Hollywood’s depiction of minorities in general and Native Americans in specific has never been particularly good, and all too often it’s been downright racist. For decades, western movies depicted Native Americans as nameless savages bent on kidnapping children, raping women, and murdering perfectly nice white men. Never mind that those same white men initially invaded the Indigenous lands and perpetually did all they could to remove or destroy the Native Americans. As the 1940s stretched into the 1950s, some westerns began wrestling with their (and the country’s) racist past and tried to find ways to make some sort of recompense.
Buy Devil’s Doorway Blu-rayIn 1956, John Ford made The Searchers with John Wayne in which the typical John Wayne character’s implicit racism was made explicit. Then it explored how that type of character would deal with someone he loves “going native” as it were. It is often considered something of an apology from Ford and Wayne for how their previous films depicted Native Americans.
Four years earlier, Anthony Mann directed his first of many westerns with Devil’s Doorway. It was one of the few films from the time period that took the point of view of a Native American and looked directly at the racism he faced from white culture and the American government. Unfortunately, that character is played by the decidedly not Native American and very much white actor Robert Taylor. Presumably, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer wanted a known actor (Taylor was one of their biggest stars) to lead the film instead of an unknown Native American actor. Not that they would recognize the reason they didn’t have any major Native American actors on their payroll is they never gave any the chance.
When a movie is really good, I have no problem forgiving a wide variety of cultural sins, but in the case of Devil’s Doorway, it just isn’t good enough for me to get past that one glaring problem.
Taylor plays Lance Poole, a Shoshone Indian returning home from the American Civil War. He got along with his fellow white soldiers there and was even given a position of authority. He was awarded several medals including the Congressional Medal of Honor. He is a bona fide American Hero. He returns home to Montana feeling good about his lot in life. He truly feels the end of the war has brought his country together. Nobody will want another war and so they’ll forgive each other and prejudice will be a thing of the past. For a film about racism in America that takes place just after the end of the Civil War, it is strange that it never once mentions slavery. Perhaps the filmmakers figured audiences could only take on so much guilt at once.
Lance stops by a local saloon and is greeted warmly by the barkeep and Zeke Carmody (Edgar Buchanan) who will soon be elected marshal. They knew Lance as a child and watched him grow up. But Verne Coolan (Louis Calhern) is new in town, and a lawyer. He makes a few snide and subtly racist remarks under his breath. He will become the main villain of the film.
Lance then goes home only to find his father is dying. When he sends for the white doctor, he doesn’t come. He goes into town and the doctor tells him he’s got patients there and can’t afford to leave them. This is while he sits playing cards with Verne. This will not be the first sleight he’ll feel from his neighbors.
When Lance shows up at home, his hair is cut short and he’s still wearing his Union uniform. With the exception of his darker complexion, he could easily pass for a white man. His father and family, however, are decked out in traditional Indian clothes with long braided hair. As the film moves on and time passes, Lance becomes increasingly frustrated with his white countrymen and will begin to look more like his true self.
Though his family has lived and raised cattle on the same acreage for generations, they’ve never received an official deed. This causes the film’s major narrative crisis as a Homesteader’s Act will soon bring dozens of sheep ranchers to his property. They can legally make a claim for part of his land and obtain it. Wyoming is now an official territory of the United States, and as a Native American, he is no longer considered a citizen. He hires Orrie Masters (Paula Raymond) as his lawyer in hopes she can find some legal means of help. One of the film’s best scenes involves him realizing Orrie Master is a woman and her realizing he’s an Indian. They both have to take a long moment to decide that yes, they will work with each other.
But the law isn’t much help. White people make the laws and white people enforce the laws. Most white people don’t care a thing for their country’s indigenous tribes. Every time Lance loses a legal battle, he digs in further, and becomes less willing to make any compromise. The film concludes with an epic showdown.
As I write all this, I realize that the film has some interesting ideas. There is a lot you can think about and discuss. It’s just that the presentation fails to maintain one’s interest. A lot of the drama feels more like school than something actually interesting to watch. Robert Taylor gives a fine, nuanced performance, but I never once looked at him and didn’t see a white man in redface. Verne Coolan never comes off as more than a mustache-twirling villain, though some of the ranchers are given more nuance. Anthony Mann directs it with his usual verve and the cinematographer John Alton creates some beautiful black-and-white images. The big battle at the end is very well stage an uses a great deal of dynamite explosions.
There is enough to it to make the film worth watching, but not enough to forgive its casting. Certainly, it is historically noteworthy and admirable for a film of this time period to tackle a subject such as this. I just wish it had spent more time creating something interesting to watch.
Warner Archive presents Devil’s Doorway with a beautiful though not quite perfect looking 1080p transfer from several, not quite original elements (the original print was lost in a fire). Extras include a couple of animated shorts featuring Droopy and Tom & Jerry, plus the film’s trailer.
