THE INDIAN FIGHTER

New Zealand Listener, Volume 36, Issue 929, 31 May 1957, Page 19

THE INDIAN FIGHTER

(Bryna-United Artists) G Cert. ""_ HE West," says Kirk Douglas, in one of the profounder moments of this king-size horse opera, "is like a. beautiful woman to me-I don’t .want to see her spoiled." Though the simile isn’t one I’d have picked myself, it’s an elegant sentiment (and, in the circumstances in which it is uttered, one which any member of the Forest and Bird Protection Society might well applaud). But observing what Mr Douglas himself has done to the West in this same movie-the first film to come from his own production unit-it seemed to me that the film-maker was out of step with the film-player. This was, in fact, the fourth occasion in recent weeks in which I found myself shaking my head a little sadly over Western film-making in its current grandiose format. It’s not that I’m sighing nostalgically for ye olde West. One may recall its pristine simplicities with a sentimental affection and at the same time remember that it was a juvenile’s

world. There is, in fact, everything to be said for the grown-up Western which makes an honest attempt to look at the American frontier story with both eyes apen-and there has been an encouraging number of them. Films like Stagecoach, Red River, High Noon, The Gunfighter all had an inner integrity because the drama grew naturally out of character and circumstance. Today’s overblown epics-and even Ford himself does not appear altogether immune from the contagion-seem at times to have been devised in the first instance for the comic-book trade or the more sensational Sunday papers. The Indian Fighter (CinemaScope, Technicolor) is by no means the poorest I’ve seen recently, but I couldn’t help feeling that it was getting off on the wrong foot when the opening shot was a voyeur’s peek at Elsa Martinelli bathing in the buff. From. what I saw of her then she scarcely looked like a Red Indian, or even a.shocking-pink one, being a pretty uniform buff-colour all over; and the same spuriousness seems to dog most of the characters. But it was the story (by. Frank Davis and Ben Hecht) that seemed most hollow at the core. It follows the currently popular line in presenting the Indians (here the Sioux) as harassed by evil whites seeking gold and peddling firewater, and provoked into retaliation against_ guilty and innocent alike. It is quite probable that this is the historic fact, but it was difficult to avoid the conclusion that historical accuracy wasn’t an element of prime importance. What the film seemed more concerned with was the smell of firewater and blood--and, of course, the amphibious cavortings of Kirk Douglas and Miss Martinelli. But if anything saves the film-apart from a good old-fashioned set-piece in which the Injuns besiege the pioneers and the U.S. Cavalry in-_

side Fort Laramie-it. is the engaging grin of Mr Douglas. I know no other Hollywood player whose dapetizon is so disarming.