TALES OF LOHR: "HORIZON: AN AMERICAN SAGA - CHAPTER 1"
On Kevin Costner's latest big-screen western; plus, "This Week in Warhol" celebrates the Forth
The life of any serious lover of the movies is often marked by significant incidents or moments in time that stand out as milestones in the development of one’s cinematic taste and sensibility. The year 1990 has always lived in my mind as the commencement point of my dedicated consumption and study of film. It was the year when, at the age of 12, I began keeping a ranked-rating log of every film I saw in the theater, a practice I maintained well into graduate school. It was the year when I first began earnest examination of the filmmaking process, screenwriting, and the movie business in general, via publications like Entertainment Weekly, Premiere, and Movieline. And it was also the year that Kevin Costner, the then red-hot actor who had already made a mark on the western genre via an electrifyingly energetic supporting role in the 1985 oater Silverado, made his directorial debut with Dances with Wolves, a white-man-among-the-indigenous epic that scored at the box office and won seven Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director for Costner. Thus, at a pivotal point in my movie lover’s gestation, the message was cemented into my head: Costner + western = ATTENTION MUST BE PAID.
My affection for the western itself was solidified via an undergraduate course on the genre, the first higher-education film class I ever took. By that point, Costner had already starred in and co-produced 1994’s Wyatt Earp, a serious-minded, stately biopic that has been forever scarred by the critical and commercial misfortune of coming out six months after Tombstone, a sleeker, more rambunctious take on the O.K. Corral legend. Still, I kind of dug Wyatt Earp, as I did Costner’s even more beleaguered sophomore directorial effort, 1997’s The Postman, an underrated blend of post-apocalyptic sci-fi and saddle-and-six-shooter tropes. I wasn’t as big a fan of 2003’s Open Range, Costner’s third film behind the camera, as many others are, but I do agree with those who rank its final shoot-out as one of the most exciting in western history. (Fun fact: Open Range, which I saw at the age of 25, marks the last time I was ever asked for an ID at an R-rated movie.) I enjoyed Costner’s subsequent turn in the western-adjacent fact-based Bonnie and Clyde drama The Highwaymen (2019); smiled when he took home an Emmy Award for his performance in the country-feud miniseries Hatfields & McCoys (2011); and while my lack of a Paramount Network subscription means I have never seen even an episode of the smash-hit streaming series Yellowstone, I recognize the revitalizing jolt it gave to Costner’s current career status, while further cementing his place alongside Clint Eastwood as one of the dwindling number of contemporary giants of the screen western.
Indeed, it is likely this fresh infusion of Hollywood juice that helped Costner get the greenlight for his current project, the first part of which arrived in theaters just this past Friday. Developed from narrative concepts Costner has been constructing for almost two decades, Horizon: An American Saga - Chapter 1 is a sprawling, grand-scale, three-hour western epic, as foursquare and straight-down-the-dramatic-middle a piece as any he’s delivered in the genre thus far. But it also represents the first salvo in a seriously quixotic gamble, this deluxe-sized entertainment, as the title makes plain, just the opening entry in an intended tetralogy of features. Chapter 2, currently finishing post-production, is scheduled for release just seven weeks from now, on August 16, and Costner has reportedly already shot scenes for a third and fourth film in the Horizon series. It remains to be seen whether Costner’s vision will be permitted by the bean counters to reach its full fruition, as this first film has been greeted with tremendously mixed reviews (despite a nothing-signifying multi-minute standing ovation at Cannes last month) and has supposedly struggled to pack ‘em in at the box office this past weekend. But Costner-the-western-filmmaker and I clearly go back a ways, and I definitely responded, in a largely positive and enthusiastic spirit, to this latest genre offering. For fans of his previous westerns, and those primed to enjoy his work in a multi-part serialized format, I struggle to conceive of a circumstance in which they will leave the theater less than satisfied by what he’s delivered here.
In addition to directing, co-producing, and playing one of the principal roles in Horizon, Costner has also co-scripted the film with Jon Baird, from a story the two conceived with Mark Kasdan (brother of Lawrence Kasdan, who directed Costner in both Silverado and Wyatt Earp). The drama they have spun, set in the years preceding and during the commencement of the Civil War, focuses on three principal narrative threads. The first hour of the film is dominated by the clash between a white settlement known as Great Day and the indigenous Apache peoples who naturally resent this encroachment on land that has belonged to and been sacred to them for centuries. Following a nasty nighttime raid on Great Day, directed by Costner with swift, terrifying blunt-force brutality, several of the survivors, notably newly widowed Frances Kittredge (Sienna Miller) and her traumatized daughter Elizabeth (Georgia MacPhail), are taken under the watchful eye of a calvary regiment led by the stalwart Lt. Gephart (Sam Worthington), who strikes up a close connection with the perseverant Frances. The second hour foregrounds the travels and travails of Hayes Ellison (Costner), a horse trader with a past who finds himself forced into the role of inadvertent protector to Marigold (Abbey Lee), a salty sex worker, and the toddler son of a former fellow professional gal (Jena Malone) who falls afoul of the vicious sons of a hateful former john. Our third narrative thread tracks the winding progress of a wagon train led by the no-nonsense Matthew Van Weyden (Luke Wilson), as he juggles the contentious relationships of the people under his charge, in particular the niggling annoyances of a young British couple (Tom Payne and Ella Hunt) who seem to view this rugged struggle as some sort of slumming on wheels. All of these folks are trailed throughout their travels, like a siren call of perhaps dubious reliability, by flyers touting a promised land awaiting them out west…a place known only as Horizon.
Early reviews have compared the sprawl and ambition of Horizon’s narrative to 1962’s mammoth epic-length How the West Was Won, another film that seemed to attempt, in its sprawling reach, to encompass the entire history of America’s westward expansion within its story. Still, even with three hours of running time (so far) and dozens of characters to swell the progress of the scenes, Costner and Baird are not quite able to pay due diligence to all the themes and historical elements they attempt to usher under their umbrella. The treatment of the film’s indigenous characters will likely be what people come down the hardest upon, as the sheer gut-wrenching impact of the early raid sequence may make it hard for less thoughtful viewers to conceive of the Native characters as anything but ravenous murderers. But Horizon is smart enough to give genuine voice to the concerns of those raiding Apache. In a striking sequence that comes just after the raid, Pionsenay (Owen Crow Shoe), the leader of the war party, defends his actions as the necessary steps of one in desperate fear for the future of his way of life. Costner further complicates his narrative via the character of Russell (Etienne Kellici), a young survivor of the raid who takes up with a band of scalphunters whose leader (a grizzled Jeff Fahey, who played opposite Costner in both Silverado and Wyatt Earp) figures one shank of bloody hair is as good as any other, and who cares if the head it’s torn from was part of the Great Day raid after all? The Native-oriented material is admittedly given far more prominence and thought here than that of the Black and Chinese characters who stand out amidst the assembled crowd scenes in the settlers’ camps, but who contribute little to the story, aside from a quick interlude with a work-detail captain informing prospective laborers that no more Chinese will be hired. Hopefully, these figures will be given more to do in the upcoming installments (and the presence, in the film-closing “coming in Chapter 2” montage, of the marvelous Glynn Turman suggests that such may indeed be the case). One also hopes that the onrush of the Civil War, which figures importantly in the final scenes set in the resettlement camp, will likewise exert a stronger grip on the narrative within Chapter 2 and beyond.
These issues aside, there is simply no denying Costner’s sincere commitment to and passion for this material. His film stretches out but never meanders; he makes his action beats and violent interludes suitably impactful without segueing into the mere sadism frequently evinced by fellow ‘90s star turned director Mel Gibson; and along with cinematographer J. Michael Muro and composer John Debney, he infuses the varied western landscapes and vistas with all the necessary grandeur and majesty. Lisa Lovaas’ costumes have a cozy authenticity, and Derek R. Hill’s production design is appropriately ramshackle and provisional, in keeping with the story’s placement within the very opening stanzas of the white European’s encroachment upon the west. But the film’s greatest asset is its cast, a troupe of performers who throw themselves into this material with honesty and energy across the board. Miller and Worthington have an unhurried chemistry in their scenes together, and MacPhail’s tremulous determination makes her eminently sympathetic. Wilson rallies his wagons like a man to the manor born, and Crow Shoe seethes with pitiless confidence in the rightness of his tomahawk-slinging cause. Lee overcomes an anachronistically stylish hairdo with her rangy pluck, a sharp contrast to Malone’s fiery fury at her fiendishly beset lot in life. Costner grants himself an introductory shot almost over the top in its hero-boosterism, but his performance is actually a gruffly self-effacing pleasure, and of course, he effortlessly, endlessly looks the perfect part. Other standouts amidst this deeply stacked ensemble are Costner’s JFK co-star Michael Rooker as an avuncular Irish calvary sergeant; Gregory Cruz as the Apache encampment’s weary but wise elder; Jon Beavers as the menacing eldest son of Malone’s vengeful john; Jamie Campbell Bower as Beavers’ maniacal kid brother, who has a ball verbally toying with Costner during a critical showdown scene; and Isabelle Fuhrman as a particularly tough-edged member of the wagon train. Costner also seasons his cast with welcome character actors in small but pivotal roles. Keep your eyes peeled for the always-enjoyable likes of Angus Macfadyen, Raynor Scheine, the great Dale Dickey, and Costner’s Postman nemesis Will Patton as a wagon-train patriarch.
I am fully aware that, especially in the summertime months, a film like Horizon is simply not going to be to everyone’s tastes. Some will balk at its length, others at the by-necessity incomplete nature of the narrative, and still more may simply not have any interest in a western, even one served up by an arguable modern master of the form. But I am a professed product of an earlier era of popular film entertainment (slightly so, but still), and wear the fact that I have more or less aged out of Hollywood’s target demographics as a badge of honor. The major studios and streaming services may not have people like me front of mind when pushing the vast majority of their product. But a movie like Horizon is made just for viewers like me…and, really, for viewers like Kevin Costner himself. Costner obviously loves it. I liked it quite a lot. And I’ll definitely be back on August 16 or thereabouts to see what awaits Frances, Hayes, Van Weyden, et al. on the other side of the horizon.
THIS WEEK IN WARHOL
JULY 4, 1970
The latest edition of the popular four-color photo-centric magazine Life hits newsstands. In addition to pieces on the ever-growing morass in Vietnam, a list of “Movies Nixon Shouldn’t See,” and the same-day-arriving Independence Day celebration, this issue of the periodical also profiles a Forth of a far different sort: Jane Forth, the distinctive Kabuki-made-up teenage model who, at just 17 years of age, has recently made a splash on movie screens with her eye-catching supporting turn in the Paul Morrissey-directed, Andy Warhol-presented film Trash.
Bearing no official byline, but featuring photographs credited to notable fashion photog Jack Mitchell, “Just Plain Jane” hails its subject as “a new ‘now’ face in the awesome tradition of Twiggy.” The text of the piece is brief but bordering on harsh in its characterization of Forth’s singular visual and aural appeal. It describes Forth’s "bizarre face” and “raspy voice,” staunchly declares that she “isn’t trying to be anybody’s sweetheart,” and characterizes her overall vibe as “a movie siren of the ‘30s crossed with a science fiction creature.” But it likewise praises her au courant looks, cites her recent appearance in The New York Times, and touts her as a rising figure in the all-important New York nightlife scene.
In the snippets of commentary featured in the article, Forth lets herself have it just as much as Life’s reporters do. She remembers every modeling agency in New York telling her “…what a tragedy to have that great head on that awful body,” and describes herself as someone with “no special talents.” But even the Life scribe says she “sparkles” in Trash, while Warhol is quoted paying her what, from him, constitutes a compliment, calling her “putty in our hands.” As for beauty secrets, Forth says she styles her hair with nothing more elegant than Wesson Oil, and wears only “cheap dime-store makeup,” claiming her memorable look never takes more than 25 cents per application to put together. Thinking about her current burgeoning celeb-status, Forth muses about the absurdity of just “standing around, yawning at all those fancy people.”
Forth enjoys a brief but memorable run as a regular Warhol social companion, and makes bold follow-up film appearances in Morrissey’s Women in Revolt and L’Amour (in which she takes one of the starring roles, and tears up Paris during the film’s chaotic on-location shoot). She also appears briefly in the final Warhol-produced film, 1977’s Jed Johnson-directed Bad. But Forth, who says in “Just Plain Jane” that all she’s seeking is “a rich husband,” indeed meets her match in British cinematographer Oliver Wood, whose credits include such Hollywood blockbusters as Die Hard 2, Face/Off, and The Bourne Ultimatum. Forth and Wood are married for 22 years, while she segues from her performing and modeling career to a successful run as a cosmetic and special effects make-up artist for film and television. In addition to her two children with Wood, she is also the mother of Emerson Forth, her son from a previous relationship with fellow Warhol superstar Eric Emerson.
I’m a big fan of the Warhol posts.