“Shane”: A Psychological Western Unearthing Repression and Regret
In “Shane,” the narrative serves as a poignant backdrop, accentuating the protagonist’s deep-seated self-repression and the regrets that haunt him. While often viewed as a classic tale of brave farmers in the Old West standing up against brutality, there’s a more profound and disquieting layer woven into its very fabric which goes beyond the surface level.
Beyond a Simple Good Versus Evil Dichotomy
At first glance, it’s a Western tale of a wandering gunslinger who comes to the aid of homesteaders terrorized by hired thugs seeking to claim their land. However, a closer inspection reveals a tangible, unspoken attraction between Shane and Marian, the farmer’s wife. This is not blatant, it lives under the surface.
The young Joey, the couple’s son, becomes instantly captivated by Shane, casting him in the role of an ideal he wishes to emulate. Looked at through a Freudian lens, numerous interpretations emerge: the seemingly effeminate newcomer, initially humiliated and punished by the local ruffians, who later embraces the revolver to assert his own masculinity.
George Stevens’ “Shane” doesn’t deliver a simplistic, overarching message. It’s the coexistence of multiple interpretations and standards that elevates the film beyond a simple story of right and wrong.
Shane is, ostensibly, an outlaw striving to sever ties with his past, perhaps yearning for the tranquility of domestic life that he observes at Joe Starrett’s homestead in the Grand Tetons.
And yes, someone is needed to confront the ruthless Rufus Ryker, who seeks to tear down fences and allow his cattle to roam freely. Shane steps into that role, fully understanding that his success will necessitate his departure from the valley, he acknowledges “Right and wrong, they’re just labels. Forget 'em.” This is how he justifies his position to Joey after a violent encounter.
The film certainly works on this level, as validated by its Best Picture nomination back in 1953.
Interpreting the film solely at this level, one risks relegating “Shane” to the same category as “High Noon” and other classic, but arguably more derivative, Westerns. Instead, “Shane” poses challenges with its inherent enigmas, ambiguities, specifically in the protagonist and Alan Ladd’s portrayal.
Ladd, though perhaps not towering in stature for a movie star, possessed a striking handsomeness. Throughout much of his career, he defied these attributes, embodying a series of tough personas on screen.
In “Shane,” he arrives almost as a refined and elegant man, seemingly mismatched against hardened mercenaries like Wilson and the formidable Calloway. He enters town clad in a buckskin jacket adorned with fringes.
A Seeming Refinement
Shane seems almost too polished, purchasing new clothes – trousers and an open-necked blue shirt – turning him effeminate in comparison to Ryker’s brawny, saloon-dwelling thugs.
“Send Him Back to His Pigpen”
Shane’s initial entrance into the saloon immediately establishes the tension. Dressed impeccably, he orders a soda. The cowboys sneer and scoff. Calloway approaches, calling him a “sodbuster” who smells of pigs, alluding to his work on the Starrett farm.
Shane asks, “You talking to me?” Calloway replies, “I don’t see nobody else standing there.” The confrontation escalates when Calloway spills a drink on Shane’s new shirt, making one wonder if Travis Bickle was a fan of this film.
Back at the farm, Jean Arthur, portraying Marian, shares undeniable chemistry with the handsome stranger. She never fully acts upon her feelings nor does Shane, and their mutual respect for Joe is palpable. Meanwhile, young Joey idealizes Shane, envisioning him as the father figure he longs for, particularly one who can teach him how to handle a gun.
During the Fourth of July celebration, Shane and Marian dance together while Joe observes from the sidelines, aware of the barely concealed tension between then.
A Gut-Wrenching Confrontation
Like many Westerns that came before and after it, “Shane” culminates with a final showdown in the saloon, despite the dialogue preceding it is anything but trite.
The people in the valley feel like fully realized person, not just action figures; their actions are influenced by internal struggles. Ryker tries on two separates occasions to persuade Joe to abandon the homestead, even makes an offers for Shane to join him.
Ryker initiates in a calmer conversation With Wilson. Joe participates in discussions among the homesteaders about how to respond to Ryker’s threats.
The only character requiring no further explanation is Wilson, the hired gun from out of town. Even the actor Jack Palance’s movements are minimal as a presence to add greater tension.
The chilling scene where Torrey attempts to confront Wilson, riding into town only to be gunned down, adds even more drama.
Stevens orchestrates this scene with calculated coolness, utilizing almost entirely static long shots. The gunslinger is quicker, and Torrey dies, collapsing in the dirt.
One of the Most Tragic Shootings
This is one of the more emotionally charged shooting scenes in Western cinema, on part with Keith Carradine’s death in Robert Altman’s “McCabe & Mrs. Miller.”
Ambiguity as a Film Noire
The plot is built upon the inescapable fact that Shane have to confront Wilson and the other thugs. If Shane survives, it is almost certain he will leave and will be never to be seen again in the town. His feelings that for Marian need an outlet.
Well, he could let Joe go into town and get killed, which is exactly what Joe wants which is another option. If Joe did get killed, that allows Marian and Joey would need a man to protect them.
Shane then knocks Joe, which stops this from happen,.
Shane is such an introvert unwilling to engage in conversation, it is as if he is portraying a roll, that stifles Shane the fighter.
Power Perspective
A story relies its audience. “Shane” is from small with the crying in the end.
He had to feel because it fulfills desires. There is this possibility.