Gene Hackman’s sheriff is reason enough to see Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven, a patient Western that makes killing difficult to cheer. We recommend it strongly, with a reservation about its lingering fondness for dangerous men.
A reformed gunman is a useful starting point for a Western: the story can promise violence while allowing its hero to disapprove of it. Clint Eastwood makes that arrangement uncomfortable in Unforgiven, directing himself as William Munny. We would recommend it even to someone who usually avoids Westerns. David Webb Peoples’ screenplay is concerned with what killing does to people, and with how readily an audience accepts a killer once it has heard his explanation.
Eastwood’s Munny looks worn out, and the performance resists asking for sympathy simply on that basis. He lets the character look diminished, and does not rush to restore his dignity. Morgan Freeman’s Ned Logan brings a welcome ease to the company; we believe in him before we start assessing what he represents. Jaimz Woolvett’s Schofield Kid provides a less settled presence. The differences between them keep the conversations from sounding like a single lecture delivered by several actors.
Gene Hackman is the most disturbing presence as ‘Little’ Bill Daggett. We were frightened by his certainty: he makes the sheriff’s authority seem sufficient reason for whatever the sheriff chooses to do. Hackman’s ease in the role matters, because a visibly tormented man would be less convincing as someone accustomed to obedience. We can understand why people might accept him in charge, even as we dread what he might consider reasonable. His performance makes the distinction between enforcing the law and serving justice painfully clear.
Jack N. Green’s wide-screen photography gives the landscape room, and the violence looks grimmer against that expanse. The open country supplies little reassurance about the people occupying it. Henry Bumstead’s production design feels lived in, helping the cast seem at home in this unwelcoming West. Joel Cox’s editing gives the actors time to make confidence or hesitation register, although a few pauses feel overextended. Lennie Niehaus’s spare score is particularly well judged, leaving room for us to be disturbed instead of instructing us to get excited.
The film also takes the prostitutes’ claims to justice seriously, which stops its concern with male guilt from becoming self-pity. It is an important part of Peoples’ writing, and gives the story more to consider than whether a gunman can live with himself. The wronged women are entitled to ask what anyone intends to do for them. We value that insistence, even when the men’s fear and reputations command more attention.
Our reservation concerns the pleasure the film still takes in its gunmen. Eastwood is so compelling that the scrutiny of violence can begin to feel like another reason to admire the man capable of it. We caught ourselves admiring the danger, and we are not persuaded that the film always notices when it encourages that response. That is a real limitation, though it does not cancel the force of a Western which makes fear, ageing and the consequences of killing so difficult to brush aside.
Allow its 130 minutes an uninterrupted evening; its patience is worth meeting halfway. Anyone expecting brisk reassurance about good men with guns should choose something else. Watch Hackman closely, especially when it seems reasonable to let him have his way.
