Classic Review: The Wild Bunch (1969)

I find that film writing can be the greatest affirmation of one’s love for a film, and, especially with the more rushed essence of conversation, may be essential in justifying my opinion on whether a film is good or bad. In conversations with friends, I often simply tell them they are wrong about disliking a film that I love, offering a completely unnuanced argument for its worth – somewhat understandably so, as I cannot walk around with a fleshed-out review of everything in my head.

In the case of Sam Peckinpah’s 1969 Western The Wild Bunch, this issue is aggravating, as my love for the film and inability to explain why it is great illustrates the lack of understanding of the inexperienced critic (aka. me). Anyway, I thought that I would give it a go.

I tried to write about the film about two years ago, wrongly overstating its appeal as a Revisionist Western, exaggerating the critical and political intents of the film, interpreting every aspect of the text as somehow ironical or self-consciously clever. Note – just because something is labelled as neo, or revisionist, or post, it probably still pertains to the conventions of whatever genre the prefix is being applied to. 

The Wild Bunch is not clever, at least not in the smug and self-conscious sense. It is radical only in its firm commitment to non-radical storytelling; unconventional only in its conventional brilliance.

The film is about a gang of aging outlaws consistently caught in the trappings of the ‘one last job’ cliché, also on the run from a former member of the gang, which provides much of the pathos of the film.

Peckinpah starkly and brilliantly captures a violent and sparse landscape being overturned by the encroachment of modernity, the gang’s actions being partly (internally) justified by the immense notion of their loss of understanding in this world. This may demonstrate Peckinpah’s skill as a director, but another issue I have is the apparent lack of an auteur’s signature, which is perhaps the easiest way to affirm a film’s greatness. For example, with others of my favourite films such as Black Narcissus or Apocalypse Now, I may cite a certain vivid and propelled attention to style that becomes a distinct and uniform element of the film’s appeal. Of course, the slow-motion sequences are unique and associated with Peckinpah alone, but I would be lying if I said that I cared that much about this element.

I care about the things that he shows, rather than how he does. I find the performances vivid and nuanced – sometimes tragic, and always meaningful. I find the set-pieces exciting and original, yet find the style fairly typical in the tradition of the Western action scene. Even with a film like Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs, we may find an identifiable style in how grimy and brutal the film becomes, forcing us into shock with its portrayal of abject moral ambiguity.

Perhaps one of the greatest things about The Wild Bunch is that it has the pretense of being morally ambiguous, yet its narrative only works through the juxtaposition of despicable characters with a morality tale, with the greedy and murderous bunch attempting to save one of their members who is captured by a Mexican general who they work for. It is a classic device of many “morally ambiguous” films: a villain who is still far more despicable than the main characters.

Markedly different from Sergio Leone’s revisionist Westerns, Peckinpah finds a realism and genuine humanity in the chaotic and fractured moral world of the old West. Aside from the slightly ironic mock-heroic narrative, Peckinpah simply shows us this world, one where death and friendship are cruelly, but truthfully connected. Violence is rendered both entertaining in its visceral nature and utterly tragic in its repercussions. This is perhaps the paradoxical charm of the great action picture.