"Each man has a song and this is my song." (Leonard Cohen)

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

Cole Younger, by Himself


Cole as goody


In 1903, at the age of 58, Cole Younger published an autobiography. He said in his preface: 

Many may wonder why and ‘old guerrilla’ should feel called upon at this late day to rehearse the story of his life. On the eve of sixty, I come out into this world [Cole and his brother Jim were paroled in 1901] to find a hundred or more books, of greater or lesser pretensions, purporting to be a history of ‘The Lives of the Younger Brothers,’ but which are all nothing more or less than a lot of sensational recitals… I venture to say that in the whole lot there are not to be found six pages of truth. The stage, too, has its lurid dramas in which we are painted in devilish blackness.

Cole goes on to say: 

It is therefore my purpose to give an authentic and absolutely correct history of the lives of the ‘Younger Brothers’.

The following book paints Cole and his brothers as valiant and gallant Confederates, definitely innocent of all war crimes, and the only offence which Cole admits after the war is the Northfield bank raid, so while the text may counteract some of the more sensational dime-novel accounts, and it certainly gives the other side, it may be questioned how objective and accurate it in fact is.

Still, it makes an interesting and enjoyable read.

1903 autobio

It is, by the way, cheaply available on Kindle, here, or can be accessed even more cheaply (i.e. free) on Google Books, here.

Youth

Cole says he had a happy childhood. His family were certainly well-to-do. “My father owned slaves and his children were reared in ease.” They owned two big farms in Jackson County, money-making stores and a livery stable in Harrisonville. Cole’s father Henry Washington Younger was also a mail contractor. Cole describes some distinguished ancestors with pride. His father was in fact a Union man, though Cole tries to mitigate, or gloss this: 

Though a slave-owner, father had never been in sympathy with secession, believing, as it turned out, that it meant the death of slavery. He was for the Union, in spite of his natural inclinations to sympathy with the South.

However, when conflict arose Cole’s dad was killed and his mother “cruelly treated” by Union men. 

He had started back to Harrisonville in a buggy, but was waylaid one mile south of Westport, a suburb of Kansas City, and brutally murdered; falling out of his buggy into the road with three mortal bullet wounds.

Cole declared that his father was unarmed, as he never carried a pistol. The death reminds me a bit of that of John Tunstall, Billy the Kid’s employer. Cole was convinced that a certain Captain Walley of the Missouri Militia was the guilty party. He says that Walley afterwards caused the arrest of some female members of his family, who were incarcerated in a “rickety house” in Kansas City. This collapsed, killing many of the women inside, in an act that was “planned in cold blood, with the murder of my sisters and cousins and other unfortunate women in mind.”
 
Younger Cole

He adds that among the women who lost their lives were Miss Josephine Anderson, and his sister’s death “simply blighted the life” of her brother William [now more commonly known as Bloody Bill Anderson], so that he became “the most desperate of desperate men”. Cole says, “’Quantrell sometimes spares but Anderson never’ became a tradition of the Kansas line. Before he died in a skirmish with Northern troops in 1864, he had tied fifty-three knots in a silken cord which he carried in his buckskin pouch.”

Quantrell sometimes spares but Anderson never

Cole says that he did well at school and says that as a youth he was always “kind and considerate” to “dumb animals or human beings.” I don’t know if he had a good editor or if his book was ghost-written but if not, he certainly seemed to have acquired a good education, for his autobiography is literate and well-phrased.

William Clarke Quantrill

Cole gives Quantrill’s background: 

A boy of 20, William Clarke Quantrell [this spelling was very common then, and I’ll adopt it for the rest of this article] had joined his brother in Kansas in 1855 and they were on their way to California overland when a band of Jayhawkers in command of Capt. Pickens, as was afterwards learned, raided their camp near the Cottonwood river; killed the older boy, left the younger one for dead, and carried off their valuables. But under the care of friendly Indians, Charles [sic] Quantrell survived.

Cole then recounts how Quantrell changed his name to Charley Hart and joined Pickens’s company, being then promoted to lieutenant but “Pickens and two of his friends were found dead on Bull Creek.” Quantrell later boasted that of the 32 who were concerned in the killing of his brother only two remained alive, and they had moved to California.
 
William Clarke Quantrill (or Quantrell), 28 at his death

In Chapter 12, Quantrell on War, Cole describes how the guerrilla captain sought a colonel’s commission in the regular CSA army from Secretary of War Samuel Cooper. Actually, Cole was not present at the interview but gave his version: Cooper disparaged Quantrell, calling his form of warfare “barbarism”. Quantrell retorted, “Barbarism, Mr. Secretary, means war and war means barbarism”. Cooper asked him what he would do if he had the power and opportunity. “Do, Mr. Secretary? I would wage such a war s to make surrender impossible. I would break up foreign enlistments with indiscriminate massacre.” “What of our prisoners?” “There would be no prisoners.” Quantrell did not get his commission.

Cole joins Quantrell

At the start of hostilities Cole got into a fight (literally – he knocked the man down) with the same Captain Walley who would later be responsible, Cole believed, for the death of his father, and “It was ‘hide and run for it’ after that.” He says that “that winter” [November of 1861] he and his brother-in-law John Jarrette joined Quantrell’s company. Cole describes many incidents, and says that from time to time Quantrell would disband the band, as “it was harder to trail one man than a company”, and then later re-form. If you believe Cole’s account, the Confederates were always gallant and honorable in war while the Union troops were despicable and brutal.

In May 1862 Cole, Quantrell and a colleague named George Todd dressed as Union officers and went to Hamilton, MO, to buy ammunition. At another time Cole dressed as an old lady and went into Independence to spy on Union dispositions before an attack. “The attack was made and Col. Buell, his force shot to pieces, surrendered. The apple-woman’s expedition had been a success.” Yet again, Cole found some red sheepskin leggings and passed himself off as one of the Redlegs, carrying out a raid for horses. “One of the horses I got on that trip was the meanest horse I ever rode and I named him ‘Jim Lane’ in honor of one of the most efficient raiders who ever disgraced an army uniform.” These accounts may be true, though they do have an air of tall stories.

In, August 1862, aged 18, Cole was formally enrolled in the army of the Confederate States. He took part in the battle at Lone Jack in August, “one of the hardest fights of the war.”

Cole recounts how he saved the life of a certain Steve Elkins, a former schoolteacher of his, when he learned that Quantrell’s men had captured him and were about to execute him as a Union spy. Cole went to Quantrell’s camp and stoutly defended Elkins as a supporter of the South, though he knew that the man had recently joined the Union ranks, “but it mattered nothing to me – he was my friend.” Quantrell released the man into Cole’s hands. “It was my reputation that I never deserted a friend,” Cole wrote, proudly.

Lawrence

Chapter 14 is titled Lawrence and says it was “a day of butchery.” Bill Anderson claimed to have killed fourteen. Cole stoutly denies that any women were killed but undermines this when he goes on to say that “One negro woman leaned out of a window and shouted… She toppled out dead before it was seen she was a woman.” But I suppose she was black, so it didn’t count.

Cole quotes John N Edwards [Shelby’s adjutant, then pro-Confederate journalist and staunch ally of Jesse James] saying, “Cole Younger saved at least a dozen lives this day. Indeed, he killed none save in open and manly battle.”

James and Younger apologist JN Edwards

Cole then says, “The horrors of guerrilla warfare before the raid at Lawrence were eclipsed after it. Scalping, for the first time, was resorted to.” This oblique construction does not say who started the scalping but it was “scalp for scalp thereafter.”

In the fall of 1863 Cole was promoted captain, at 19. He says that “our company, each man with a pair of dragoon pistols and a Sharpe’s [sic] rifle, was the envy of the Southern army.”

Out West

In May 1864 Cole was sent with Col. George S Jackson’s force of about 300 into Colorado “to intercept some wagon trains, and to cut the transcontinental telegraph line”. He says they had “a brief tilt” with some Comanches but “we had a real Indian fight with Apache Mojaves which lasted through two days and the night between practically without cessation.”

On a secret mission, Cole says he and four others took a boat from San Francisco, disguised as Mexican miners, aiming for Victoria, British Columbia, where two vessels of the Alabama type were to be delivered for the CSA. “On our arrival at Victoria, however, we found that Lee had surrendered at Appomattox and the war was at an end.” However, in his Noted Guerrillas, JN Edwards wrote, “Lee’s surrender at Appomattox found Cole Younger at Los Angeles, trying the best he could to earn a livelihood and live at peace with the world.” Let us go with Cole’s version for the moment.

Cole exculpates himself from any part in the Centralia massacre (September 27, 1864) with one sentence: 

For a long time, I was accused of the killing of several people at Centralia, in September, 1864, but I think my worst enemies now concede that it is impossible for me to have been there at the time.

Interestingly, Cole does not mention Frank or Jesse James once during his account of the war. It’s only on page 50 (of the Kindle edition) that he says: 

It was while at this [calling a meeting at Blue Springs in 1866] that I saw Jesse James for the first time in my life, so that sets at rest all the wild stories that have been told about our meeting as boys and joining Quantrell.

He seems to have an ambiguous relationship with the Jameses (see below).
 
They don't figure

Not guilty on all counts 

I returned to Jackson County in the fall of 1865 to pick up the scattered ends of a ruined family fortune. I was 21.

There was a warrant for murder out for Cole (he says he was entirely innocent of the accusation) and he left for Louisiana, where he stayed until 1867 “when chills and fever drove me north to Missouri”.

It is at this time that he starts giving alibis: 

When the bank at Russellville, Ky., was robbed, which has been laid to us, I was with my uncle, Jeff Younger, in St. Clair county, and Jim and Bob were at home here in Lee’s Summit. At the time of the Richmond and Savannah, Mo., bank robberies, in which, according to newspapers and sensationalists, I was largely concerned, I was living on the Bass plantation, three miles below Lake Providence, in Louisiana.

Other alibis follow. The family was in Austin, Texas, where in 1870 and 1871 Jim was deputy sheriff and Jim and Bob sang in the church choir. And he adds: 

I never, in all my life, had anything whatever to do with robbing any bank in the state of Missouri.

He was also entirely innocent of the robbery of the cash box at the Kansas City fair, the wrecking of the Rock Island train in Adair County, the hold-up of the Malvern stage near the Gaines place in 1874, and so on.

So there we have it. Not guilty on all counts.

The James-Younger gang? Never happened.

The phrase James-Younger gang is never mentioned. As far as Cole tells it, there were no robberies at all involving the two sets of brothers.

Cole does not hide the fact that his brother John, fourteen at the end of the war, was a wild one, and describes how John got into a fight in Independence and, defending himself, shot a young man named Gillcreas dead. In 1868, in Texas, when John would have been 17, “Clerking in a store in Dallas, [John] became associated with some young fellows of reckless habits and drank somewhat.” John was arrested for shooting the pipe out of the mouth of a man in a saloon, this too led to a shooting, and John fled on a stolen horse. He came back to Missouri in the winter of 1873/74. Cole describes the 1874 death of John, shot in the neck by “WJ Allen, otherwise known as Capt. Lull, a St. Louis plain clothes cop who passed by the name of Wright”, and once again John was an innocent victim.

Belle Starr

Some popular accounts and Hollywood movies have made much of a romance between Cole Younger and Belle Starr. Cole himself is at pains to pooh-pooh this. He calls such stories “fairy tales”.

Not so belle, but hey

He says he helped set Belle and her husband Jim Reed (who had fought with Cole) up on a farm in Texas but Cole writes “Aunt Suse, our family servant, warned me. ‘Belle’s sure in love with you, Cap’n Cole,’ she explained. ‘You better be careful.’ With that hint, I thereafter evaded the wife of my former comrade in arms.”

Reed was later killed “after the robbery of the stage near San Antonio” and Belle married again, “this time Tom or Sam Starr” and had a daughter they named Pearl. Later Belle came to Missouri “and boasted of an intimate acquaintance with me … and … declared that she was my wife, and that the girl Pearl was our child.” Cole adds, closing the subject, “Her story was a fabrication.”

Northfield

Coming back to Missouri from Florida (Cole had spent time there under the pseudonym Captain Dykes) he and Bob found themselves suspected of the bank robbery at Huntington, West Virginia (they were totally innocent, naturally) and narrowly escaped arrest at the railroad depot at St Louis.

At last, though, Cole says that he decided to take part in the bank robbery at Northfield. He couldn’t very well give an alibi for that one.  

Finally, after one of the young ruffians who had helped in the robbery of the Missouri Pacific express car at Otterville ‘confessed’ that we were with the robbers we decided to make one haul, and with our share of the proceeds start life anew in Cuba, South America or Australia.

It is often said that Bob was gung-ho for the robbery and Cole only reluctantly agreed but there is no evidence of that in Cole’s own account. He says that the party that traveled north by train consisted of himself, brothers Jim and Bob, Clell Miller, Bill Chadwell, Charlie Pitts “and men whose names on the expedition were Woods and Howard.” Cole continues to use these names throughout his account, with no mention of Frank or Jesse James. In fact he says: 

Every blood and thunder history of the Younger brothers declares that Frank and Jesse James were the two members of the band that entered Northfield who escaped arrest or death. They were not, however. One of those two men was killed afterward in Arizona and the other died from fever some years afterward.

This does admittedly seriously undermine the credibility of Cole’s account. We already had some doubts about his total innocence of all crimes before Northfield, before the war and after. This statement is verging on the silly, especially given that Woods and Howard were well-known as the names assumed by Frank and Jesse.
 
Disaster at Northfield

It is clear from oblique remarks throughout the book that Cole and the Jameses did not get on. Cole rather damns Frank with faint praise when he says, “He was a good soldier and while he never was higher than a private the distinctions between the officers and men were not as finely drawn in Quantrell’s command as they are nowadays,” though of course in later life he worked with Frank on a Wild West show. He had even less regard for Jesse. “My feeling toward Jesse became more bitter … when after the gate robbery at the Kansas City fair, he wrote a letter to the Times declaring that he and I had been accused of the robbery, but that he could prove an alibi.” He added, “Jesse and I were not on friendly terms … and never were associated in any enterprises.”

The Northfield expedition, sans Jameses therefore, spent a week in Minneapolis playing poker and seeing the sights, and a similar time in St Paul. Cole says that was the last time he played cards. Now, he says, “it disgusts me even to see boys gamble with dice for cigars.”

In planning the robbery, “I urged on the boys that whatever happened we should not shoot anyone.” Bob Younger, Charlie Pitts and ‘Howard’ went in first but between them drank a quart of whiskey, “and there was the initial blunder at Northfield.” Cole quotes “a Northfield narrator” (unnamed) for what happened in the bank while he stood guard outside.

Bob, Jm and Cole Younger with their sister Henrietta

He describes the desperate flight. Miller and Chadwell were left dead on the Northfield street, Bob had a shattered elbow, Jim had a shoulder wound and Cole too was hit in the thigh. “There were a thousand men on our trail.” They abandoned their horses and proceeded on foot. “Howard and Woods, who had favored killing Dunning [a man they had come across but whom they released on the promise that he would not inform on them till they were well clear], and who felt we were losing valuable time because of Bob’s wound, left us that night and went west.”

In the last fight, near Madelia, MN, Pitts was shot through the heart, Bob was shot in the right lung, and Jim was shot five times, one bullet shattering his jaw and another embedding itself “underneath his spine”. Cole says, “Including those received in and on the way from Northfield I had eleven wounds.” Basically, they were shot to hell.

All shot up

The Youngers were taken into Madelia and their wounds dressed. There was talk of a lynch mob, “But the only mob that came was the mob of sightseers, reporters and detectives.”

Prison for life

In Minnesota, then, a guilty plea on a murder charge meant there would be no capital punishment, and the Youngers therefore did not contest the charges and were sentenced “to imprisonment for the remainder of our lives” at the state prison at Stillwater. “With Bob, it was a life sentence, for he died there of consumption Sept. 16, 1889. He was never strong physically after the shot pierced his lung in the last fight near Madelia.”

Stillwater in the 1880s

Cole says that he submitted to prison discipline “with the same unquestioning obedience that I had exacted during my military service.” He says that when in 1884 there was a fire in the prison, he and his brothers guarded the women prisoners, and Cole was given a revolver by a warder to do so, which he returned afterwards. Later Cole was made librarian. Later still he was made head nurse in the prison hospital. He seems to have been a model prisoner.

Free

In 1901 Cole and Jim were granted parole. They were not to leave Minnesota and were to “conduct themselves honestly, avoid evil associations, obey the law and abstain from the use of intoxicating liquors.” On July 14, 1901 they were released. They had served 25 years. “Rip Van Winkle himself was not so long away.”

They got jobs at a granite company. Jim had to give it up because of the bullet in his back and went to work for a cigar company. Cole says his brother was subject to depression, and in his free time “he would go to his room and revel in socialistic literature.” On October 19 his dead body was found in a hotel room in St Paul. “There was every indication that he had carefully planned his death by his own hand.”

Cole, now the lone survivor of the Northfield band, moved to work for “the Interstate institute for the cure of the liquor and morphine habits” in St Paul. In 1903 he was granted a conditional pardon; he must return to his home state and never come back to Minnesota.

The Wild West

A condition of Cole’s pardon was “that he will never exhibit himself or allow himself to be exhibited, as an actor or participant in any public performance, museum, circus, theater, opera house or any other place of public amusement or assembly where a charge is made for admission.” That seems pretty clear. Nevertheless, Younger appeared in the Cole Younger and Frank James Historical Wild West Show. He gave it ‘respectable’ pretensions, saying it as an attempt “to make an honest living and demonstrate to the people of America that [we] are not as black as we have been painted.”

Cole in later life

There’s an entertaining cameo in the last chapter of Charles Portis’s fine 1968 novel True Grit in which Mattie seeks out Rooster at the show. She says that this was now all Cole and Frank were fit for, “to show themselves to the public like strange wild beasts of the jungle”. Mattie is taken with Cole. “I thanked the courteous old outlaw”, though she said to James, “Keep your seat, trash!” She says, “They think it was Frank James who shot that bank officer in Northfield. As far as I know that scoundrel never spent a night in jail, and there was Cole Younger locked away twenty-five years in the Minnesota pen.” This episode was not included in the 1969 John Wayne movie True Grit but the Coen brothers did put it in their 2010 film True Grit, with Don Pirl as Cole.

The end

Cole writes, as if regretting the Wild West show, “I had hoped … to earn a livelihood on the lecture platform” and he appends at the end of his book the lecture he wrote, What my life has taught me. Thank goodness he gave it rarely because it is insufferably pious, pompous, folksy, sanctimonious and sentimental in equal measure, almost impossible to read without throwing up.
 
Lecturer

Cole Younger, by Himself needs to be taken with a very substantial pinch of salt. I don’t believe it much more than I believe the lurid accounts of his nefarious deeds. But it certainly makes an interesting read.

We’ll finish off our Cole Younger posts with an overview of Cole Younger in fact and fiction at a later date, so stay tuned, e-pards, but so long for now.

 

 

Monday, November 25, 2019

Deadwood: The Movie (HBO, 2019)


“All bleeding stops eventually.” (Doc Cochran)
 

 


 

 
 
The series Deadwood (three seasons, starting 2004 - click the link for our review of that) was the best TV of its decade. The combination of writing, acting, direction and setting was never equaled – in any show, in any genre. I certainly have never seen better TV in my (now quite lengthy) lifetime. So it came as a great shock when HBO unaccountably pulled it in 2005, with the story left hanging. It was a foolish decision and a most unfortunate one. Gregg Fienberg, who directed 4 episodes, said, “The cancelation of Deadwood was like a shot to the heart.” He was right.
 
Truly great TV

There was for some time talk of a pair of two-hour TV movies to complete the story but that never happened. In April 2017 series creator David Milch submitted a script for a two-hour Deadwood film to HBO. Another long pause ensued before finally, in July 2018, HBO confirmed that a Deadwood movie had been greenlit and that Daniel Minahan, who directed four episodes in the series's original run, would direct, with production set to begin in October 2018. The film was released Stateside in May this year, arriving here in the Old World in June, August or October, depending on your country. It’s now available on DVD.

Originating genius

Miraculously, nearly all the cast members were reunited – astonishingly when you consider their other commitments. Powers Boothe (Cy Tolliver), Ralph Richeson (Richardson) and Ricky Jay (Eddie Sawyer) had died, and Titus Welliver (Silas Adams) couldn’t get away from Bosch. But all the others appeared, so we got Al Swearengen, Seth Bullock, Alma Ellsworth, Trixie, Charlie Utter, EB Farnum, Calamity Jane, George Hearst, Mr. Wu, and so on. Some of them had aged somewhat in the intervening thirteen years but hey, they’re entitled. And that was the idea anyway.

Welcome back

The greatest aspect of the original show was the writing. 19 writers were credited for the 33 episodes but there is no doubt that towering above them all was David Milch, a huge talent. He produced what I called Shakespeare in the mud. A former English teacher at Yale and published writer, he gained fame for Hill Street Blues in the 1980s and NYPD Blue in the 90s, earning a stack of awards. He was creator, writer, and executive producer of Deadwood. In 2018 Milch announced that he was suffering from Alzheimer’s, and so he took a hands-off approach to the production of Deadwood: The Movie, and yet it is abundantly clear from the script that he had lost absolutely none of his ability. It is stunningly good.

It is also clear from the special feature on the DVD in what affection the cast and crew hold him, and how they admire him. “He is the best, the best.” (Paula Malcolmson, Trixie). “A bona fide bit of a genius.” (Ian McShane, Al Swearengen). Timothy Olyphant (Seth Bullock) says that whenever he is stuck or unhappy with a scene on any show, he just asks himself what David would do.

Milch says that the movie is “a rumination on time” and yes, the characters have aged. I warn you now: some of them die. Others had very reduced parts, little more than cameos that remind us of former glories, but that is inevitable with the runtime. For me, the one I missed most was the newspaper editor AW Merrick (Jeffrey Jones). He is only seen in the background and has no lines. Tragic. But hey, they can’t all star.

Older - and wiser?

Some of the dead ones come back, though, in flashback or otherwise. There’s a momentary appearance of Keith Carradine as Wild Bill. Garret Dillahunt, who played two characters in the series, Jack McCall and Francis Wolcott, and should therefore be dead on both accounts, briefly pops up as Drunk No. 2, yelling out about his father dying in the street.

Much of the original Deadwood had disappeared (it was the Westworld set) and production designer Maria Caso, who won an Emmy for her work on the series, had to study the original series closely to rebuild original landmarks (such as the Bullock home) accurately.

A fine Western villain

The real star is the language. Milch has always been able to pull off that fiendishly difficult trick of blending florid Victorian parlance with earthy Western vernacular. Just occasionally, very occasionally, the dialogue verges on the stilted. But 99% of it is a total delight. It is said that he had help on the movie script from Nic Pizzolatto. Probably the masters of the delivery were McShane as Al and Dayton Callie as Utter, or they had the best lines anyway. Naturally, there is a strong peppering of f- and c- words, as the (brilliant) poster will suggest. It doesn’t take Jane many seconds to utter her first ten-letter imprecation referring to a facial action and a male member.


The story is set ten years after where we left off, in 1889, with South Dakota on the verge of statehood. Mayor Farnum (William Sanderson) presides over the celebrations. Bullock (Timothy Olyphant) is still marshal, now happily married and with three children, including a new son. Cy is dead and Joanie Stubs (Kim Dickens) has taken over the Bella Union. Her lover Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert, now in a buckskin skirt) comes back to find her. Mr. Wu (Keone Young) now has a son, or a grandson, to interpret for him, which spoils the fun a bit. Alma Ellsworth (Molly Parker) and her ward Sofia, now grown (Lily Keene) return to the town too. Will she take up again with Seth? Trixie is pregnant by Sol Star (John Hawkes). Al suggests that Sol run for office (the real Solomon Star served as Deadwood's mayor from 1884 to 1898).

Al is aging and sick; his liver is failing, as Doc Cochran (Brad Dourif) tells him. He cares not. The central character of the series, Al now seems almost a detached and objective observer, as Brian Tallerico says on rogerebert.com, “someone watching the action of the characters around him with a stunning sense of finality.” In a way, Al is now Milch.

McShane's greatest role

Unfortunately, though, (but fortunately for the drama) George Hearst (Gerald McRaney), now a senator, is also back, pushing the new telephone across the country, and wanting to buy up Charlie Utter’s land to do it. Charlie will have none of it.

This more or less sets up the plot. I shall say no more, in case you haven’t seen it yet.

I think Aren Bergstrom's review was astute when it said, “Deadwood has never been about plot or formal thrills, even if it’s exceptionally made, and especially well designed. Its focus is more on the characters: their fanciful speeches, their outbursts of anger, the ways they stare each other down in close quarters or share a drink to bury the hatchet. The plot is merely an excuse to get these characters together, to have them inhabit the same town and to let us watch them go about their lives and build up a semblance of civilization in the Black Hills. Although there is more urgency to the plot in the film than in the series, the character moments are still front and centre.”

I'm sure his tough Marshal Bullock informed his Raylan Givens

Deadwood: The Movie is a splendid coda to a Western symphony, or song cycle. I am so glad they made it. It still doesn’t excuse HBO for cutting off the series in its prime but I won’t hate them for all eternity now, just until the cows come home.

Why four revolvers instead of five, like the series? I’m not sure. It’s a gut feeling. Perhaps because it is poignant, retrospective, even almost nostalgic (and nostalgia ain’t what it was). It’s not nostalgic, actually. It’s not sentimental anyway. But it’s, um, in some ways about Deadwood rather than being Deadwood, if you get me. Of course four revolvers is pretty damn good on Jeff Arnold’s West. I mean that puts it up there with Day of the Outlaw, Dawn at Socorro, Gunfight at the OK Corral, They Came to Cordura, and other Westerns of that quality. Ce n’est pas rien, as the French say.