil and Everett’s long goodbye. There is however a wonderful showdown scene that passes with brutal quickness and decidedly unceremonious bloodletting. “Everyone could shoot,” Harris’ Virgil offers by way of blackly humorous explanation. He could just as easily be referring to his considerable directorial skills. I don’t suspect he’ll win over as many admirers with his sophomore effort, but in the long view I believe Appaloosa, with its complex moral-twisting culminating in a memorable final sequence, will stand-up as a solid part of Harris’ hopefully still-growing directorial filmography.