Slowly paced, bleakly photographed, virtually plot-less, the 100-minutes is not everyone's cup of tea. There are compensations, however. That lonely clapboard house forlorn on the dreary prairie is a perfect metaphor for Henry (McQueen) and Georgette's relationship. He's all pent-up rage at his brutal upbringing, while she's clinging to hope and their little girl (Block). Together, their silences speak louder than words, the distance just too great. All this plays out in elliptical fashion that requires some patience, and I'm not surprised the movie was a flop, given what McQueen fans likely expected. There are moments of frantic action, as when Henry attacks his guardian's grave for the wrongs done him, especially now that she's left him nothing from her meagre assets. But the prevailing pace is contemplative, to say the least.
I'm not sure McQueen was the best choice for the tormented Henry. The actor, of course, excelled in action pictures, nuance not exactly being his forte. Yet Henry's real tragedy calls for a sensitive range that's largely missing from his scenes with Georgette. We get the distance, but not the struggle, and without the inner struggle the tragedy is diminished. Certainly, no one can be accused of overplaying, especially Don Murray whose sheriff comes across as something of a well-meaning cypher. Somehow the movie reminds me of an episode typical of the old TV series Route 66 (1960-64). The bleak location photography, the downbeat dramatics, the forlorn characters, all typify that ground-breaking series. I wonder if there was some cross-over given the time period.
Anyway, action fans should skip this McQueen feature. For others, patience with the slow- developing human interest should provide compensation.
( In passing-- thanks to the reviewer who confirmed my glimpse—Henry does plant the hopeful cherry tree with the roots still in a tin can bottom. Is that act of sabotage intentional or just his usual carelessness.)
