Western movies. You love them or hate them. Hardly anyone is neutral. I’ve always loved them, since I was a little girl, pretending to be a cross between The Lone Ranger and Jesse James.
But why? What is it about westerns that makes them so appealing to those of us that love them?
Let’s work this as a list, top to bottom. Remember, this is my list. You may have a completely different list and totally not relate to mine. That’s okay.
Why I love Western Movies
1) Horses. I love horses. The more horses, the better. You could leave out the riders and I would sit there and watch the horses, no problem.
2) Scenery. The deserts, the mountains, the plains. The dusty trail as the wagon train rolls westward. The Rocky Mountains looming, challenging. Sunsets over Monument Valley. Some of the most incredible cinematography has been done for westerns. From Ride the High Country to almost anything ever filmed by John Ford. To the dusty streets of Tombstone … the big sky hangs over everything, a huge blue dome. Everything is bigger, brighter, younger. The beauty is hard to match and it goes so well with the eye of the camera.
3) Simple ethics, simple philosophy. There is something terribly appealing about a world where the excuse “He needed killing” is an actual defense at trial. You can put a lot of violence into a western and it’s just fine. The bad guys wear black hats, figuratively or literally. The good guys are the ones with the nice horses, better clothing … and white hats. No ambivalence. No confusion. Not at all like the real world made up of endless shades of gray. It’s a black and white world, black and white morality. “He needed killing. So I killed him.” I get that.
4) Heroes. This is really a continuation of the previous, but Wyatt Earp kills a lot of people and it’s okay. I can cheer him on as he and Doc Holliday rampage through the west. “Yes!!” I cry, waving my fist in the air. I could never kill anyone, but I can be really grateful that someone else is doing it for me. In real life, I favor gun control. In westerns? Blast away!
If the movie also has a good plot, terrific sound track, great cinematography? Some wit, cleverness and even a few laughs? Bonus material.
That’s it. Pretty simple, eh? Horses, gorgeous scenery, good guys being good, bad guys being bad. Add music, dim the lights and pass the popcorn.
- Western Badass Violence Fix – Tombstone, 1993 (teepee12.com)
- Dodge City, Tombstone, the OK Corral and ‘Wyatt Earp: A Vigilante Life’ (Review) (popmatters.com)
- For the Love of Horses (survivingthebreaks.wordpress.com)
- Daily Prompt: We Can Be Taught! – GREATNESS (teepee12.com)
- Daily Prompt: My name is Marilyn. I’m a teepee. (teepee12.com)
- Now Playing on Walpole Community Television (teepee12.com)
- Sunset – Blake Edwards, 1988 (teepee12.com)
- Gunfight at the O.K. Corral (dghosh269.wordpress.com)
- The woman who wrote Liberty Valance (cnn.com)
- The disappearance of classic old western movies (jor2153897.wordpress.com)
I’m afraid of spiders. Not because they are dangerous, though some are. Not because of the potential toxicity. I’m afraid of spiders because they are creepy, make my skin crawl, and make me scream like a little girl.
EEK, I shriek and jump straight out of my chair with my heart pounding like a trip hammer. The loudness of my EEK and the hysterical pounding in my chest is in direct proportion to the blackness and largeness of the spider. Bigger is scarier. Big, black and hairy might actually kill me from sheer panic and irrational terror.
A friend of mine was attacked by a wolf spider while sun bathing on her patio in Arizona. The thing was the size of a small dinner plate (dessert plate?) and landed on her breast, then proceeded to take a chunk out of her. The pain was one thing. The fear was so intense she promptly sold her house and moved to a place where there are no wolf spiders. I’m with her.
But today, I am a warrior. I am a woman of power and pride.
I went into my bedroom to change my clothing this afternoon. There, in the middle of my white blanketed bed was a medium-sized black garden spider. Did I scream in panic? Did I even go EEK?
No, I rallied my womanly strength, balled up my clean pink tee-shirt that I had just taken from my cupboard and squished it. Kept squashing it until it was nothing but a black smear of used-to-be-a-spider. Then, I put the tee-shirt on.
I went and told my husband. He gave me a proud thumb’s up.
I wear dead spider proudly. I am woman. Hear me roar.