The Lusty Men
A nicely detailed presentation of a milieu, with some quite good scenes, but what this is really about is a group of three adults, each of whom is responsible for the decisions they make, but who do not all want the same thing. The problem is that Arthur Kennedy’s “Wes” essentially never shows any real care towards his wife, Susan Hayward’s “Louise”, yet, despite the clear attraction, rising sexual tension and building of feeling between the latter and Robert Mitchum’s “Jeff”, clearly in 1952 it is not yet possible for a woman to just make the adult decision to leave her husband because she wants to pursue a different life. The upshot is that Jeff must die so the marriage can live, a disappointingly tepid and empty conclusion.
Admittedly, this runs counter to the positive (and interesting) reading by Pippin (2010), pp. 147–55, which ends with the following:
“Jeff gives up everything for Louise and for what Louise wants, a home. With the way that gesture is treated […] there is a kind of affirmation by Ray that Jeff’s sacrifice was worth it, that there is nothing petty or small-minded or cowardly about what Louise wants. It is worth wanting; it is especially worth giving up what Wes has been chasing, what has become a mere commercialized simulacrum of the Western self-image. It is what the various foundings depicted by Westerns were for, and so it is worth what so many films suggest must be sacrificed to achieve: vainglory, a putative radical independence and self-reliance, supposedly masculine virtues, an honor code. It is a theme one often sees in Ford, but, as noted, Ford deals only with the idealized promise of such a future, and one might see this last gesture as Ray’s confirmation that Ford was right. Most great Westerns, that is, are about the end of the way of life pictured and sometimes glorified in film, and while the transitions they depict can be confusing, multidimensional, and hard to assess, there are few documents of American self-understanding in which the issues are posed in a more gripping and compelling way than in Westerns or in ’end of the Western’ films like Nicholas Ray’s The Lusty Men (154–55).“
So for Pippin, the film seems to be taking Louise’s wishes seriously, but for me, the sacrifice is not just by Jeff (Pippin interprets his death as intentional, as an act he carries out for her sake), and by Wes (abandoning his dreams of glory and the easy life), but by Louise, too, that is, the sacrifice of her desire, and it’s not because she loves the dream of being a homemaker so much, it’s because she’s not allowed to want other things: husband Wes’s ordinary desire to “kiss a little blonde” has no female equivalent, let alone the possibility of turning Louise’s real attraction to Jeff into some other kind of life. Carol Nugent as Dusty and Eleanor Todd as the sluttish Babs (the little blonde) both make an impression in their small roles.
Admittedly, this runs counter to the positive (and interesting) reading by Pippin (2010), pp. 147–55, which ends with the following:
“Jeff gives up everything for Louise and for what Louise wants, a home. With the way that gesture is treated […] there is a kind of affirmation by Ray that Jeff’s sacrifice was worth it, that there is nothing petty or small-minded or cowardly about what Louise wants. It is worth wanting; it is especially worth giving up what Wes has been chasing, what has become a mere commercialized simulacrum of the Western self-image. It is what the various foundings depicted by Westerns were for, and so it is worth what so many films suggest must be sacrificed to achieve: vainglory, a putative radical independence and self-reliance, supposedly masculine virtues, an honor code. It is a theme one often sees in Ford, but, as noted, Ford deals only with the idealized promise of such a future, and one might see this last gesture as Ray’s confirmation that Ford was right. Most great Westerns, that is, are about the end of the way of life pictured and sometimes glorified in film, and while the transitions they depict can be confusing, multidimensional, and hard to assess, there are few documents of American self-understanding in which the issues are posed in a more gripping and compelling way than in Westerns or in ’end of the Western’ films like Nicholas Ray’s The Lusty Men (154–55).“
So for Pippin, the film seems to be taking Louise’s wishes seriously, but for me, the sacrifice is not just by Jeff (Pippin interprets his death as intentional, as an act he carries out for her sake), and by Wes (abandoning his dreams of glory and the easy life), but by Louise, too, that is, the sacrifice of her desire, and it’s not because she loves the dream of being a homemaker so much, it’s because she’s not allowed to want other things: husband Wes’s ordinary desire to “kiss a little blonde” has no female equivalent, let alone the possibility of turning Louise’s real attraction to Jeff into some other kind of life. Carol Nugent as Dusty and Eleanor Todd as the sluttish Babs (the little blonde) both make an impression in their small roles.
Mini Review: Nicely detailed presentation of a milieu, about three adults who are each responsible for their decisions. The problem is that Wes essentially never shows any real care towards his wife Louise, yet, despite the clear attraction, rising sexual tension and building of feeling between the latter and Jeff, clearly in 1952 it is not yet possible for a woman to just make the decision to leave her husband, the upshot being that Jeff must die so the marriage can live, a disappointingly empty conclusion.