It's the penultimate film in my Western series and this time we are looking at Eastwood's, The Outlaw Josey Wales. It's a tale that starts off with revenge through violence that morphs into one about survival.
Josey Wales, a farmer and family man whose life is irrevocably shattered by the senseless violence of some Union forces in the waning days of the Civil War. His response is not one of reconciliation, it's a deep, simmering rage that propels him away from any notion of a negotiated peace. A sole outlaw, hunted.
Initially we are dropped into Josey Wales's world in the immediate aftermath of the Civil War, the air still thick with resentment and loss. He and his unit are facing death or surrender, Josey chooses the former. When the Union gun down his fellow rebels, Wales unleashes hell with a Gatling gun. Instantly transforming himself into a fugitive, so far, so familiar.
Senator: “The war’s over. Our side won the war. Now we must busy ourselves winning the peace. And Fletcher, there’s an old saying: To the victors belong the spoils.”
Fletcher: “There’s another old saying, Senator: Don’t piss down my back and tell me it’s raining.”
The narrative then becomes this curious blend of the lone rider myth and the westward journey of a community. Eastwood begins to populate Wales's journey with a disparate collection of individuals, each bearing their own scars and seeking some form of refuge. There's the elderly Cherokee Lone Watie, portrayed with such understated wisdom and a touch of ironic humor by Chief Dan George. A young Native American woman marked by her own trauma, a group of survivors from a brutal attack and a spat upon dog (there's along of spit flying), all drawn into Wales's orbit.
Wales, initially a man intent on solitude and perhaps vengeance, finds himself the de facto leader and protector of this makeshift family. They navigate a landscape still raw from conflict, encountering both the lingering animosities of the war and the inherent dangers of the frontier. The film becomes a study not in revenge, but in survival. Not just in the physical sense, but in the emotional and spiritual one. It explores the possibility of finding connection and even a fragile form of peace amidst the wreckage of personal and national trauma. Eastwood, both as actor and director crafts a narrative that acknowledges the darkness of the past while hinting at the possibility of a different future.
"Dyin' ain't much of a livin', boy."
The film does come with external baggage, the book upon the movie was based was written by a racist, a Klansman and a segregationist. There's the whole troubling relationship of Eastwood and Sondra Locke which begins in this film. Philip Kaufman was also initially slated to direct, however, the familiar narrative of "creative differences" intervened, ultimately leading to Eastwood assuming the dual role of star and director. Ignoring the external drama looking at the finished film, it is difficult to imagine it in significantly different hands. There is a coherence of vision and tone that feels intrinsically linked to Eastwood's evolving perspective on the Western genre.
The film, through Bruce Surtees's often somber cinematography, establishes a palpable sense of place and atmosphere. Those wide-open vistas aren't just pretty postcards they offer a sense of both freedom and isolation, mirroring Josey's own predicament. That image of Josey collapsing as he buries his family, clutching that cross like it's the last solid thing in a world that's crumbled beneath him – it's a gut punch, visually rendered with a stark lighting. It is a West that feels both vast and unforgiving, mirroring the internal states of its characters.
The supporting cast, often a crucial element in grounding a Western, is particularly rich here. Populated by faces familiar to Eastwood's work and to the genre itself, this familiarity lends a certain lived-in quality to the world of the film. John Vernon as Fletcher is particularly noteworthy. Vernon, whose deep voice and commanding presence were so memorable in Dirty Harry, portrays Fletcher as a man burdened by his task. He is the hunter compelled to pursue his former comrade, a duty that seems to chafe against some internal moral compass. You sense a weariness in his portrayal, a resignation to the grim realities of his profession.
Chief Dan George as the old Indian, Lone Watie offers a performance that is just magical. There is this wonderfully dry understated wit, his explanation to Josey about never surrendering – "But they got my horse, and it surrendered" – it’s a throwaway line delivered with such perfect timing and weary resignation that it cuts right through the usual clichés.
George manages the ability to be both funny and deeply dignified simultaneously. Here he becomes this unexpected sidekick to the stoic Eastwood. But George brings this added layer, his own little indignities – the lament about being too old to sneak up on people anymore is both humorous and poignant – but his essential humanity just radiates from the screen. He's as open and expressive as Josey Wales is closed off and that very contrast creates a compelling dynamic.
Of course, the relentless pursuit by seemingly inexhaustible bounty hunters is a constant thread, despite Eastwood's now-familiar ability to mow down hordes of bad guys before they can even think about raising their rifles. As Wales continues his westward trajectory, he accumulates this unlikely family: a young Indian girl (Geraldine Keams) and the shattered remnants of a Kansas family, Sarah Turner and her granddaughter Laura Lee who had been chasing some fool's dream of El Dorado.
The bonds within this group are established with remarkable economy. There is not a lot of exposition, not a lot of heartfelt declarations, but somehow everyone understands each other.
The unlikely group eventually make it to the settlement of Santo Rio and the group expands by two more, Travis and Chato, who had been in the employ of Turner's deceased son. Their arrival adds another layer of connection to loss and the disrupted patterns of life in the wake of conflict. The discovery of the sons abandoned ranch offers a brief illusion of stability, a potential sanctuary for this collection of displaced individuals seeking respite from the harsh realities of the open territory.
However, this fragile hope is soon challenged by the kidnapping of Travis and Chato by the Comanche led by Chief Ten Bears. Wales' response to this crisis is significant. Rather than resorting to immediate violence, he chooses to enter Ten Bears's camp to negotiate their release. This act underscores a shift in his approach, a willingness to engage in dialogue rather than solely relying on force.
The encounter with Ten Bears becomes a pivotal moment. Ten Bears, a leader possessing a keen understanding of his people's precarious situation and a discerning eye for character, is evidently impressed by Wales's actions and perhaps recognises a kindred spirit in this outsider. The subsequent act of becoming blood brothers forgoes the historical animosity between their cultures, suggesting a potential for understanding and even alliance in a landscape defined by conflict.
It is easy, given Eastwood's laconic screen presence and his focus on action, to overlook the fact that he is often the one calling the shots, directing many of his most intelligent and resonant films. It's so much more grounded than the previous films we have looked at, the operatic style of first Leone and then Eastwood's first directed western (High Plains Drifter) make way for a film set in realism and reflection. However there are still plenty of action, violence and gun fire to keep the movie from slowing down.
The Outlaw Josey Wales stakes its claim as a significant revisionist Western, one that looks back at the familiar tropes with a more critical and contemporary eye.
The previous film in this series, High Plains Drifter (a film cast in a stark and unsettling light) operated within the more primal territory of revenge. Its narrative is driven by a relentless pursuit of retribution for past transgressions, the mysterious stranger a figure of almost supernatural menace dispensing a brutal justice.
The Outlaw Josey Wales, while beginning with the catalyst of vengeance, charts a different course. The initial drive for retribution gradually gives way to the formation of connections born from shared adversity. Wales, initially isolated by his grief and anger, finds himself amidst a disparate group of survivors. Their collective survival dependent on mutual support and the forging of unexpected bonds. Even the encounter with Ten Bears finds a connection rooted in shared humanity. The film emphasises the struggle for survival not as a solitary act, but as a communal one.
Decades later, Unforgiven (the last film in this series) offers a further evolution in Eastwood's exploration of the Western landscape and its inhabitants. It moves beyond the dynamics of revenge and the fragile formation of community to delve into the enduring consequences of violence: guilt and remorse.
(Bristol board. Indian Ink. Soft Pastels.The Outlaw by Basesketch)