McCabe & Mrs. Miller
America was born amid the dirt, the mud, the snow, and the cold, unfeeling wilderness of the frontier. It is not romantic, it is fearsome. But in that fearsome isolation there are points of light, moments of humanity where a story unfolds. The town of Presbyterian Church is first given a spark of light in the arrival of John "Pudgy" McCabe (Warren Beatty), who promises the thrills of "civilization" for the stillborn collection of huts that presumes it is a town. But McCabe only brings the promises; it is via Mrs. Constance Miller (Julie Christie) that these promises are delivered, and the two form a partnership that changes all.
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McCabe & Mrs. Miller is regarded as a "deconstruction" of the Western, a thoroughly realistic but stark vision of frontier life, of capitalism and civilization encroaching into the unrelenting wilderness via vice and emotional estrangement. The film was adapted from the novel, "McCabe" by Edmund Naughton, and chronicles the tale of a gambler and a madam who transform the town of Presbyterian Church by virtue of their industry and ambition. The vivid cinematography--captured through a technique known as "flashing"--gives the film a soft, dewy glaze at times, and a unique look that makes this representation of the dying West both ephemeral and sharply genuine, amid the hovel that is Presbyterian Church. Snow falls, and the trees ice over, blanketing the town with the shroud of winter. Both Warren Beatty and Julie Christie shine in this movie as the eponymous McCabe and Mrs. Miller, their roles so deep and complex, that it speaks volumes of their acting caliber that they come across as fascinating and yet so real. McCabe indulges in monologues in his private moments, sometimes getting up the nerve to try to assert himself in his failing battle of the sexes with Mrs. Miller, sometimes in his crisis following his tragic mistake in judgment after dismissing the offer of the brutally aggressive expansion efforts of an encroaching zinc mining operation. McCabe rides into town like he's been expected, and he is in a manner of speaking. Presbyterian Church is anxious for a man of "class" to grace their little corner of the Washington territory, carved out of the Northwest woodland. Is McCabe a "conman"? Only as much as anyone of us when we make a presentation of ourselves for the purpose of getting what we set out to get. McCabe understands the logic of a good bluff, being able to hold his own in the "holy game of poker", and exploits a simple, yet effective strategy, that mystery builds intrigue. McCabe is desperate to make his mark on the town, diving into the business of running a brothel and saloon when he doesn't know anything about it--in truth, he sells a good deal, but has trouble in the delivery and details. Why the impetuousness? We never really get the whole story about McCabe, only rumors and hints at his interests, but never the full disclosure. He tells Sheehan (René Auberjonois)--arguably the only other entrepreneur in the town--that he came up there to "get away from partners" and repeatedly turns down the representatives from Harrison Shaughnessy against Mrs. Miller's urgings to sell off his holdings. His stubbornness seems to come from an inherent sense of individualism, and that he doesn't like anyone bossing him around...save for Mrs. Miller, whom he accepts as he's smitten with her, even if he has to pay for her company even. McCabe's attitude changes from arrogance to terror when he discovers that he's overplayed his game, and the cool, collected assassin named Butler (Hugh Millais) and his goons show up and manage to intimidate him with nary an effort, a scene which puts a smile on Sheehan's face, who suffered a similar humiliation at the hands of McCabe previously.
When Mrs. Miller comes into the picture, she sees through McCabe's jibes, but helps him anyways. It's possible she's just seizing the opportunity present in the town for herself as well, but she's smarter than her partner, and knows the values of working toward another's strengths and overcoming the weaknesses, observing how her experience and his presence make them into a formidable team. A good deal of the magic of McCabe & Mrs. Miller is in how Altman is able to create a town (both literally and metaphorically with regards to this film, as the story goes), and make the viewer feel that they are witness to the bizarre blossoming of the 20th Century in the rough wilderness therein. From the leaky roof at Sheehan's Saloon to the ice dancing set to the tune of the fiddle, small touches like this are all the difference between this being just another period piece and being a manifestation of the past. Like other films by Robert Altman, there are often a multitude of conversations already in progress, and the world doesn't stop at the start of a scene. For example, one of the town's more verbose denizens assists McCabe in his construction of the hothouse, and goes on long-winded excuses why things aren't done, leading up to a comedic moment when McCabe discovers that Mrs. Miller still operates as a "working girl", and his attention--tenuous as it was--is thus completely diverted to his lady crush. We're only stepping into this world in motion, visitors on the way to our ultimate destinations; just waylaid a little, as the musical score portends. The music by Leonard Cohen haunts the film, and fills it with a sadness and ease that feels like the comfort of a double bourbon on a cold, November night, a crackling fire in the pit, the wind howling at the windows. Characters like the reverend appear as silent as God, though he always seems to bear witness to the wages of sin as the efforts of McCabe and Mrs. Miller thrive, things like a local man being killed in the scuffle over his wife's presumed status as a prostitute, blasphemy, and even the inevitable shootout. And as McCabe's enterprise flourishes, it is revealed that the church remains incomplete--no percentage in God for those who have wine, women, and song. The climax of the film is actually my favorite take on a gunfight in any movie, Western or otherwise--quiet and tense as the taut horsehair on a violin, a long, protracted hunt. The final gunfight is also a tour through the town that resulted from McCabe and Mrs. Miller's efforts to bring "civilization" to Presbyterian Church, including gunfights at the bath houses and the barbershop. As the church burns, the whole town--save for McCabe and Mrs. Miller are seen attempting to halt the fire, including those the entrepreneurial duo brought in to aid their enterprise. The birthing of the West was one where the laws were broken with little apparent concern, save for the attention of opportunistic politicians. The presence of the Chinese indentured servants in Presbyterian Church illustrates that although they are not the focus of the film, they are there, an exploited people who big businesses used to expand in that age. Butler recalls a story about how these companies were not accountable for their deaths--save for a small fine--which also highlights Butler and his company's attitude toward the lives of those they expect to serve them. Their influence, however, is felt in Mrs. Miller's final, opium-fueled retreat at the conclusion, perhaps foreshadowing the inevitable fate after McCabe's departure from his moment on this snowy stage, having delivered his last soliloquy, his poetry spilling out all over the white snow.
Recommended for: Fans seeking a poignant, melancholy, and thought-provoking tale of love and commerce at the turn of the 20th Century, that feels as though you peered through a moment in time during that frontier era.
When Mrs. Miller comes into the picture, she sees through McCabe's jibes, but helps him anyways. It's possible she's just seizing the opportunity present in the town for herself as well, but she's smarter than her partner, and knows the values of working toward another's strengths and overcoming the weaknesses, observing how her experience and his presence make them into a formidable team. A good deal of the magic of McCabe & Mrs. Miller is in how Altman is able to create a town (both literally and metaphorically with regards to this film, as the story goes), and make the viewer feel that they are witness to the bizarre blossoming of the 20th Century in the rough wilderness therein. From the leaky roof at Sheehan's Saloon to the ice dancing set to the tune of the fiddle, small touches like this are all the difference between this being just another period piece and being a manifestation of the past. Like other films by Robert Altman, there are often a multitude of conversations already in progress, and the world doesn't stop at the start of a scene. For example, one of the town's more verbose denizens assists McCabe in his construction of the hothouse, and goes on long-winded excuses why things aren't done, leading up to a comedic moment when McCabe discovers that Mrs. Miller still operates as a "working girl", and his attention--tenuous as it was--is thus completely diverted to his lady crush. We're only stepping into this world in motion, visitors on the way to our ultimate destinations; just waylaid a little, as the musical score portends. The music by Leonard Cohen haunts the film, and fills it with a sadness and ease that feels like the comfort of a double bourbon on a cold, November night, a crackling fire in the pit, the wind howling at the windows. Characters like the reverend appear as silent as God, though he always seems to bear witness to the wages of sin as the efforts of McCabe and Mrs. Miller thrive, things like a local man being killed in the scuffle over his wife's presumed status as a prostitute, blasphemy, and even the inevitable shootout. And as McCabe's enterprise flourishes, it is revealed that the church remains incomplete--no percentage in God for those who have wine, women, and song. The climax of the film is actually my favorite take on a gunfight in any movie, Western or otherwise--quiet and tense as the taut horsehair on a violin, a long, protracted hunt. The final gunfight is also a tour through the town that resulted from McCabe and Mrs. Miller's efforts to bring "civilization" to Presbyterian Church, including gunfights at the bath houses and the barbershop. As the church burns, the whole town--save for McCabe and Mrs. Miller are seen attempting to halt the fire, including those the entrepreneurial duo brought in to aid their enterprise. The birthing of the West was one where the laws were broken with little apparent concern, save for the attention of opportunistic politicians. The presence of the Chinese indentured servants in Presbyterian Church illustrates that although they are not the focus of the film, they are there, an exploited people who big businesses used to expand in that age. Butler recalls a story about how these companies were not accountable for their deaths--save for a small fine--which also highlights Butler and his company's attitude toward the lives of those they expect to serve them. Their influence, however, is felt in Mrs. Miller's final, opium-fueled retreat at the conclusion, perhaps foreshadowing the inevitable fate after McCabe's departure from his moment on this snowy stage, having delivered his last soliloquy, his poetry spilling out all over the white snow.
Recommended for: Fans seeking a poignant, melancholy, and thought-provoking tale of love and commerce at the turn of the 20th Century, that feels as though you peered through a moment in time during that frontier era.