As Aristotle
proscribed an ideal form for Greek Tragedy,[1]
so many distinct film genres have evolved after a pattern of effective
storytelling. Few of these mirror Greek
tragedy so closely as the Western. This
appears, in part, to be due to shared values between these paradigms for plot
over character, and for objectivity and emotional restraint.
The Western
in its primitive form can be explored via The Great Train Robbery (1903). This is a narrative in which the momentum of
the plot completely overwhelms any identity of characters participating in
it. A problem is exposited, a question
posed, and then completely solved at a clipping pace. As dialogue is not incorporated into the
medium in this film, visual cues and Delsartian gestures are used to
communicate action and move the plot forward toward its succinct end.
Over the
following 50 years, the genre emerged and evolved and patterns and devices that
proved effective came to be incorporated into the identity and expectation for
the genre. It follows Classical
narrative structure in the sense that it poses as an answer to a series of
questions, maintaining an interesting pace while delaying the main answer to
the main question until the end.[2]
The
characteristics that the cinematic Western came to share with the proscribed
ideal for Greek Tragedy include objectivity valued over subjectivity, emotional
restraint, systematic thinking, simplicity and clarity, universality, dignity,
acceptance of established social standards, promotion of general welfare, and
strict adherence to formal rules of composition.
John Ford’s
1956 Western “The Searchers,” appears on many levels to be complicit with the
established norms and classical style of the Western, certainly enough so that
audiences of the time would identify it as a fit within the genre, but the film
also begins testing the limits of epistemological knowledge within a classical
narrative style. Ford transformed it,
largely by omitting expository dialogue from the original script, into an
architecturally revisionist Western. (A subgenre largely associated with
darker, more morally ambiguous Sergio Leone Westerns).
It tells the
story of Ethan Edwards. He appears at
his brother’s family farm in Texas after a prolonged absence. His brother’s family is massacred by
Comanches, excepting the 9 year old daughter, Deborah/Debbie who is
abducted. Ethan and his brother’s
adopted son Martin spend the next 5+ years searching for Debbie, and at some
point Ethan declares that his intention is to kill Debbie if he can find her.
(Presumably because she’s old enough to have been almost certainly sexually
active either complicitly or forcibly, and to Ethan that is a fate worse than
death. Though even this is not
explicitly explained.) Ultimately Debbie
is found, the Chief we understand to be responsible for her abduction is
killed, and Ethan chooses not to kill her.
He returns her “home” to family friends and leaves.
Ford’s film differs
from the classic Western form in its comfort with ambiguity. It asks far more questions than it even
suggests an effort to answer. It creates
an early example of an anti-hero in Ethan Edwards. It allows uncomfortable similarities between
the main antagonist and the main protagonist, Scar. (Especially as Ethan is denied the
opportunity to kill Scar, but still scalps his corpse.) It posits so many
questions about identity and race (narratively and visually) that the parentage
and detailed ethnicity of every character is called into question.
The Searchers
includes all the elements of Aristotle’s Classic Tragedies: plot, character, thought,
diction, and music. But it also subverts
them. In opposition to Aristotle’s
ideals, the characters in the film become far more important than the
plot. The thought, or questions the film
asks are largely more about the characters than about the plot. The primary question that is about the plot: “will Ethan find
Debbie, and what will he do to her when he does?”, is the only question the
film asks that it also seems to answer.
The diction, or dialogue largely serve to ask more unanswerable
questions, and the music within the film itself (From the theme song by Stan
Jones, “What Makes a Man to Wander”, to the use of folk-song-based musical
motifs) is used to create associations and ask questions that are never
answered.
The film
calls into question how much any character or audience can really know about
events they have not actually seen. In
this sense it is very reminiscent of Socrates’ allegory of the cave, from
Plato.[3] The verity of any explanation or assumption
about the shadows of understanding are called into question. The process by which we come to trust the
character of a protagonist is called into question. The consequences of Aristotelian storytelling
with straightforward answers to direct questions are made plain. Ambiguity reigns. We begin to recognize many
of our assumptions about the genre and it’s racial assumptions as shadows
rather than as fleshed out reality.
Ethan
Edwards, as an antihero prototype, rejects Aristotle’s ideal of a tragic hero
being a morally or socially superior character.
Ethan’s character is constantly called into question and found
wanting. Unanswered, unflattering
questions about him abound. Where had he
been for the 3 years since the Civil War ended?
Where did he get a large quantity of newly minted coins? What exactly
was his relationship with Martha Edwards? Had he fathered any of Martha’s
children? What was the catalyst of his fierce racism? How and why had he come
to be so literate in the Native American cultures and languages of the area?
Why did he think or say he wanted Debbie killed? Why didn’t he kill Debbie? Why
did he have to leave after bringing Debbie to the Jorgensons? No answers, only suppositions for a viewer.
Ethan defies Aristotle’s criteria for an appropriate protagonist. “Characters
should be: good (nope) appropriate (nope) life-like (eh?) and consistent (nope,
and that’s the crux.)”
Aristotle
said all dialogue should move the plot forward.
In this film a lot of the plot was moved forward by what was seen instead
of what was said. And a lot of what was
said served largely for character expository.
Ultimately the character [of Ethan] became more important than the plot. The scope of this plot was very Homeric. The film in this sense became as much an epic
as a tragedy or Western. But the plot
remained unified. All parts of the story
as told remained relevant to the whole, even if they didn’t answer the questions
the narrative was asking.
Complexity of
the plot was enhanced by both reversal and recognition, both methods of climax
promoted by Aristotle. But despite the
combination of both reversal and some sort of recognition in Ethan’s ultimate
decision not to kill Debbie we still aren’t sure what happened. Still, The
Searchers fulfills much of Aristotle’s proscriptions for an ideal plot. It does terrifying and pitiable in
spades. It just doesn’t do answers.
Aristotle said an ideal tragedy would develop the plot and solve it well. Was this plot solved? Yes, but so ambiguously that is kind of
actually wasn’t.
Ford appears
to have been maximizing ambiguity in this film, especially surrounding Ethan’s
moral character, in order to explore the consequences of racism, hatred and
violence, and the dead end of the story of the American West. The civilian horrors on both sides of the
American Indian Wars and the desert landscape of Monument Valley frame this
story, or rather this broad and reaching question, about a character as base
and hateful as his enemy.
And so, as Aristotle unintentionally taught us, rules
are made to be broken. But those best
positioned to stretch and defy the rules are those who have mastered them
first. Ford’s extensive experience with
the Western Genre helped him develop a strong opinion about the most effective
way for him to tell this particular story.
But he does maintain one key classical element in his enigma of Ethan
Edwards. Ethan is universal. He represents and brings to the surface a
viewer’s personal demons. His story asks
119 minutes worth of questions about those demons, and then leaves the viewer
on their own to answer them. It’s a
terribly effective recipe for introspection, if not for Aristotle’s beloved catharsis.
[1] Aristotle, Poetics
[2] “S/Z, An Essay” By: Barthes, Roland. Richard Miller (Translator), Richard Howard (Preface). Hill and
Wang, 1975
[3] Plato, from Republic Book VII, from
Phaedrus
