The first encounter for many with the enigmatic “Johnny Guitar” might echo my own: amidst the dusty, irradiated landscapes of Fallout: New Vegas. Obsidian Entertainment’s RPG masterpiece, while vast, boasts a deliberately curated soundtrack, leading to certain tracks embedding themselves deeply into the player’s consciousness. Peggy Lee’s “Johnny Guitar,” penned specifically for the 1954 film of the same name, became one of those unforgettable earworms. Mr. New Vegas, the smooth-voiced AI DJ, would introduce it with a line that perfectly encapsulates the song’s essence:
Got a song for you right now that’s about a man that’s cold on the exterior, but deep down you know he’s a good man, and his name is Johnny Guitar.
While my musical lexicon may be limited, the song’s beauty is undeniable. Lee’s smoky vocals, intertwined with Victor Young’s masterful and melancholic composition, conjure a vivid sense of yearning and lost love. Its sparse instrumentation mirrors the desolate frontier of the Western genre, yet it pulses with a romantic undercurrent as poignant as any Douglas Sirk melodrama. In essence, the “Johnny Guitar Song” is a microcosm of the film itself: a Western cloaked in melodrama, and a melodrama disguised as a Western.
Initially met with critical indifference, except in France where François Truffaut hailed it as “the Beauty and the Beast of westerns,” Johnny Guitar is a complex cinematic tapestry ripe for interpretation. It’s a film brimming with explorations of gender roles, veiled allusions to the McCarthy era, simmering sexuality, and a distinct undercurrent of camp. Though predating the revisionist Western movement, it shares many of its subversive DNA. Its unique style might initially deter some, but for those willing to delve deeper, Johnny Guitar reveals itself as a genre masterpiece, anchored by its unforgettable theme song.
Sterling Hayden embodies an understated coolness as Johnny Guitar. The narrative unfolds with Johnny Guitar (Sterling Hayden) arriving at a remote saloon owned by the formidable Vienna (Joan Crawford), just as a stagecoach robbery occurs. We are then introduced to the charismatic yet shifty Dancin’ Kid (Scott Brady) and his entourage: the brutish Bart (Ernest Borgnine), the ailing Corey (Royal Dano), and the youthful Turkey (Ben Cooper). Their arrival is swiftly followed by an enraged posse, spearheaded by the zealous Emma (Mercedes McCambridge), whose brother perished in the robbery. Emma accuses The Kid’s gang, and Vienna by association, of the crime, fueled by the town’s resentment towards Vienna’s strategically located saloon, poised to profit immensely from an impending railroad. Town leader John McIvers (Ward Bond) grants them a mere twenty-four hours to vacate.
Despite the film’s title, Johnny is deliberately positioned as a peripheral figure – a masterstroke in subverting Western tropes. Hayden, with his effortless machismo, delivers the film’s stylized, sometimes heightened dialogue with an impeccable cool. His resonant voice and towering presence (at 6’5”) command attention, even when his character remains seemingly detached. This deliberate underplaying of the titular character further elevates the film’s unconventional nature, allowing other elements, including the haunting “johnny guitar song”, to take center stage.
Vienna, not Johnny, is the true nucleus of the narrative. With Joan Crawford at the helm, this is almost inevitable. Westerns, traditionally a masculine domain, often relegated women to the fringes – either as marginalized figures or stereotypical wives and mothers. While exceptions exist, they rarely hold pivotal roles. Johnny Guitar, however, was conceived as a vehicle for Crawford (who owned the book rights), ensuring Vienna’s centrality from the outset. Her real-life tension with McCambridge reportedly led to script revisions that amplified Vienna’s prominence, culminating in her demanding the climactic shootout, traditionally reserved for the male lead.
Crawford’s Vienna is a force of nature, a former saloon girl turned astute businesswoman who yields to no one. Her attire – trousers and a six-shooter – projects a masculine authority, while her vibrant scarves and tops, particularly her iconic red scarf and yellow shirt ensemble, inject a defiant femininity into the monochrome Western landscape. Vienna revels in her autonomy, issuing commands and engaging in flirtatious banter, yet she is not villainous. She displays fierce loyalty and treats her employees with respect. Her ambition is simply to secure her future when the railroad arrives. Her card dealer, Sam (Robert Osterloh), aptly summarizes her: “Never seen a woman who was more of a man. She thinks like one, acts like one, and sometimes makes me feel like I’m not.”
McCambridge’s portrayal of Emma is nothing short of volcanic. Her animosity towards Vienna permeates every line, every gesture, as she snarls, dismisses logic, and trembles with barely contained rage. Her off-screen feud with Crawford undoubtedly fueled this performance. The shot of Emma fleeing the burning saloon, a scene of pure cinematic intensity, encapsulates her destructive fury. While Vienna and The Dancin’ Kid share a romantic history, Emma’s obsessive hatred for Vienna transcends mere jealousy. Reading between the lines, Emma’s fixation on Vienna hints at repressed same-sex attraction, a tragic undercurrent driving her relentless pursuit of destruction.
The film subtly explores themes of same-sex attraction, a recurring motif within the Western genre, often veiled beneath the surface of male camaraderie. While male bonding doesn’t inherently equate to homosexuality, Westerns frequently depict men forming intense, intimate bonds, whether on arduous journeys or in combat. The Dancin’ Kid’s initial appraisal of Johnny is loaded with suggestive glances, and the ubiquitous gun-as-phallus symbolism further reinforces these undercurrents. A line spoken about Johnny – “That’s a lot of man you’re carrying in those boots, stranger! You know, there’s something about a tall man that makes people sit up and take notice” – speaks volumes without explicit declaration. This subtle exploration of unspoken desires adds another layer to the film’s rich tapestry.
And underpinning it all is that phenomenal script. The dialogue in Johnny Guitar crackles with wit and subtext. Countless memorable lines punctuate the film, but a few standouts include:
Johnny: There’s nothin’ like a good smoke and a cuppa’ coffee. You know, some men got the craving for gold and silver. Others need lotsa’ land, with herds of cattle. And then there’s those that got the weakness for whiskey, and for women. When you boil it all down, what does a man really need? Just a smoke and a cup of coffee.
Dancin’ Kid: I like you, Guitar Man. How’d you like to work for me?
Johnny: I wouldn’t.
Dancin’ Kid: Now all of a sudden I don’t like you.
Johnny: Now that makes me real sad.
Dancin’ Kid: How’d Turkey take it? Hard?
Johnny: You ever know anyone to take a hangin’ easy?
But the apex of the film’s dialogue, and perhaps its most iconic scene, is the “Lie to me” exchange. This moment embodies the film’s melodramatic heart, with Hayden and Crawford’s words weaving a delicate dance of veiled emotions, underscored by Victor Young’s swelling score. It’s heightened performance, prioritizing romantic intensity over stark realism – pure cinema at its most potent. The setting, Vienna’s saloon, an artificial construct built against a vibrant red rock backdrop, further enhances the scene’s otherworldly quality. Director Nicholas Ray prioritized feeling over logic, and in this scene, that emotional resonance is palpable, mirroring the emotional depth of the “johnny guitar song” itself.
Conversely, the lynching scene evokes a different set of powerful emotions: fear, hysteria, disgust. Offered a chance to save himself by falsely implicating Vienna, Turkey’s desperate plea, “What should I do? I don’t want to die. What do I do?” is heartbreaking. Vienna’s chillingly pragmatic response, “Save yourself,” seals Turkey’s fate. His subsequent betrayal of Vienna to appease the mob earns him not salvation, but the noose – a stark allegory for the Hollywood blacklist and the pervasive McCarthy-era paranoia. This scene, like the “johnny guitar song,” resonates with a deep sense of unease and the fragility of justice.
The film’s visual splendor, captured in sumptuous Trucolor, allows the vibrant set and costume design to truly explode off the screen. The sky has arguably never appeared so intensely blue. Coupled with a cast of compelling characters, razor-sharp dialogue, that unforgettable “johnny guitar song,” and an overall strangeness that sets it apart, Johnny Guitar solidifies its status as a genre-bending masterpiece. My initial fascination with the film, sparked by that radio track in Fallout: New Vegas, has only deepened over time. Like cherished comfort food, Johnny Guitar nourishes the soul and satisfies a cinephile’s cravings like few other films can. It’s a film – and a song – to be revisited endlessly.
