Westerns and The Magnificent Seven (2016) Remake *Spoilers*

I don’t like westerns. My dad has been trying to convince me for years to partake of the genre citing films like The Fastest Gun Alive (1956), The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962), Stagecoach (1939), The Searchers (1956), Vera Cruz (1954), and, of course, The Magnificent Seven (1960), as some of the greatest movies ever made in an attempt to get me interested in the genre. I’ve watched a few of these since – including My Darling Clementine (1946), Johnny Guitar (1954), and McCabe and Mrs. Miller (1971) as part of a film course – and I am sorry to say that they haven’t been successful in changing my impression of the genre. Although I will admit that I enjoy reading academic writing about westerns because the genre is so well-studied, it’s become really easy to talk about the genre’s syntactic and semantic tropes and formulas being adhered to or subverted.

So in preparation for this post (that I’m writing having come fresh from watching The Magnificent Seven (2016) remake which I will henceforth call Seven), I decided to grit my teeth and watch a couple of westerns last night with my dad, namely The Magnificent Seven (1960) (which I will henceforth call Magnificent, not because it is, but because it’s better than Seven), and High Plains Drifter (1973). Just, by the way, the latter is now one of my better liked westerns… right up there with Tombstone (1993) (which I know you’re all judging me for right now…).

Before I begin digging into this remake with just my personal thoughts on it, I want to say that there is a point to why I’m giving you this laundry list of films I’ve watched before. It’s because I think they have all served to colour my impression of this remake in some way, shape or form. So without further ado, here’s my two cents on this remake!

The Magnificent Seven (2016)

Let’s start with the obvious – the climactic gunfight – because what’s a western without a badass gunfight? I guess I both like and dislike that they changed up the climactic gunfight sequence. I liked it because they couldn’t very well do the same thing as the original without being criticised for just rehashing an old classic. And, there was definitely some thoughtfulness to the way they amped up the violence and the scale of the final clash by pitting 7 legit gunmen and a town of passable shooters against a veritable army of hired gunmen owned by the mining company. The choice to open fire on friend and foe alike with the Gatling gun also literalised the indiscriminate violence unscrupulous modern companies sometimes wreck on the little people – this being whether you’re a hired hand or a mark. This makes the film a sign of its times in terms of how it opts to demonise big companies, a key difference from Magnificent, which featured the seven fighting against bandits.

What I didn’t like about this reimagining of the final gunfight is similar to what Brian Lowry, who wrote the CNN film review for the film, described as Seven being a “blown up and lobotomised” version of the original “for an audience weaned on the ‘Fast and Furious’ movies.” Except that I see more similarities between this film and the slew of successful superhero films. Every one of the seven seems to have a special look, feature or signature move and the only acceptable conclusion to the film is a wasteland of collateral damage.

From this observation I wanna raise two other points. Firstly, this idea of boiling a character down to a look like with Red Harvest (Martin Sensmeier) and Jack Horne (Vincent D’Onofrio):

Or a feature with Billy Rocks (Lee Byung-hun):

With these three characters, their motivations to join Chisolm (Denzel Washington) in protecting Rose Creek were a mystery. Now before you say anything, I get that character motivations were equally unclear in the original. However, there was always a sense that they were driven by the essence of their beings as gunmen-for-hire and that if they didn’t take the job, they would take another very much like it. Conclusion? They might as well take the low-paying job to protect a village from bandits and do something good at the same time. This sentiment is a carry over from Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (1954) which was about the samurai class as a dying breed.


Unlike in Magnificent, however, it is genuinely unclear why Red Harvest agrees to join them. Or how Jack Horne and Red Harvest can even stand to look at each other given that Horne used to catch, kill and scalp Native Americans for money! The only reason I could come up with for why Jack Horne is a character at all is that he is a trope of the western genre. Like John Wayne’s Ethan Edwards from The Searchers (1956), he is the white man whose hate for the Native American Other has twisted and contorted his moral character to fit the form of the imaginary savage he despises.

(I couldn’t find a video of Edwards scalping Scar but he does… just looking it up.)

I can make this seeming leap in logic because the reference to scalping is a clear reference to the shock and horror audiences experienced when they witnessed Edwards scalp Scar (Henry Brandon) offscreen in the John Ford western classic. But this sort of condensation of a key moment in the history of the development of the western genre into the costuming of a character coupled with a throwaway line about scalping fails to encapsulate the poignancy of its original instance that was thick with meaning. Instead it’s more like a thin distillation of the barest essence of a classic western packaged in some very lazy script-writing.

It is also unclear why Billy follows Goodnight (Ethan Hawke) around or agrees to stay after he leaves. It’s safe to say that the only real reason why an Asian and a Native American (and a black and a Mexican) are on the same team, is so Josh Faraday (Chris Pratt) can point out that they are. While the flip in having the minorities save the white folk instead of seven white men saving a poor agrarian Mexican village is a good idea, this cast of minority misfits needs to be more than a mere cosmetic change. They should have had meaningful moments of characterisation that added depth to their characters instead of throwaway lines of banter that only gave audiences the facsimile of camaraderie between the seven.

While we’re on the issue of characterisation, it’s not like the writers – True Detective (2014-2015) veteran Nic Pizzolato; and the writing chops behind The Equalizer (2014), Richard Wenk – were incapable of doing it properly. There is a way to begin a character arc with a cosmetic feature like a signature move and then have that go on to mean something more. They certainly achieved this with Faraday. Without giving too much away, his sleight of hand magic card tricks that rely on misdirection is a signature move that accrues meaning every time they make an appearance onscreen.


To tie characterisation back to the second point I wanted to make, I think the film missed a really poignant part of the western with the ending. My feeling this way is probably because the last film I watched before this one was High Plains Drifter, and that was really dark and pessimistic. (Exactly the kind of stuff I relish… I’m a total 70s and 80s film gal when everybody was angry with everything and made really dark and depressing films…)

Anyway, there was a great moment of ambiguity at the end where we get a real sense of Chisolm’s motivation (something we never got of Yul Brynner’s Chris Larabee Adams). In an attempt not to spoil what happens in this one moment of the story that actually made me sit up and pay attention, all I can say is that this is not a good man. His reasons for helping this town were not pure. And both town and fellow gunmen were caught in the cross-hairs of his quest for vengeance. The fact that the entire job was nothing more than a vehicle for vengeance really should have been pushed more because therein lies the essence of the cowboy – the element of untamed wilderness that rides into civilisation to solve their problems with a violent reckoning that only he is capable of, only to be shunned and to leave again because he does not belong and is incapable of being a part of civilised society.


Remember how I said there was collateral damage? Lots and lots of it? Akin to a superhero movie?  There was so much of it kinda made you wonder if there was anything left of the town to save. To my eyes, there wasn’t. Just like in the ending of High Plains Drifter. Yet, they thanked Chisolm and the surviving gunmen when they left. Why? Why didn’t Emma Cullen (Haley Bennett) say anything about Chisolm’s true motivations? Did she know/hear him give voice to them? It would have been a so much more satisfying if the film had indicated that she knew and had an opinion about what she overheard, about how he essentially exploited her town’s vulnerable circumstances to execute a personal vendetta. Instead, all this lovely complexity and ambiguity was swept aside for a long drawn out sequence of townsfolk thanking them, burying the deceased number of the seven like they were heroes with soft music playing in the background.

It was a real missed opportunity to raise the level of storytelling, methinks. And I really felt it in my gut. As in this was the strongest impression I had of the film and I just can’t stop thinking about how I’ve been cheated out of a really good ending because it had such potential…

The Nice Guys (2016)

As part of bringing this blog out of its unannounced one month hiatus (due to personal reasons like traipsing around the US with my mum in tow as part of my MA grad trip), I would like to kick off a new set of film reviews/discussions/critiques with a closer look at Shane Black’s The Nice Guys (2016). In this film, Black, also known for his other film noir-comedy cross-genre film, Kiss Kiss Bang Bang (2005), flips some of the film noir genre conventions on its head to produce a wonderfully complex film text.

Firstly, what sort of genre conventions are we talking about?

Some of the syntactic features of the genre that we’re looking at include:

  1. The detective figure who need not necessarily be a police detective but performs the role of the detective in that s/he pieces together fragments of information/evidence into a coherent narrative
  2. The two women in the case – the damsel in distress and the vamp who oftentimes swap places as the narrative unfolds
  3. And the two seemingly unconnected cases that intersect at some point
  4. Narrative form: First person voiceovers + story presented as a flashback or in retrospect

Some of the semantic concerns that permeate the genre, depending on how the narrative is resolved, include:

  1. The tension between order and chaos. As an ordering force and a narrating/narrator figure, the success of the detective figure often indicates the film’s larger message about whether there is a presiding sense of order or chaos in the larger society beyond the confines of the narrative film.
  2. Appearance Vs Reality in which things are oftentimes not what they appear to be
  3. The (un)knowability of the past
  4. Humanism: the ability of man (as represented by the the detective) to prevail over his baser nature/adversity by sticking to the facts and being rational

There are, of course, other syntactic and semantic conventions of the genre, and these lists are not exhaustive.

True to its roots in detective fiction, Nice Guys, deals in both murder and political intrigue because these have the largest potential to tear apart the social fabric in a manner that demands immediate attention and resolution from the detective figure (Brownson 13).

However, unlike typical film noir and detective fiction, the uncovering of the crime is not achieved through rational deduction, but by almost pure accident with the film’s only licensed PI, Holland March (Ryan Gosling), literally falling on clues that advance the narrative in major ways. The other 2 detective figures in the narrative, Jackson Healy (Russell Crowe) and March’s daughter, Holly (Angourie Rice), take their jobs a little more seriously but are no less comical.

This sort of accidental discovery and advancement of the narrative suggests that luck and narrative coincidence have a larger role to play than rationality in the uncovering and resolving of the cases. Thus, even though by the end of the narrative both murder and political intrigue are resolved satisfactorily, the film has more of an air of wish-fulfillment than the genre’s usual conviction to demonstrating man’s ability to overcome adversity and temptation through sheer force of will and commitment to rationality.

This problematizes (or at least it should) the audience’s enjoyment of the film. The neatness of the narrative conclusion that is found both satisfying and pleasurable is ill-begotten. This defaulting to narrative coincidence for resolution is echoed in the way other film noir conventions are treated:

  1. the vamp is the damsel in distress – meaning there is no true innocent in this narrative
  2. the more effective detective figure is Healy who represents brute strength rather than March who is suppose to be the more experienced, intellectual half of the duo, but frequently arrives at the wrong conclusion – representing the failure of rationality
  3. Murder as symptom to a larger problem – systemic corruption. This elision of the value of the individual is also reflected in the film’s fast-pace and flippant handling of death/murder. This is seen in the opening sequence with Misty’s death pose as a parody of her centerfold spread and March’s accidental discovery of Sid Shuttuck’s corpse.
    • Furthermore, the taking down of a single culprit does little to dismantle the widespread corruption the narrative points to even though the star power coalesced in the actor picked to play the role provides the veneer of this move being sufficient
  4. the fact that truth comes in the form of an adult film that people can barely stand to look at – a metaphor for how the truth is ugly/embarrassing and people can’t stand to look at it or would rather not face it

It is also very telling that the villainous force in the film is Big Corporations in cahoots with dirty politicians rather than criminal individuals. This points towards the current climate of great distrust for the larger systems in society that were suppose to safeguard us from exploitation but have failed to do so (See Fiscal Movies – A Long View).

Thus even though the film concludes happily, we are not given any reliable heroes we can count on. Instead, we are asked to take it on faith alone that we can get to this peaceable resolution when reality has already proven that there is no benign authorial force out there to manoeuvre us into such neat endings. Hence, by forcing the audience to rely on narrative coincidence for a happy ending in a film noir, man’s lack of control over his own fate is felt most acutely.


Brownson, Charles. The Figure of the Detective. Jefferson, North Carolina: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2014.