This art collection is an examination of the Western genre, specifically focusing on Clint Eastwood's transition from television actor to cinematic icon. The series intends to analyze Eastwood's evolution, tracing his rise to prominence through Sergio Leone's "Dollars Trilogy," films that redefined the Western's visual and narrative language. The intention is to observe, assess, and produce artistic interpretations inspired by these films, ultimately culminating in a study of Eastwood's role in the deconstruction of the Western archetype.
However, the series initial point of departure is not Leone's work, but Akira Kurosawa's "Yojimbo." This choice underscores the acknowledgement that cinematic influence is rarely isolated. To understand Eastwood's persona, it is necessary to examine its antecedents. Kurosawa's film, with its cynical protagonist and brutal depiction of human nature, provides a crucial context for understanding the development of the anti-hero archetype that Eastwood would later embody.
The series seeks to establish a lineage, tracing the evolution of a particular cinematic figure from its origins in Kurosawa's work to its culmination in Eastwood's later films. This approach suggests a recognition of the interconnectedness of cinematic traditions, and the way in which genre conventions are both established and subverted over time.
Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo (1961) arrived on the cinematic landscape not as a mere genre exercise, but as a calculated intervention, a subversive commentary on the very fabric of the Western genre. Kurosawa, took the archetypal Western hero—the solitary, morally upright gunslinger—and transplanted him into the chaotic, morally ambiguous landscape of feudal Japan. Toshiro Mifune’s Sanjuro, a ronin of enigmatic motives and ruthless pragmatism, was not the noble, self-sacrificing figure of John Ford’s frontier. He was a manipulator, a cynical observer who exploited the town’s warring factions for his own amusement and survival. That opening image—a dog trotting by, a severed human hand dangling from its jaws—was not merely a shock tactic; it was a declaration of intent, a signal that Kurosawa was not interested in indulging in sentimental pieties or comforting myths. The town itself, a cesspool of greed and corruption, became a mirror reflecting the darker impulses of humanity, a place where moral certainties had long since eroded. Kurosawa’s visual style, particularly his use of telephoto lenses to magnify Mifune’s presence, was not merely a stylistic flourish; it was a way of establishing Sanjuro’s dominance, his ability to manipulate the world around him. The film’s cynicism, its refusal to offer easy moral resolutions, was a calculated challenge to the audience's expectations, a refusal to indulge in the comforting myths of heroism.
Sergio Leone, with A Fistful of Dollars (1964), then boldly appropriated the narrative structure of Yojimbo, transposing it into the harsh, sun-baked landscape of the American West. This was not mere imitation; it was a cinematic theft, a brazen act of artistic re-appropriation. Clint Eastwood’s Man with No Name, a figure of laconic detachment, was a direct descendant of Mifune’s Sanjuro, but with a distinctly American flavor. He was a figure defined by his silence, his ability to assess a situation with a cold, calculating gaze, and his willingness to exploit any opportunity for personal gain. Leone’s visual style, characterized by extreme close-ups that revealed the sweat-streaked, grimy faces of his characters, and vast, desolate landscapes that emphasized their isolation, was a stark departure from the romanticized vistas of traditional Westerns. Ennio Morricone’s score, with its unconventional instrumentation—whistles, whip cracks, electric guitars—was not merely background music; it was an integral part of the film’s atmosphere, a sonic landscape that amplified the brutality and operatic intensity of Leone’s vision. Leone’s audacious act of appropriation, while controversial, established him as a director with a unique voice, a filmmaker who was willing to challenge the established conventions of the genre, and create something entirely new.
(Man with no name, by Basesketch)
Leone’s subsequent films, For a Few Dollars More (1965) and The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), further developed his exploration of vengeance and moral ambiguity, pushing the boundaries of the Spaghetti Western, and solidifying a new way of looking at the western genre. For a Few Dollars More introduced Colonel Douglas Mortimer (Lee Van Cleef), a character defined by his methodical precision and a hidden personal agenda, and Indio (Gian Maria Volonté), a figure consumed by his past, haunted by a personal tragedy. The film’s narrative, centered around a pocket watch that symbolized the connection between Mortimer and Indio, was not just a plot device; it was a way of exploring the emotional weight of their confrontation, the personal vendetta that drove their actions. Morricone’s score, particularly the recurring pocket watch motif, was not just a musical cue; it was a psychological device, underscoring the characters’ emotional turmoil and the ticking clock of their impending confrontation. Leone’s visual style, with its deliberate pacing and emphasis on character dynamics, created a sense of mounting tension, culminating in a final showdown that invented the conventions of the genre.
(The pocket watch, by Basesketch)
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, set against the backdrop of the American Civil War, presented a cynical view of conflict, a world where personal greed trumped any notion of patriotism or heroism. Leone’s depiction of the war, not as a grand historical event but as a backdrop for individual greed, reflected a detachment from traditional notions of heroism. The characters—Blondie (Eastwood), Angel Eyes (Van Cleef), and Tuco (Eli Wallach)—were all driven by self-interest, their actions defined by a relentless pursuit of gold. Eli Wallach’s Tuco, a character of complex flaws, stood in stark contrast to Eastwood’s stoic gunslinger, and Van Cleef’s cruel Angel Eyes. Tuco’s unpredictable nature, his moments of vulnerability and brutality, made him a compelling figure, a character who embodied the contradictions of the human condition. The film’s narrative, a series of loosely connected set pieces, emphasized atmosphere over plot. Leone’s visual style, with its panoramic compositions and extreme close-ups, created a sense of heightened realism, a world where violence was both brutal and stylized.
Leone’s films, while rooted in the Western genre, transcended its conventions. They presented a world of moral ambiguity, where violence was both brutal and stylized, and where individual motivations were often driven by greed and self-interest. His visual and auditory language, characterized by stark compositions and evocative scores, established a distinct cinematic style that has influenced subsequent filmmakers. The “Dollars Trilogy,” as it became known, was not a narrative continuum, but a thematic exploration, a testament to Leone’s ability to reshape genre conventions through his singular vision. He didn't just borrow, he transformed. He took the dust and grime, the sweat and blood of the west, and turned it into a cinematic opera. He showed us a west that was not clean, nor righteous, but a place of grit, of corruption, of humanity's darker side. By the end of the production on the final film, Eastwood had had enough. Leone’s visual eye—his need to shoot scenes from every possible angle, his obsession with detail—wore the actors out. After filming wrapped in July 1966, Eastwood made it clear he wouldn’t work with Leone again. When Leone flew to Los Angeles in 1968 to offer him the role of Harmonica in Once Upon a Time in the West, Eastwood declined, marking the end of one of cinema’s most iconic partnerships.
Clint Eastwood's trajectory through the Western genre represents not merely a series of performances, but a gradual, deliberate reshaping of its conventions. He moved from being an instrument of Sergio Leone's stylized brutality to a figure who interrogated and ultimately dismantled the very myths he helped to establish.
Leone's "Dollars" films, with their operatic violence and morally ambiguous landscapes, presented Eastwood as a figure of calculated self-interest. The Man with No Name, stripped of traditional heroic virtues, embodied a pragmatic cynicism that mirrored the harsh realities of Leone's West. This was not the romanticized frontier of earlier Westerns, but a world where survival dictated moral choices.
Eastwood's subsequent directorial efforts, beginning with High Plains Drifter (1973), marked a shift in his approach. He moved from playing a detached observer to a figure of active, almost supernatural vengeance. The film's exploration of collective guilt and repressed violence, its nightmarish atmosphere, represented a departure from Leone's cynicism, delving into darker, more psychologically complex territory.
The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976) further explored the psychological toll of violence, portraying Eastwood as a man haunted by war, seeking refuge in a fractured community. The film's emphasis on trauma and the search for belonging added a layer of emotional depth to the genre, moving beyond simple narratives of revenge.
Finally, Unforgiven (1992) stands as a culmination of Eastwood's evolving perspective. The film, a self-reflexive deconstruction of the gunslinger myth, portrays Eastwood as William Munny, a broken, aging man confronting his own violent past.
Through these films, Eastwood's evolution mirrors the genre's transformation. So in the next three weeks we shall look at a West that was not a landscape of simple morality, but a place defined by violence, guilt, and regret. This trajectory represents a significant contribution to the genre, a re-evaluation of its myths and a sobering reflection on its enduring themes. I'll also be sharing artwork inspired by these themes and images from these movies.
Find all the artwork listed here ➡️