Judging by its almost-allegorical title, Man of the West claims, or seems to claim, that Link Jones, its conflicted protagonist, represents something fundamental and archetypical about the American western experience. And indeed it does, if Mr. Jones, played by rugged stalwart Gary Cooper, is to be judged by his exceedingly laconic manner, his resourcefulness, his fundamental decency, his initial aversion to gun play and ultimate resort to violence.
But in my opinion the title Man of the West is misleading. Man of the West is a noir in chaps and ten-gallon hat. Its western-ness is superficial. It's noirness is essential and real.
Here's what we've got: a reformed criminal trying to go straight who can't escape his past; a crazed egomaniacal gang leader (played here by Lee J. Cobb but James Cagney would have been a better choice); a dance hall singer who's been mistreated by a succession of men even though she's got a good heart; a bank robbery that goes south and gang members who turn upon each other. No cowboys, no Indians, no horses, no cavalry. Not even a rattlesnake curling around the heroine's shoe who is shot by our hero. Scares her temporarily, but she's grateful.
The film was written by Reginald Rose of Twelve Angry Men fame; it was directed by Anthony Mann (Side Street). Take away the cowboy hats and substitute fedoras and you could call it Man of the East.
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