Move over Hitchcock, Welles, Ozu, and Ophüls. While they may have crafted cinema’s technically greatest films, for movies that resonate with pure enjoyment, Howard Hawks reigns supreme. And of all Hawks’s beloved films, Rio Bravo, starring the iconic John Wayne, stands as his undisputed masterpiece. Forget Rio Lobo or even El Dorado, pale imitations in comparison. Discovering Rio Bravo is an experience best savored, much like a perfectly aged whiskey, demanding a relaxed afternoon or evening to fully appreciate its deliberate pace and rich character tapestry. This isn’t a quick-draw western; it’s a film that breathes, allowing tumbleweeds to drift across the dusty main street as deliberately as its plot unfolds. Yes, there are gunfights, bursts of action punctuating the narrative, but Rio Bravo also finds time for a captivating duet between the aging crooner Dean Martin and the fresh-faced pop idol Ricky Nelson, showcasing the film’s delightful blend of genres. And, true to Hawks’s signature style, expect dialogue – lots of it – dialogue that crackles with wit and reveals the depths of its characters.
Rio Bravo Photograph: Cine Text / Allstar/Sportsphoto Ltd. / Allstar
What Rio Bravo intentionally lacks in intricate plotting, it more than compensates for with character development and thematic richness. The premise is deceptively simple: John Wayne embodies Sheriff John T. Chance, tasked with holding a murderer in jail against the relentless pressure of the Burdette clan, determined to spring their kin before he can face justice. This straightforward setup, however, is a direct and deliberate response by Hawks to High Noon, a film he famously disliked. Hawks critiqued High Noon‘s protagonist, played by Gary Cooper, as weak, lamenting, “Gary Cooper ran around trying to get help and no one would give him any. And that’s rather a silly thing for a man to do, especially since at the end of the picture he is able to do the job by himself.”
In Rio Bravo, Hawks set out to do “the opposite.” Sheriff Chance isn’t alone, but the help he receives is far from conventional. His deputies are a motley crew: Dude (Dean Martin), a former sheriff grappling with alcoholism; Colorado (Ricky Nelson), a youthful, untested gunslinger eager to prove himself; Stumpy (Walter Brennan), a disabled, cantankerous but fiercely loyal old-timer; and Feathers (Angie Dickinson), a woman with a shadowed past seeking refuge. These characters, known more by their nicknames than formal titles, form the heart of Rio Bravo.
The intimate use of nicknames is crucial to understanding Hawks’s approach. These aren’t just characters; they are a makeshift family, bound by circumstance and developing loyalty. The audience is invited into their inner circle, forging a connection that makes us deeply invested in their fate. We root for Dude’s redemption, Colorado’s coming-of-age, Stumpy’s unwavering support, and Feathers’s search for a new beginning. Hawks masterfully creates a world where the central conflict isn’t just the external threat of the Burdette gang, but the internal struggles of each character. His films often explore the dynamic of professional groups, typically men, who must prove their worth, regain their self-respect, or find redemption through their actions within the group. Rio Bravo embodies this theme perfectly.
Dean Martin’s performance in Rio Bravo is a revelation, especially for those who only know him from his Rat Pack persona or comedic pairings with Jerry Lewis. Hawks recognized a depth in Martin, a “hunger” for the role that belied his public image of effortless cool. The scene where Dude confronts his alcoholism, pouring his “last” glass of whiskey back into the bottle without spilling a drop, is genuinely moving. It’s a subtle yet powerful visual cue that signifies his triumph over delirium tremens (DTs) and his readiness to stand alongside Chance in the impending showdown.
Similarly impactful is the scene where Feathers, having played a crucial role in saving Chance, breaks down in a mixture of relief and anguish. Her famous line, “We’re all fools,” resonates with a complexity that invites repeated viewing and analysis. Film critic Robin Wood, in his insightful BFI Film Classics monograph on Rio Bravo, describes Feathers’s dilemma as an “existential choice.” Her exclamation echoes a similar sentiment found in Charlie Chaplin’s Limelight, another film exploring themes of hope and meaning in the face of life’s absurdities. In Limelight, Chaplin’s aging comedian declares, “We’re all amateurs. We don’t live long enough to be anything else.”
Rio Bravo Photograph: Cine Text/Allstar/Sportsphoto Ltd./Allstar
The heart of Rio Bravo lies in the idea that meaningful friendships, forged and strengthened through shared experiences and conscious choices, are what give our lives substance. Walter Brennan’s Stumpy, often providing comic relief, mirrors his role in Hawks’s To Have and Have Not. In both films, he embodies unwavering loyalty to those who take a principled stand – against Nazis in the former and against a greedy land baron in Rio Bravo. Stumpy’s poignant line, “Four hundred and sixty acres might be little to you, Nathan, but it was a lot of country to me,” powerfully articulates his motivation and his deep connection to the land and his community.
Despite its thematic depth, Rio Bravo is far from a somber or preachy film. Hawks, a master of genre filmmaking, navigated everything from gangster films (Scarface) to science fiction (The Thing from Another World), film noir (The Big Sleep) to musicals (Gentlemen Prefer Blondes). His work often straddles the line between comedy and adventure, and Rio Bravo is a prime example of this delightful duality. Its seamless blend of tension and humor is a testament to Hawks’s directorial genius.
Similar to other Hawksian films like Only Angels Have Wings and To Have and Have Not, where danger lurks constantly in the background, Rio Bravo maintains a palpable sense of tension. Yet, it effortlessly transitions to moments of levity. Consider the scene where Wayne’s Chance, in a rare display of affection (or perhaps exasperation), mockingly kisses Stumpy after the old man complains about a lack of appreciation. Brennan’s reaction, whacking Wayne with a broom, is pure comedic gold.
Rio Bravo Photograph: kobal
Hawks also injects a playful sense of the “sex war” into Rio Bravo, particularly in Feathers’s determined pursuit of John T. Chance. In an era constrained by the Hays Code, Hawks ingeniously explores romantic dynamics and subtly subverts traditional gender roles. He delights in placing his male protagonists in awkward or humorous situations at the hands of their female counterparts, a recurring motif seen in Cary Grant in a dressing gown in Bringing Up Baby, Rock Hudson’s mishaps in Man’s Favourite Sport?, and Grant again in drag in I Was a Male War Bride. Hawks clearly relishes playing with Wayne’s stoic persona, showcasing Chance’s flustered reactions to Dickinson’s advances.
Rio Bravo is more than just a western; it’s a masterclass in entertainment, a pinnacle of Hollywood’s golden age. While Quentin Tarantino’s hyperbolic claim of testing girlfriends’ film taste with Rio Bravo might be extreme, his sentiment rings true. This is a film that invites repeated viewings, offering the comfort of revisiting old friends and a potent reminder of optimism’s enduring presence in art. For those seeking a truly rewarding cinematic experience, John Wayne Rio Bravo is not just a recommendation, it’s an essential film to discover and cherish.
