Westerns (part 36 of 50)
So here we are. it's AC/December. Chant that slowly to get the full effect. (Thanks, Ted.)
I knocked off a few more westerns, but I've got 15 to go, and one month to see them. Tonight I watched Junior Bonner by Sam Peckinpah.
JB stars Steve McQueen as an aging rodeo star. I'm a little young to have experienced the Steve McQueen zeitgeist; my only exposure as a kid was as an 8-year old Cub Scout. Our troop went on a tour of a firehouse, and the fireman/tourman giving us the rounds jokingly introduced one of his fellow smokeeaters as Steve McQueen. My immediate reaction was to say "Who the fuck is Steve McQueen?" but I censored myself, because the firemen were cool, I didn't want to swear in front of my dad, who was required to be there as an escort, and...wait, I didn't even know the word 'fuck' then.
Peckinpah is a master of telling stories within stories. This movie's about the rodeo, but it's mostly about the family. McQueen's got a money-grubbing brother, a sweet mother, and a loose cannon of a father who's already let his wife and his kids down many a time. Whether you've bitched about silver mines (Mr. Bonner's passion) or report cards, this family feels, uh, familiar. Arguments only come to the surface once or twice, but the measuring yourself in relation to your siblings, second-guessing things to say to your parents, and occasionally saying and doing the right things to strengthen the bonds that have been forged--this is all common ground.
My family life is significantly more mundane than anything showing in a movie available for public consumption. But a recent development in our family has led to a grave situation, like Junior Bonner, that will remain unspoken:
No Chainsaws at Christmas.
3 years ago my parents retired, and moved from the dull-as-dishwater suburbs of St. Louis to the breathtaking mountains of Virginia. I've always been expected to 'go home' for Christmas. When Christmas was in the Midwest, I was at the mercy of the airlines, and I grew to hate winter holidays and family get-togethers. But in Virginia, everything is fantastic. My dad, always one to scoff at the beaten path, drew me a map of single-lane mountain roads to his place. A great gift. Now I drive country roads drive through some of the most beautiful country I've seen.
These past few Christmases in Virginia have been a load of fun. My parents did a minor land grab, and have several acres of trees, mostly standing, some felled by disease or hurricane. So on the last three Christmas Eve's, Dad and I have trudged out into the yard with the chainsaw, wheelbarrow and wood chipper and felled a few trees. Using the chainsaw is wild, humbling fun, but it's hot work, so dead winter is the best time to do it. I find it humbling, because I get tired quickly, and it takes concentration to keep from brushing an idling chainsaw against one's leg, cutting through it like bear tooth into butter. And wild fun, of course, because of Leatherface.
This year, my sister wants my 3-year old niece to wake up in her Baltimore bed and go downstairs and have Christmas waiting for her, so the family's getting together there. So no mountain roads, no chainsaws. I can't tell her no, so I'm left to look meaningfully off into the distance and bull-ride my way into a golden bourbon sunset like Steve McQueen. Bull-riding...sure it's fun and it's wild, but it ain't Leatherface.
I knocked off a few more westerns, but I've got 15 to go, and one month to see them. Tonight I watched Junior Bonner by Sam Peckinpah.
JB stars Steve McQueen as an aging rodeo star. I'm a little young to have experienced the Steve McQueen zeitgeist; my only exposure as a kid was as an 8-year old Cub Scout. Our troop went on a tour of a firehouse, and the fireman/tourman giving us the rounds jokingly introduced one of his fellow smokeeaters as Steve McQueen. My immediate reaction was to say "Who the fuck is Steve McQueen?" but I censored myself, because the firemen were cool, I didn't want to swear in front of my dad, who was required to be there as an escort, and...wait, I didn't even know the word 'fuck' then.
Peckinpah is a master of telling stories within stories. This movie's about the rodeo, but it's mostly about the family. McQueen's got a money-grubbing brother, a sweet mother, and a loose cannon of a father who's already let his wife and his kids down many a time. Whether you've bitched about silver mines (Mr. Bonner's passion) or report cards, this family feels, uh, familiar. Arguments only come to the surface once or twice, but the measuring yourself in relation to your siblings, second-guessing things to say to your parents, and occasionally saying and doing the right things to strengthen the bonds that have been forged--this is all common ground.
My family life is significantly more mundane than anything showing in a movie available for public consumption. But a recent development in our family has led to a grave situation, like Junior Bonner, that will remain unspoken:
No Chainsaws at Christmas.
3 years ago my parents retired, and moved from the dull-as-dishwater suburbs of St. Louis to the breathtaking mountains of Virginia. I've always been expected to 'go home' for Christmas. When Christmas was in the Midwest, I was at the mercy of the airlines, and I grew to hate winter holidays and family get-togethers. But in Virginia, everything is fantastic. My dad, always one to scoff at the beaten path, drew me a map of single-lane mountain roads to his place. A great gift. Now I drive country roads drive through some of the most beautiful country I've seen.
These past few Christmases in Virginia have been a load of fun. My parents did a minor land grab, and have several acres of trees, mostly standing, some felled by disease or hurricane. So on the last three Christmas Eve's, Dad and I have trudged out into the yard with the chainsaw, wheelbarrow and wood chipper and felled a few trees. Using the chainsaw is wild, humbling fun, but it's hot work, so dead winter is the best time to do it. I find it humbling, because I get tired quickly, and it takes concentration to keep from brushing an idling chainsaw against one's leg, cutting through it like bear tooth into butter. And wild fun, of course, because of Leatherface.
This year, my sister wants my 3-year old niece to wake up in her Baltimore bed and go downstairs and have Christmas waiting for her, so the family's getting together there. So no mountain roads, no chainsaws. I can't tell her no, so I'm left to look meaningfully off into the distance and bull-ride my way into a golden bourbon sunset like Steve McQueen. Bull-riding...sure it's fun and it's wild, but it ain't Leatherface.
posted by stinkrock at 1:01 AM
29 Comments:
When they did the land grab, did they claim that, historically, those acres had been part of their land and all the woodland creatures that lived there were ethnically Ingenthron?
Because that's the way the pros do it.
Thanks for the credit Mike.
Steve McQueen was my hero as a kid (remember- I'm old), I remember sitting through all three hours of Papillon in the theater, not bad for a ten yr old.
The mountains of VA are breathtaking. VA is also for lovers, but only hetero.
Baltimore is, well, Baltimore....
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Please write anything else!
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