Out With a Bang

How Jesse James met his maker but kept his legend alive.

by Shaun Brady

Recommended

HOT SHOT: Brad Pitt gives a remarkably low-key performance as the infamous gunslinger. (CLICK IMAGE FOR LARGER VERSION)

Completed nearly two years ago and held up in post-production limbo, The Assassination of Jesse James has finally emerged, surprisingly intact. For a studio expecting a shoot-'em-up Western (oh, how Warner execs must have looked upon 3:10 to Yuma with envy), Andrew Dominik's lyrical meditation on fame and infamy, clocking in at close to three hours, came as a panic-inducing shock. But even after extensive tinkering by producers Brad Pitt and Ridley Scott, with a reported three different cuts being screened for test audiences, the film shows few scars and still has plenty of breathing room at 160 minutes.

That length is essential to the piece, as uncomfortable silences are the very sinews that hold the thing together. The film itself seems to need frequent pause for reflection as it watches an era mythologize itself in between its dying gasps. Though formally it couldn't be any further from Dominik's brash, assertive debut feature, Chopper, both share a sense of being filtered through the lens of their main characters. Chopper's over-the-top stylization was the direct influence of its self-aggrandizing subject. Assassination is even more impressive in that it's molded by the world views of two distinct characters.

Brad Pitt's Jesse James and Casey Affleck's Robert Ford are alone in their realization that their way of life is passing, surrounded by near-bestial men scrambling to survive on the brink of extinction. Pitt's remarkably low-key performance is so striking that he's a constant presence, even during the long stretches when he's offscreen. His Jesse James is used up at 34, realizing that his best days are behind him, a loving husband and father who can't bear the thought of settling down. He's a "live fast, die young" icon who neglected to die, forced now to live as the embarrassing reality next to his own legend.

He is, in fact, a rock star still singing "I hope I die before I get old" long after it's too late to do so. That image is reflected in the film's depiction of the latter-day James Gang, a pale reflection of its former self. Only a morose Jesse and his crotchety elder brother, Frank, remain from the outfit's glory days, surrounded by a batch of uncouth replacements that suggest a reunion tour where the frontmen are backed by studio hacks who nail all of the right notes but none of the feel. Pitt tinges his natural charisma with bitterness, as if Jesse realizes his charm is wasted on this bunch and is only going through the motions.

Into their midst wades Robert Ford, a frontier stalker with a cigar box full of James Gang memorabilia under his bed. At one point Pitt asks Affleck, "Do you want to be like me or do you want to be me?" and Affleck perfectly captures that mix of idol-worship and lust, at once timid and powermad. Affleck's voice seems to escape from his throat like air from a deflating balloon, as if he's trying to swallow his words back as soon as he's uttered them; at the same time, his eyes are ravenous, observing all and hoping to eventually pull the strings. The mouthful of a title, in fact, could be read as the title of the dime-store novel envisioned by this glory-seeking but conflicted would-be assassin.

Pitt recognizes this, and if the details of the titular murder are drawn from the historical record, the interpretation is pure speculation. From the time they meet, James and Ford enter into a compact, realizing where it all must end. It's as if they know the inevitable implied by the film's title as well as we do, and simply dance around each other until both are resigned to their fates. Possessed of a justifiable but consuming paranoia, Jesse is weary of looking over his shoulder. Frequently shown staring off to the horizon, he's obviously decided to choose his fate, and if Ford is misguided enough to believe that a bullet can transfer adoration, then he may as well become the engine of that fate.

Dominik's feel for nature recalls that of Terrence Malick, his impressionist landscapes suggesting that the old West has become the end of the world — barren, cold and desolate. Reinforcing the idea that the world is evolving beyond these outlaws, much of their time is spent outdoors, their rudimentary dwellings usually dilapidated and on the verge of decaying back into the dirt. Only Jesse's home suggests the complacency of modern civilization, and whenever he enters that house, his eyes take on the wistful air of one who desires but can't share in the life it promises.

Cinematographer Roger Deakins and Dominik employ a muted palette, as though reality was rapidly fading into sepia-toned photographs. They've created a gothic Western that unfolds in plays of light and dark, a dichotomy complicated by the fact that their two leads could occupy either hue at any given time.

(s_brady@citypaper.net)

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford

Directed by Andrew Dominik

A Warner Bros. Pictures release