by C McGivern
He replied, “Yes, because I think it’s good for the country. We have a lot of people who were supposed to be great heroes, and you know damn well they weren’t. But it’s good for the country to have heroes to look up to.” Whilst he was talking about Fort Apache he could equally have been speaking about how the public perceived his protégé. He believed that in Duke he had created a hero for the country to look up to, it did not matter to him that it wasn’t a realistic vision, “Print the legend,” and relentlessly forge the ultimate figure of all Western mythology. Duke also naturally believed in the legend, “Hell! I think it’s kind of silly to put the cowboy on the psychiatrists couch. What’s the point in ruining people’s folklore? The cowboys laughed lustily, and they hated heartily. That’s the truth, and that is what I hope I showed. Remember, the man on horseback conquered the world. In those days life was a matter of survival, and sometimes you had to be a bit of a bastard to make it. I hope I showed that too.”
Captain York wasn’t Duke’s idea of a good part. He watched old friend Fonda strutting around and shouting a lot, Agar getting the girl, Victor McLaglen and Bond getting the humor, “All I had to do was quietly, and with whatever dignity I could, display a sense of honor, duty and service.” They were the crumbs Ford threw and he accepted them gratefully, knowing he would never be a star in the eyes of the genius. Still the film was praised by all as a classic western, and the critics loved his performance, describing him as powerful, forthright and exquisitely brave. There was no other recognition of his effort, he received no Oscar nomination.
After completing Fort Apache, Ford, Wayne and Fonda went off sailing together along the Mexican coast to relax. Duke hadn’t enjoyed working on the film, partly because he didn’t like his part, partly because of the trouble he was having with his wife, but also because he hadn’t got on with Ford’s brother, Eddie O’Fearna, who had been on location with them, and who made things more uncomfortable than usual. There had been an unusual amount of tension between cast and crew and little of the normal fun, and even Ford and Bond had argued a lot, with Ford calling Bond “big and double ugly” all the time. It had been hot and unbearably uncomfortable, with frequent high winds and desert storms.
Ford had been in a particularly difficult mood and Duke believed the physical conditions they encountered had a lot to do with his temper. As soon as they left Monument Valley Ford started drinking heavily and by the time they arrived in Mexican waters he was too drunk to leave the boat. Duke couldn’t relax and neither did he want to go home. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. It was time for another period of thorough self-examination and another change of direction.
Before embarking on Fort Apache he had started work with Howard Hawks on Red River, the film that finally established him as an actor, (when Ford saw the result of their collaboration he commented wryly, “I never knew the big son of a bitch could act!”) Duke was looking forward to getting back to the set where he felt appreciated. Hawks had been saying publicly that he couldn’t make this film without him and when he heard that he felt a little less sorry for himself and more confident about his long-term position in the industry.
At home things had deteriorated with Chata going out of her way to cause him as much public humiliation as possible. Like Ford, she knew exactly where to hit him, seeing quite clearly that his pride in his rugged masculinity was his Achilles heel. She played on his anxieties and aroused his jealousy at every turn, taking delight in storming out of the house mid argument to race off to a Hollywood bar where she knew she would be seen picking up strangers. Frequently she turned up in Las Vegas with a new lover in tow. It was important that he knew about her exploits, and she did her best to embarrass him, “I did love him, but he left me alone too often and I was lonely.”
And he still loved her. In the interludes between their fights he still knew moments of intense passion and tenderness toward her, but he was not so much in love that he would consent to making just one movie a year as she demanded. He wanted her, but on his own terms. Shades of his relationship with Josie, but in many ways it was worse for Chata. He wanted more children but their dream of starting a new family remained unfulfilled. She later used that as a slur on his manhood, telling anyone who would listen that age was the problem and that he was impotent. He continued to tell her that he would make just one more movie and then settle down with her to make babies. But films, and not Chata, were his destiny and he always had “just one more picture” to do. Nothing could stop him and he could never foresee the day when there would be no more films to make.
Offers flooded in. He had proved his worth as a money earner and by the second year of his marriage to Chata he was finally enjoying his position in the industry. His head told him it wasn’t going to be snatched away, but still, in his heart, he was never quite certain. He refused to take anything for granted and accepted most of the offers that came his way. As long as he was working he felt secure. The 1940’s was the decade of the Western in Hollywood, Stagecoach had reopened that territory, and Duke’s position within the genre was at an all-time high. He was recognized as the cowboy, and if a studio was going to spend millions making a Western, the first name that sprang to the producer’s mind was “John Wayne.” Having his name on the credits would guarantee the success of the movie, he would earn millions for them and he was always available. He grabbed every chance they offered with both hands. The work piled up as he took on more and more.
Although Chata was left further behind, his children became an increasingly important part of his life and, picture or no picture, he always made time for them. They were far more flexible than Chata, they made fewer demands and were more prepared to go on location with him. He enjoyed their company and liked having them around his film sets. Josie was happy to let them go with him too, she knew how lonely he had become and how much the kids lifted him. One or other of them generally accompanied him wherever he happened to be in the world, and as they went away with him more often, eventually, almost inevitably, the lives of his boys became enmeshed in his as they developed their own careers in the movie industry. Duke couldn’t have been happier or prouder as he began to share his greatest passion with them. Chata often objected about the time he spent with them, about the fun he shared with each, but even though she was jealous of their place in his heart, she was also finally aware that the movie industry was her biggest rival. He was fanatical about working, as he always had been, but now he began trying to justify his efforts by saying he had two families to support, debts and taxes to pay, a lifestyle to support. He never admitted, even to himself, that he slaved because he had to, because work was the love of his life. He couldn’t do anything about it, not even though it meant losing everything else that he cared about.
Before he had even seen the edited version of Fort Apache he was putting the finishing touches to Red River. Originally the film was to star Gary Cooper, but he had turned down the part of Tom Dunson at the last minute, believing the obsessed and cruel character wasn’t right for him. He had also probably noticed that Dunson was missing from the action for long periods. Cooper hadn’t been interested that Hawks planned turning the story into a classically complex saga about man’s relationships, territorial expansion, economic survival, about matters closely tied to the heart of capitalist America, nor that it would be an epic tale with all the panoramic scenery and beauty of the West. Hawks wanted to tell a story about the workings of the human heart, a tender love story and Duke thanked his lucky stars that Cooper didn’t like Dunson.
As soon as he saw the script he recognized the power of the character, and jumped at the chance. He loved the part and didn’t want Dunson softened up; he believed a westerner should be hard. He was, however, worried about Hawks, “You don’t make westerns sitting around a pool. I could see that what he knew about making a western didn’t amount to a pitcher of warm spit. He had a budget of a million and a half. I told him if he couldn’t get United Artists to spend at least two million five, he wou
ld never make this picture… hell they were thinking in terms of a blockbuster. Actually it cost three million, and grossed ten. Hawks wanted Cooper, and Grant to play Cherry. I was younger than the two of them, but he figured I could play the old man! Now his idea was the old man was senile and afraid, honestly that was his thinking. Hawks was an easy man to talk to, but as I sat listening to him in that first meeting, I thought “Christ, what have I got myself into?” I let it go that day, I didn’t want to say anything in front of everybody, so I waited till the following day then went in to see him and I asked if he’d been down Texas lately? Had he noticed how the older, stronger, top ranchers have more power and a dynamic personality as they reach maturity? They’re not puppy dogs. He wanted me to play an old man with grey hair, wrinkles and a shuffle. I was supposed to be tough and hard and walk like that? Hell, I was thinking about those old cattle guys that I knew, and there wasn’t one of them who didn’t stand tall. Mr Hawks said, “I get it Duke.” And I played Dunson my way. I wanted to show a man with some human weaknesses, but not a weak man. We did have a few fights about the scene where two fellas are supposed to stand up against me. Hawks said, “Now here’s your chance to go for the Oscar Duke.” I said, “I think its Academy Award stuff to play it that sure, I’m afraid of the two men, but for Chrissakes, I’ve been tested many times before this. You’ve had me play a strong man up to this point. I wouldn’t all of a sudden become a goddam coward. We also had a slight argument about the scene where the herd is taken from me. He wanted me to cringe… just slightly. Well, there was just no way John Wayne would ever cringe… even slightly. I told him, “Howard a man can kill, be mean and vicious, and still hold his audience, but let him show any sign of cowardice and he’ll be lost … I’m not about to cringe … ever. He accepted I knew what I was talking about. Didn’t have much trouble and I was always happy to work with him.”
Hawks listened and learned fast, at every step of production he was happy to take advice and instruction from the undisputed champion of the Western. On one occasion the director even continued shooting on the actor’s advice. A storm had blown up and it rained in the area for the first time in one hundred years, it was devastating weather, but Duke had learned his craft at Ford’s elbow, and he told Hawks the lightening would look good on film, and that the whole scene could be re-written to suit the shots they got. It produced some of the best work in the film, and despite the whole cast and crew suffering as a result, no production time was lost. After that Hawks allowed Duke to remain at his side where he worked as assistant director, writer, suggesting action sequences and stunts.
His most important contribution was teaching Montgomery Clift how to stage a fist fight so the climax would seem more realistic. Harry Carey Jr, who had a small part in the film, said, “Duke coached him a lot… I’m not sure how much notice Monty took, but Duke never gave up on him. Hawks handled us with kid gloves; he was nice and gave Duke a free hand. If Ford had seen Duke telling someone what to do he would have jumped all over him. But Duke didn’t want to out-John-Wayne Monty, he wanted that last scene to be honest. He knew he shouldn’t be able to intimidate him. I don’t think Duke was always right when he told other actors how to play things; he wanted everyone to be ballsy, like him. I’m sure he didn’t think Monty was tough enough, and he was right. He didn’t show much tact when he tried to improve things but between them they worked out a terrific scene.”
The film didn’t show Duke in a good light; Dunson is cold hearted and driven by ambition. He is filled with greed for land, is anxious to carry out his plans regardless of the cost, he can never admit he is wrong. He is a man scarred by the loss of the only woman he loved. She is killed in an Indian raid after he rides away from the wagon train, and he is forced to accept he had been wrong to leave her behind. After the success of Red River he often played characters scarred by loss or deception, a man who covers pain in obsessional behavior and by denial of his human needs. He played the role increasingly well, for in reality he was also personally scarred by his own losses and he too hid in his obsessive need to work. No one had to tell him about Tom Dunson, he understood him with the sharp clarity of self-awareness. Duke’s existence depended on his glittering career, a career based entirely on individual power and an ability to work harder and more single-mindedly than anyone else. Just like the tyrannical Dunson he could allow no human interference to stand in his way, he could wait for no one, could not slow down or stop. He knew everything there was to know about the complex Thomas Dunson who was full of contradiction, cruel, hard and mean. Duke knew he trod a fine line when he accepted the unusual part and he was not sure his traditional audience would accept him in it. He had to create a character that they could emphasize with; they had to care whether he lived or died in the final scene, if they had come to dislike him the climax would have been pointless.
He somehow pulled off a seemingly impossible task, eventually restoring the character of Dunson. His fans loved the performance, his risk paid off and the movie became a smash hit. When the reviews first came out Clift and Hawks were singled out for much praise, the film was considered great, but Duke’s part in it was completely overlooked. Once more the critics of the day missed what he brought to it, he was taken for granted and hardly rated a mention. That was how it had always been for him, and although he was getting used to it, he didn’t much appreciate it.
Many years later, critics admitted that only John Wayne could have played the role, “At all times he commands the viewer’s attention, even, as in the scene where Garth takes the cattle drive away from him, when he does nothing. His presence dominates the film, even in scenes from which he is absent. He is rock solid, slightly over the hill, unbending in his stated commitments and intentions, using that inflexibility to mask his insecurity and vulnerability.” Thomas Dunson or John Wayne? It didn’t matter, the two were one.
Although he had played the type before he had never breathed so much of himself into a part, never given so much of himself, never been such a fine actor. It was well worth the effort, despite the fact that the critics of the day ignored him, because he knew he had been accepted as an old man. Now he would be able to play the same role over and over again, and for the first time he knew his position as an actor was safe. Hawks used make-up to age him, but he knew that when he got to sixty he would still be able to play characters like Dunson. From Red River onward he knew he would be able to continue working in the movies.
Ford had created a star. Hawks established Duke as an actor and he came to play an increasingly important role in his future, “Hawks told me he couldn’t have made the film without me. Told the Press the same thing, and the only power I ever got was after Hawks made that film. Then people started saying, “Well maybe it isn’t just John Ford. Maybe Duke really can act.” The way I was really helpful was in getting the Russell and Remington pictures to him, and talking to him about different levels of movement, the cattle and the background action. But Hawks didn’t need Red River, he was already pretty established by then, I needed him though. After that I went from chasing girls to chasing cows. After that directors knew I could carry a film. I no longer had to be just part of a group. I started to make money because producers no longer wanted to spend money on other stars.”
Box-office was all that mattered in Hollywood; it represented power, fortune and a future if you made money for the studio. When one of the short sighted critics of the day wrote, “What gives?” as he wondered why, after twenty years, John Wayne’s career had suddenly taken off, John Ford offered the simplest of explanations, “Duke is the best actor in Hollywood, that’s all.” Gladwyn Hill, the feature writer, believed it was just that Duke was “Hollywood’s hardest working and least ostentatious star.” What actually gave was the simple fact that John Wayne was box-office gold. Throughout his twenty years in the business his movies had consistently made money. Unfortunately, the prevailing attitude of the day was that cowboy actors just weren’t actors at all, and no matter how much
money people paid to see THE cowboy, when the 1948 Academy Award nominations were announced, the name of John Wayne was nowhere to be seen, “Montgomery Clift was in Red River too, and they wanted to give that kid an Academy Award so bad they simply forgot about me. Clift was acting they said. Duke’s only playing himself. But Hell, I played an old man in that. And I was only forty.”
Hawks continued singing his praises, “The key to his acting style lies in his size and strength. He has so much physical power that his presence dominates the action of a scene, even when he is silent or static. He dominates the other actors and his least action can bowl over anyone else in the frame. I found out very early that you need a strong man up against him… and only the fact that Clift was so good kept Wayne from completely dominating the film. What makes Duke so good is his ability to control his strength. He is always physically aware of everybody else and everything else in the frame. He constantly measures himself against his environment. At the end of the film he had to walk through a herd of cattle, he looks directly ahead, not at the cattle, the movement of his body seems to control that of the herd. Nothing can stop him. The power of his walk comes from his uncontrollable obsession. It reflects the insanity of his stubborn determination to control the world about him. What made Red River so important for Duke was that it allowed him to unleash some of his natural power for the first time; it was power that had gone unnoticed before. I saw in him a latent capacity for brutality that Ford had not used, and did not until much later. He acts with the same brutality in some of his later films but never with the sustained intensity that he shows in my film. Red River gave him the confidence to use his own strength. He was a helluva lot better actor than he was ever given credit for, and it was hard for him to ever play a bad scene. He once asked me my theory on good acting and I told him, “Duke you do three or four good scenes and don’t offend the audience the rest of the time and people will say you’re a good actor.” Today when he says, “What’s comin’ up?” I say, “This is one of the ones where you’ll offend them … get it over as soon as you can … don’t do anything … And I guess that’s the secret of his talent … apparently not doing anything when he is actually dominating everything around him.”