John Wayne

 A man may die, but his movies always will remain in the present tense. Which is why, in the case of John Wayne — you can point to the precise moment when the man becomes an icon.

That moment is in Stagecoach, John Ford’s 1939 masterwork, arguably the first significant western of the talking-pictures era and definitely the last best star-making opportunity for the journeyman B-movie actor born as Marion Morrison. And the moment occurs several minutes into the drama, as the previously much-discussed Ringo Kid — a boyishly handsome gunfighter who has broken out of prison to avenge his murdered father and brothers — makes his first appearance to passengers aboard the eponymous conveyance.

Let’s not mince words: In Stagecoach, John Wayne makes one of the greatest entrances in movie history. As he spins a rifle like a six-gun, the camera rapidly tracks toward him, then frames him heroically, almost worshipfully, in a flattering close-up. That the image briefly goes out of focus only serves to enhance the impact — you get the feeling that even the cinematographer is awed by the sight of such studly formidability. The die is cast, the legend is born.

But it doesn’t end there. Ringo quickly establishes himself as a friendly and forthcoming fellow, even when dealing with a sheriff who feels obligated, albeit reluctantly, to arrest the outlaw. He’s a perfect gentleman when dealing with the imperfect heroine (Claire Trevor), a golden-haired, golden-hearted prostitute who brightens incandescently whenever the naive escaped con refers to her as a “lady” while boosting her self-esteem. (When snooty fellow passengers avoid her at dinner, Ringo simply assumes they’re insulting him, not her, and drawls: “Well, I guess you can't break out of prison and into society in the same week.”) But make no mistake: Ringo leaves no room for doubt that, once the arduous stagecoach journey concludes, he’s quite capable of minding his own bloody business at the end of the line.

Such is the indelible image of the youthful John Wayne, the virile yet sensitive hero who — long before his speech patterns and body language began to suggest self-parody — could give as soulfully affecting a performance as any western star who ever rode hard and shot straight in the most American of movie genres. Expanding upon the archetype established by such silent-movie masters as Tom Mix and William S. Hart, Wayne in Stagecoach conveys the very essence of the square-jawed, slow-talking gunfighter who’s quite willing to hang up his shootin’ irons, who’s even agreeable to mending his ways and moving to a small farm someplace with a good woman by his side — but not before he settles accounts with the varmints who terminated his loved ones. (Why? Because, as Ringo tersely notes, “There are some things a man can’t run away from.”)

The part fit Wayne so well that, long after he evolved into a grey eminence, he continued to recycle various and sundry aspects of the performance that first established his stardom. Because, after all, that is what being a star is all about: Giving your audience what they want, what they expect — and, perhaps, what they need.

She Wore a Yellow Ribbon

Rio Bravo

The Searchers

The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

True Grit

Red River

Stagecoach

Best John Wayne Movies?

~ Classic Media for the Youngish (excerpt)