High Noon (1952)

"I've got to.That's the whole thing."

It's been far too long since I did a classic western so, well, here's one. And let's not beat about the bush; it's a superb piece of cinema about one man who chooses to stand and fight even though no one else will. It's been said (interestingly given the story behind it) that this is an allegory for McCarthyism but it stands as a monument to non-conformity of all kinds- as well as those perennial Western values and doing the right thing no matter what the potential cost.

Gary Cooper looks old as Will Kane but, oddly enough, this works; Will is retiring as marshal on the day of his wedding to his young bride (and weddings in the old West seem crap; in the morning, no music, no booze...!) until he hears that a killer he once put away is returning to terrorise the town- and kill him. So Will turns around and the clock starts ticking- literally: we constantly see clocks and the film runs down in near real time until the arrival of the baddie by train at noon. And Gary Cooper looks ever more old, tired, hopeless and sweat-ridden as the minutes go by and the hope drains away. As he admits to a shockingly young Lloyd Bridges, he's scared. But he does the right thing.

And he does so alone; his new wife has seemingly abandoned him and, unexpectedly, the film consists not of action- in fact, until the last few minutes, there isn't much of this, but of slow, desperate debate as Will spends most of the film trying to get someone, anyone, to stand by him as he's stood by them. And no one does- except his wife, at the last minute, after she's had a good talking to. It's a fascinating point both of the moral cowardice of the majority and the nobility of doing the right thing even, indeed especially, if no one else does.

All this is superbly shot with plenty of tension and restrained terror. This film is justly revered and makes me want to see more acclaimed westerns.

The Day of the Jackal (1973)

"How did you know whose telephone to tap?"

"I didn't. So I tapped all of them."

 I read the novel in my teens, and very quickly. It's not just that it's a somewhat unputdownable thrilller with no pretensions to literary ambition, but the prose was extraordinary basic: bare, functional, impossible to praise or criticise. Indeed, probably the best adjective for Frederick Forsyth's prose is "absent" but it does its job for what is probably Forsyth's best novel in a series of ever-diminishing returns.

I mention this because the film is an extraordinary faithful adaptation. Fred Zinnemann shows admirable restraint in following the style of the book and allowing the narrative to do its natural job with no unnecessary directorial flourishes to take us out of the style. He's unafraid to have long periods of silence if that's how best to tell the story and ends up producing a film that is slow, unhurried yet pacy. That's as much of a talent as any directorial trick.

Edward Fox is superb, of course, playing his rather flat cipher of a character, and the same is true of the impressive cast of largely British character actors. But what makes this film is the story- a slow, methodical look at how a high profile assassination is carried out in a pre-digital, pre-surveillance age that is little more than a decade before my time; I can still remember those French bank vans from trips to France as a young child in the early '80s. This is an age where it is relatively easy to fake documents yet the French state still practises both torture and judicial killing. Social attitudes may have improved since 1963 but it's easy to be jealous of the privacy that could be enjoyed back then.