Nicholas Ray’s 1954 film, Johnny Guitar, stands as a fascinating anomaly within the western genre. Far from the typical tales of rugged cowboys and gunfights, this movie delves into a complex gender drama fueled by obsessive personalities and simmering psychological tensions, all set against the backdrop of the American West. While Mercedes McCambridge delivers a chilling performance as the overtly villainous Emma Small, Joan Crawford’s Vienna is far from purely virtuous, her screen presence marked by a perpetual air of unease. This dynamic sets the stage for a film where traditional western heroism is questioned, and the power shifts dramatically to its female characters.
Vienna’s motivations are deeply intertwined with her sexuality and psychological fixations, manifesting in striking visual choices. The iconic climax sees her dressed entirely in white, a stark contrast to Emma’s ever-present black attire, visually representing their opposing forces. The male characters in Johnny Guitar Western narrative, notably Sterling Hayden as the titular Johnny Guitar, find themselves relegated to subordinate roles, their actions and decisions heavily influenced by the powerful wills of Vienna and Emma. Hayden’s Johnny, a guitar-playing stranger who pointedly avoids carrying a gun, embodies the deconstruction of the classic western hero. His famous line, “I’m a stranger here myself,” not only defines his detached persona but also perhaps mirrors director Nicholas Ray’s own outsider perspective within the Hollywood studio system.
This subversion extends to the other male figures in Johnny Guitar. The posse, despite their supposed authority, are shown to be ultimately subservient to Emma’s dictates, even when their compliance endangers lives. The Dancin’ Kid’s crucial decisions, including a bank robbery, are driven by his desperate desire for Vienna’s affection, highlighting the women’s control over the narrative’s direction. Both Johnny and the Kid are portrayed as unusually sensitive figures for the western genre, their creative pursuits – guitar playing and dancing – becoming integral to their identities. Crucially, they often defer to the female characters, allowing Vienna and Emma to dictate the course of events.
Echoing Scorsese’s observations on studio-era “theme-smugglers,” Johnny Guitar subtly weaves subversive elements past the censors. This 1954 production, a seemingly improbable Freudian western, is remarkably audacious for its time, a testament to Ray’s ability to push boundaries within the studio system. Beneath its genre trappings, the film reveals itself as a sensitive and vulnerable exploration of Ray’s recurring theme of the outsider.
Similar to Ray’s other works like In a Lonely Place, On Dangerous Ground, and Bitter Victory, Johnny Guitar presents characters grappling with uncomfortable truths, often apparent to those around them before they acknowledge them themselves. Ray masterfully employs innuendo to navigate plot points that remain unspoken or are yet to unfold, enriching character development through subtle accusations, emotional outbursts, and veiled implications.
Ray, renowned for his expressive use of architecture, recognized the potent symbolism of the horizontal line, particularly apt for a western setting. The film’s visual style is distinctly divided between its first and second halves, yet both sections are characterized by extensive panning shots. The latter half showcases breathtaking landscape photography, with Ray’s camera sweeping across snow-laden mountain roads and trails. Unusually for westerns, these scenes consistently incorporate signs of human presence – roads, farmhouses, paths – depicting a rural, inhabited landscape rather than untouched wilderness. This portrayal of remote yet populated tourist locales is rarely seen in cinema, contrasting with typical westerns that emphasize vast, untamed wilderness, and contemporary films that often favor either glamorous resorts or pristine wilderness areas.
However, intellectual admiration from film scholars and critics cannot fully mask Johnny Guitar‘s undeniable flaws. The acting, often described as overwrought and theatrical, and the melodramatic plotlines verge on kitsch. While many westerns achieve a sense of authenticity through understated, naturalistic performances, Johnny Guitar leans heavily into heightened emotions and stylized portrayals. The performances, while delivered by a cast of intriguing actors including Crawford, Hayden, and Ernest Borgnine, often feel strained and self-conscious. Despite these shortcomings, Ray’s skillful manipulation of montage and his tight control over the plot’s progression maintain audience engagement. Ultimately, Johnny Guitar remains a unique and enduring film, its unconventional approach allowing it to be reinterpreted and appreciated anew with each passing decade since its release, solidifying its place as a cult classic within the western genre.
