In A Valley Of Violence | A SXSW Film Review

‘Old fashioned westerns, they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore’. My grandfather used to say that every time he cued up a John Wayne or Audie Murphy classic. In his mind, the western died with The Duke, and no amount of close-up shots on Clint Eastwood’s hardened gaze could ever resuscitate his beloved genre-of-choice. While I didn’t hold on that belief then, I sure do feel it now. There might be an occasional resurgence – ‘The Hateful Eight’ and ‘Bone Tomahawk’ are prime examples – yet, for the most part, westerns have gone the way of disco and Howard the Duck: Occasionally discussed, rarely seen and mostly embarrassing.

Like a gunslinger out for revenge, through the doors of his cinematic horror saloon comes director Ti West to toss a shot of whiskey down our throats, just when we needed it most. Even though we’ve had a few westerns over recent years, what we haven’t had is a good time. Most of what has been churned out lately in this genre tumbleweed has been the ‘artistic’ western, the serious look at history or the times. Basically the struggles of dysentery and faulty hygiene. Don’t you remember when the Old West was fun? When characters did ridiculous things, when Sheriffs ran bandidos outta Dodge screaming ‘HELL’S COMING!’, when a hero won just because he was the fastest gun in the west?

Ti West remembers. ‘In a Valley of Violence’ is West’s nod to those films. Part Sergio Leone, part Sam Peckinpah, part Wily E. Coyote – this is a return to form of a genre I love with blind abandon. By the time the credits rolled, I was once again amped to grab my six-shooter and hit the badlands.

Ethan Hawke’s Paul is the standard archetype for the reluctant gunslinger. Always the wrong guy in the wrong place at precisely the wrong time. He spends his days trekking to his imaginary future of nobility in Mexico, with nothing more than the pack on his horse and his trusted dog and best friend, Abbie, at his side (Jumpy, who deserves star-billing as often as this adorably dutiful pup steals frames away from more seasoned, and human, actors).

Rolling through the near-extinct town of Denton, TX, Paul humiliates local deputy Gilly (James Ransone) after the nitwit tries to pick a fight with the incorrecto diablo. Of course, Gilly also happens to be the Marshal’s son, and when your Marshal is John Travolta and he tells you to leave or die – you go. Paul does, unfortunately trouble follows suit, and Paul is forced to come back to Denton with an ample measure of his vengeance.

Hawke plays Paul with a reluctant steely resolve, and his performance is the most surprising thing about the film. Hawke is a rare bright spot in Hollywood, an actor who takes chance-after-chance, daring Hollywood to stereotype him. Yet, nothing on his resume screams to me ‘Badass Gunslinger’. Consider that box officially checked. The first half shows the Hawke we all know, pleasant, intelligent, and peaceful. But when the tides turn and the town of Denton needs a cleansing, Hawke brings his rage full-guns-blazing.

There is a multitude of scenery-chewing at play here, with numerous name actors relishing the chance to finally tear it up in an old-school western (Karen Gillan, Taissa Farmiga), yet none do it with the panache of John Travolta as The Marshall. This isn’t the Travolta of ‘Face-Off’ – so far outside the box that he no longer sees it. No, this is Travolta doing what he does best: taking a known character-type and making it his own, ducking and weaving those who wore the badge before him. Travolta’s Marshal knows Paul can beat him, you can even sense how terrified he is of him, but it’s still his son and his town, dammit, and he will unfortunately see this thing through to the bloody end.

If you’ve seen a western, you know this story. What you haven’t seen, is it told in as viciously entertaining a way as this in quite some time. ‘In a Valley of Violence’ is the John Wick of the West, and I had an absolute blast.