André De Toth’s final western, Day of the Outlaw, is the rare entry in the genre to take place across a landscape blanketed in snow, whose temperatures are as biting as the long-gestating feud between the homesteaders of a small town and a local rustler, Blaise Starrett (Robert Ryan). Blaise’s contempt for the townspeople infuses every interaction, and in particular his dealings with rancher Hal Crane (Alan Marshal), and early scenes use minimal camera movement to reflect Blaise’s clenched-jawed attempts at civility. De Toth swiftly communicates the long-running hatred between the two men, from their hostile dialogues to Blaise’s romantic past with Hal’s wife, Helen (Tina Louise), who’s so scared for her husband’s life that she offers to resume her affair with Blaise if it will keep the peace.
Just as these tensions start to boil over, however, Day of the Outlaw pulls a bait-and-switch, abruptly shifting gears with the intrusion of a gang of robbers hiding out from a bank heist. The group is led by Jack Bruhn (Burl Ives), an AWOL Army captain who fancies himself a noble criminal. But in a film that’s already established its protagonist as a raging, loathsome man, there’s no room here for romantic notions of crime. No sooner has Jack been introduced as the ringleader of the robbers than the filmmakers underline his powerlessness to control them; as he insists that the other criminals leave the women of the town alone, the men only laugh at him. Later, when Jack forces a local veterinarian (Dabbs Greer) to remove a bullet lodged in him, Jack feebly instructs Blaise to keep the town in check and that he will control his own men, and the frailty in his post-op delirium gives further lie to his illusion of control.
De Toth’s images are by and large static, and punctuated by slow, deliberate movements of the camera, effectively communicating the pervasive sense of isolation that grips both the occupied townspeople and the marauders, who increasingly reveal their pathetic inability to think further than their immediate desires. In most westerns, towns suggest small oases of civilization and habitability away from the inhospitable deserts outside their borders, but in Day of the Outlaw, the opposite is true. Here, lush groves of trees surround the town, but the city itself is a trammeled and filthy place of muddy, slushy roads. Interiors are sparsely decorated, leaving little to distract the invaders from their rapacious thoughts.
The misery of the setting at times unites the townsfolk and bandits. The film’s most stirring scene is a grotesque show of social conviviality, in which the thieves, looking to relieve their tensions, careen around a tavern with the local women helplessly clutched to their chests, all the while the camera whipping around them. Watching this hideous display are Blaise and Jack, disgusted but powerless to intervene for fear of causing violence. Indeed, for a film predicated upon Blaise regaining his connection to his community in defense from outside foes, Day of the Outlaw bleakly equates Blaise and Jack throughout, and both Ryan and Ives play their parts with a dejection that undermines even their characters’ most intimidating shows of force. Released in 1959, the film feels a full decade ahead of its time, a revisionist western before the term existed that posits its characters as existentially trapped by an unforgiving landscape where violence, however ruinous, seems logical, even necessary.
Image/Sound
Kino’s transfer doesn’t consistently disguise the age of its source material. Numerous shots display faint flickering effects, and many of the images lack for sharpness. But the high-contrast black-and-white photography is by and large crisp and balanced throughout. The lossless mono is likewise restricted by the limitations of its source, with sound effects too cleanly separated and poorly mixed together, but there are no flaws in the track itself, and dialogue, music, and sound effects are all rendered clearly.
Extras
An informative but accessible audio commentary with film historian Jeremy Arnold covers Day of the Outlaw in rich detail. Arnold is especially perceptive in regard to strength of the film’s performances and André De Toth’s visual choices.
Overall
Day of the Outlaw is one of the finest, lesser-sung westerns of Hollywood’s golden age, and a precursor to the revisionist western, making this disc a must-own for fans of the genre.
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.
