The Comancheros Blu-ray delivers stunning video and great audio in this excellent Blu-ray release
Texas Ranger Jake Cutter arrests gambler Paul Regret, but soon finds himself teamed with his prisoner in an undercover effort to defeat a band of renegade arms merchants and thieves known as Comancheros.
John Wayne personifies the western genre. He simply does. Sure, there are other contenders—Clint Eastwood, Henry Fonda, Errol Flynn, Robert
Redford—but none can touch The Duke for near-mythic stature. A rugged, economical, and often surprisingly funny actor—in his own wry, one-liner-
delivering way—Wayne is an American icon, one of most indelible screen presences of all time. There are several "classic" John Wayne movies that
spring immediately to mind—like The Searchers, Rio Bravo, True Grit, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance, and 1939's
Stagecoach—but what's amazing about Wayne is that even his "lesser" films are a blast to watch. There are precious few outright duds in The
Duke's prolific 50-year career, and one of the joys of going through his filmography is in exploring the less-celebrated, but no less entertaining movies
he made. The Comancheros falls into this category. Although it may not rank among even the top twenty of Wayne's films, it's a gorgeous
Cinemascope western with a pleasing story, several memorable performances, and no shortage of guns a'blazin' action.
The film opens in New Orleans, 1843, where professional gambler and all-around rogue Paul Regret (Stuart Whitman) has just won a duel. His now-
dead opponent charged that Regret had stolen away his woman, but Regret is such an accomplished ladies' man that he doesn't even remember the
name of the lass for whom he was fighting. The arbiter of the duel, after pronouncing the winner, drops some unfortunate news—
the man Regret just killed was a judge's son, which means a hangin' is in order. Regret flees to the Republic of Texas on a riverboat, and it's here
that he first sets eyes on the mysterious Pilar Graile (Ina Balin), the one woman who seems capable of taming his wild heart. She seduces him, but
the next morning, Texas Ranger Jake Cutter (John Wayne) slaps cuffs around Regret's wrists with the intent of extraditing him back to Louisiana.
Regret obviously wants to escape—and he does, a couple of times—but The Comancheros is a kind of prototypical buddy movie, so we know
his and Cutter's paths will re-cross and eventually merge.
In the grand tradition of buddy films, the two can't stand each other at first. Cutter sees Regret as a no-good, citified dandy—the kind of fool who
doesn't know that you shouldn't let a hot horse drink water—and he takes to calling him "Monsieur." Only, Cutter, in true Texas fashion, pronounces
it "Mon-sewer," a running gag throughout the film. Mon-sewer earns Cutter's respect, though, when he helps defend a small outpost
against a raiding band of Comancheros—Hispanic traders who did business with the Comanche tribe—and the two join forces to infiltrate a
Comanchero village ruled by a cruel, wheelchair-bound madman (Nehemiah Persoff). The despot's daughter, conveniently, happens to be
Pilar.
Remote and violent, the short-lived independent Republic of Texas—which only existed between 1836 and 1846—was no easy place to eek out a
living. The southern border was still disputed by Mexico, Comanche warriors frequently pillaged and burned white settlements, and the three-way
racial tension would eventually result in the Mexican-American war. As a setting for a western—a genre inherently about the bitter, hardtack life on
the dangerous frontier—you couldn't ask for better. And yet, The Comancheros doesn't fully take advantage of it. While the story moseys
along at a comfortable amble, the narrative never really finds its direction, leaving us with an enjoyable but undeniably episodic movie that almost
seems like a series of short films. We rarely get the sense that we're "building" toward any kind of conclusion. Even the finale, a large-scale battle
between the Texas Rangers and the Comancheros, seems anticlimactic. This would be the final film for Michael Curtiz—the Hungarian-born director
who worked within the studio system to create classics like Casablanca and The Adventures of Robin Hood—and as his battle with
cancer progressed, he increasingly handed off the directorial reigns to his leading man, John Wayne, who supposedly called the shots for nearly half
of the film. While this isn't the main source of the movie's slightly disjointed quality, it probably contributed.
Nonetheless, there are so many great scenes in The Comancheros that it hardly matters. This isn't a "serious" western—it's not overtly
moralizing or political, like many wild west films, nor especially violent—rather, it seems eager-to-please, with a lighthearted manner, a touch of
sentiment, and a fair share of comedy. The best sequence in the film involves a pre-fame Lee Marvin as Tully Crow, a mildly psychotic gunrunner
whose entire history as a character is spelled out in his scarred, ravaged scalp. Clearly, he's been on the receiving end of an Indian ax. Marvin is
ridiculously good here, walking a thin line between comically drunk and genuinely threatening. When the tension ratchets up during a friendly poker
game with an undercover Cutter and a few other saloon hounds—including the recently escaped Regret—we have no idea what Crow might do.
Marvin is only in the film for a few minutes, but he leaves one of the biggest impressions. Other recognizable character actors pepper the film too,
from Guinn "Big Boy" Williams and Bruce Cabot, to Jack Elam as "Horseface" and Edgar Buchanan as the not-so-honorable Judge Thaddeus Jackson
Breen. And while Ina Balin is a true beauty playing the seductress Pilar, it's a shame the character's romance with Regret feels shoehorned-in and
underwritten. The real relationship here is the bond of mutual mistrust that exists between Cutter and Regret, a bond that gradually gives way to
good-natured affection. Whitman is just dandy as the womanizing city-slicker, but all eyes are on John Wayne, who—as always—exudes virtuous
masculinity. Cutter sums it up best. "I've got what you might consider a weakness…I'm honest."
I have to say; I wasn't expecting the film to look this beautiful on Blu-ray. 20th Century Fox has delivered a restored and remastered 1080p/AVC-
encoded transfer that truly does justice to William H. Clothier's sun-soaked Cinemascope cinematography. The first thing that struck me is how
immaculate the print is. Specks or flecks of any kind are few and far between, and there's no larger print damage whatsoever. Clearly, the studio took
the time to give whatever source materials they used a proper clean-up. Thankfully, though, they stopped well short of trying to scrub all the filmic
texture out of the image or give it unnecessary digital tweaks. Grain is wholly intact, and excess edge enhancement is nowhere to be found. There's
some source-related softness from time to time—as you'd expect—but on the whole, there's a tremendous bump in clarity from the DVD edition of the
film. Weather-beaten faces and leather vests, craggy rocks and the bad make-up job on Lee Marvin's scalp—all yield sharper, better-resolved textures.
Color is also incredibly vibrant, from the pale blue skies and dusty orange terrain, to punchier hues like Pilar's cherry-red blouse and crimson curtains
inside the riverboat. Skin tones are consistently tanned, black levels are deep without sacrificing too much shadow detail, and although there are a few
instances where highlights run a little hot, contrast is nicely balanced. Aside from some minor color fluctuations around scene changes and brief flickering
in a few scenes there are no real print-related issues worth pointing out, and compression isn't a problem at all. This is certainly the best the film has
ever looked, and I think it'd be tough to make any future improvements.
Fox has included the film's original 4-channel audio in Dolby Surround, but you'll want to stick with the disc's default—a newly-minted DTS-HD Master
Audio 5.1 surround track—if solely for the added clarity the lossless mix offers. Comparing the two, the DTS-HD track has a dynamic range that's both
brighter and deeper, with less of a muddled mid-range. Of course, the film still sounds its age—not a lot of bass response, highs that can be somewhat
brash, and effects that sound somewhat limp compared to today's LFE-activating sound design—but I don't think anyone could complain. Gunshots have
adequate punch, horse hooves pound the desert floor nicely, and the battle scenes are suitably lively. There's not much action from the rear channels,
but the few times they are used for effects—like rain pouring in the surrounds—it sounds natural, and not forced. Elmer Berstein's catchy score sounds
wonderful too—I'll admit I woke up whistling it this morning after watching the film last night—and the music occasionally swells to fill all 5.1 channels.
Dialogue throughout is clean and easy to understand. The disc also includes a few Dolby Digital mono dubs, along with English SDH and Spanish
subtitles.
I tip my metaphorical hat to 20th Century Fox, who could've rushed The Comancheros out the door with nary a special feature, but instead
decided to include two all-new documentaries, plus a commentary track, a digitally reproduced comic book, and more. In my eyes, this swings the film
from decent upgrade to must-own for John Wayne fans. To top it off, the Blu-ray is housed in a great 24-page digibook, with
actor/director bios, a plot synopsis, and plenty of photographs. Inside the front cover, you'll even find two reproduction mini-posters.
Audio Commentary: This is one of those cut-and-paste commentaries, featuring reminiscences from actors Stuart Whitman, Nehemiah
Persoff, Michael Ansara and Patrick Wayne, who were all recorded separately. Nothing is synced up to be scene-specific—the film itself basically serves
as the background for a 2-hour series of audio-only interviews—but the actors give a lot of detail about the production, their characters, and their
memories of working with The Duke.
The Comancheros and the Battle for the American Southwest (1080p, 24:13): A great, all-new documentary that examines the
historical backdrop of the film, specifically the dynamic between the Comancheros, the Comanche tribe, and the Texas Rangers.
The Duke at Fox (1080p, 40:28): Even better is this two-part, forty-minute career retrospective, which traces John Wayne's history at
20th Century Fox, with high-definition clips from numerous films—perhaps hinting at future Blu-ray releases—along with interviews with Wayne's
son, Ethan, and a number of film historians. A must-watch for Wayne/western fans.
Vintage Comancheros Comic Book (1080p): In 1961, 20th Century Fox commissioned a comic book adaptation of the film, and it's
presented in its entirety here as a series of beautiful high definition scans.
A Conversation with Stuart Whitman (Audio Only, 12:07): Actor Stuart Whitman reminisces briefly about his life and career.
Fox Movietone News (SD, 00:52): In this vintage newsreel, Claude King and Tillman Franks receive awards for their musical contribution
to the film.
The Comancheros is too mundane and limited in its ambitions to be a top-tier John Wayne western, but it falls nicely into that cinematic middle
ground of "lesser" films that are still a rollicking good time. As fans know, The Duke made few movies that were anything less than solidly entertaining.
This one stands out for its beautiful cinematography, its colorful supporting characters—including a fantastically gnarly Lee Marvin—and the buddy-film
chemistry between John Wayne and his co-star, Stuart Whitman. Fox has put together an impressive Blu-ray package for this release, with a near-
perfect high definition transfer, clear audio, and a surprising wealth of special features, all housed within a classy 24-page digibook. Recommended!
According to information from retail giant Walmart, 20th Century Fox will follow up its Blu-ray onslaught with a wave of titles from the MGM catalog, including Some Like It Hot (Billy Wilder, 1959) for May 10. Fox proper will release The Hustler (50th Anniversary) ...
