Rio Grande (1950)

Dir.: John Ford
Plot: A cavalry officer's dangerous task of protecting settlers from rebellious Apache is made more complicated by the arrival of his estranged wife and son.

If you happen to come across any of those unreconstructed heathens who insist against all reason that John Wayne couldn't act, this is the film to show them (either of the two previous entries in the Cavalry trilogy can be used to hammer the point home if needed). The fact that he could act doesn’t mean he always did, of course, and there are plenty of phoned-in performances amongst a filmography so long you could hang your hat on it - Wayne never gave more than he was asked to give, and very frequently he was asked to give next to nothing. John Ford was the only director who consistently pushed for something deeper than a ‘John Wayne’ cowboy archetype from his leading man, and in the Cavalry Trilogy (Fort Apache, She Wore a Yellow Ribbon and Rio Grande) he got it.

For my money, Wayne’s portrayal of stiff-backed but sensitive cavalry officer Kirby Yorke is his finest characterisation (he is also wonderful in The Searchers, but some of the lustre of that performance is reflected glow from the technical perfection of the film). Having already encountered Yorke as a captain in post-Civil War Texas in 1948’s Fort Apache, we catch up with him a decade or so later on the Mexican border, now a lieutenant colonel. Whereas the earlier film centred around Yorke’s professional power struggle with Henry Fonda’s arrogant Colonel Thursday, Rio Grande unravels Yorke’s complicated personal life. First, the son he hasn't laid eyes on since infancy arrives at the fort among a squad of new recruits, swiftly followed by his estranged wife, Kathleen, who comes demanding that the under-age Yorke Jr. be turned out of the army. The slow reconciliation of the couple plays out against the backdrop of their mutual concern for their son’s safety and the wider picture of the marauding Apaches who threaten to decimate the white settlers.

Although he is the heart of the film, Wayne is matched every step of the way by Maureen O’Hara as Kathleen, determined to get her son out of the cavalry and, implicitly, away from everything his father stands for. This film marked the first of several collaborations between the pair, most notably in 1952’s The Quiet Man (a labour of love for Ford, who was asked to make Rio Grande first in order to recoup the projected losses the studio execs predicted).  As an actress, O’Hara has an immediately arresting quality, a kind of self-possessed intensity that complements Wayne’s tough exterior perfectly. Yorke may be gruff and inscrutable to those around him, but he is an open book to Kathleen. Their interactions not only crackle with chemistry, but also show us that these are two deep, complicated individuals who understand each other like no-one else. Their scenes are suffused by that unique combination of sexual chemistry and profound affection which makes them a cinematic pairing unlike any other.

All the other Fordian elements are in place – the usual troop of supporting players including Ben Johnson, Victor McLaglen and Harry Carey Jr. (no Ward Bond, though – he must have been on holiday that week) are out in force, bringing a genuine sense of comradeship and unity to the scenes of regimental life. These aforementioned scenes are, as always, swathed in period detail and contain plenty of that other Ford staple – singing, here provided by the Sons of the Pioneers. I've noticed that Ford’s penchant for an impromptu singsong isn't to all tastes, but I have to admit I eat it up, especially the glorious rendition of ‘I’ll Take You Home, Kathleen’ that occurs about midway through. The black and white cinematography marks a welcome return to the stark landscapes of Fort Apache after the rich but occasionally suffocating technicolour of She Wore a Yellow Ribbon.

On the whole, I’d be tempted to say this is the most successful entry in the Cavalry Trilogy. It takes the emotional pull of She Wore a Yellow Ribbon and marries it to the stripped-down style of Fort Apache, and the result is engaging and self-assured, a meandering but never directionless examination of its protagonist and the institution that made him. As mentioned before, Wayne and O'Hara just work as a pairing, and their relationship is what provides the vital forward movement against the cyclical routines of military life that form the backdrop to the film.