Texas (pt. IV)

Urban Cowboy

Lone Star

Howdy, my sweet, sassafrassin’ sopapillas! When the sun is high in the sky and the sizzle of the cicadas reaches a deafening level, I know it’s almost Summertime, and I become extra aware that I live in one of the hottest places on this planet: this hellish slice of heaven called Texas. Like any stubborn Texan, I have a fierce hatred and a fierce loyalty to the Lone Star State, and though I have a myriad of qualms with this desolate and dazzling place, I could never deny its legendary, downright cinematic status. It’s a place of stubborn, bigoted people, gerrymandering, crooked politics, backwards ideas, outdated sensibilities, and extreme weather. It is also a place of epic storytelling, dedicated environmental conservation, incredible food, varied cultures, elite shopping, incredible music, kind people, gorgeous natural landscapes, where stars are born and legends die and cowgirls always sing the blues. Texas is so large and so populous, I’m not sure why it feels so special to be one spec of dust in this supremely dusty state, but it just does. You have to be tough and tenacious to endure this place, to see past the prickly people and severe heat, to really appreciate the breathtaking sunsets that burn up the whole sky. This is my fourth excursion through‍‍ ‍Texas‍ ‍cinema, and each round of Texas films gives me a greater appreciation for my home state—which is good, because lord knows the state itself is not‍ ‍doing‍ ‍itself‍ ‍any‍ ‍favors. I’ll always love Texas, but as the climate warms and the conservatives and tech bros swarm, I’ve come to enjoy Hollywood’s idea of Texas much more than living in this actual state. There are too many reasons to list as to why my family and I say we’re from Austin, and not Texas. The Hollywood version of Texas captures the intimidating beauty and surprising darkness of this giant of a state—from tense cowboy shootouts to tearjerking familial dramas to the best little whorehouse dance numbers—Texas is the perfect subject to capture on film because it’s just so massive, mythic, and messy. Tonight’s two Texas film selections captured the messiness in particular, in two very different, chaotically cowboyish ways.

Up first is a classic in the nostalgic memory-sense and not so much in present-day reality-sense, this is James Bridges’ 1980 film Urban Cowboy. Based on an Esquire article titled The Ballad of the Urban Cowboy by Aaron Latham, Urban Cowboy introduces us to Buford “Bud” Davis (John Travolta) a tough Texas boy who leaves his family’s small farmhouse in Spur for the bright lights of Houston—or, more specifically, a small town about 15 miles outside of Houston called Pasadena. Bud seeks a job at the oil refinery where his Uncle Bob works, but first, his Aunt and Uncle take him to Gilley’s—the Biggest Honky Tonk in the World—where he immediately downs several Lone Stars and has a threesome. By night one he is already entranced by the magic of Gilley’s, but in the cold light of day he has to work a grueling job in the unrelenting Texas heat. Even with his oil refinery nepotism, Bud has to start from the bottom and work his way up, so he’s extra eager to finish his day job every day so he can go party the night away at Gilley’s. Pretty soon, Bud meets a young gal named Sissy (Debra Winger), who approaches this wily wallflower one day and asks, “you a real cowboy, or not?”, which is a central question and a point of contention in this film. They hit it off immediately, and slow dance to the song that this film made a hit—“Lookin’ For Love”—a moment of beer-soaked bliss before this couple quickly accumulates troubles. Despite only knowing each other for like a week, Bud and Sissy get married, move into a tiny trailer, and spend pretty much every night together at their favorite dark, dingey, honky tonk oasis—where Bonnie Raitt, Charlie Daniels, Johnny Lee, and Mickey Gilley himself perform live and in the flesh. Bud’s already addicted to beer, country music, and his wife Sissy, but when Gilley’s adds a mechanical bull to their space, Bud finds himself caught up in a new kind of vice. This is only exacerbated by the presence of a recently released convict and expert bull-rider named Wes (Scott Glenn), who very swiftly becomes his rival. And as if Bud didn’t have enough on his plate, Sissy has developed a taste for danger, herself, as she begs Bud to let her ride the mechanical bull—a request that he vehemently denies and ultimately ends their relationship. Not long after, Sissy shacks up with the mysterious and slightly more abusive Wes, and Bud ends up with a city gal who comes from oil money named Pam (Madolyn Smith), one of the yuppie cowboy cosplayers who enjoys the honky tonk aesthetic without suffering through the actual lifestyle. It’s not shocking when Bud and Sissy break up, and it’s not shocking when they get back together, but it is shocking when Scott Glenn’s character sports the sexiest black mesh shirt I’ve ever seen. The rest of the film is a meandering, male-gazey, vaguely melancholic journey to trashily ever after for the two leading lovebirds, and I wish I could say that it impacted me as much as it did the general population back in 1980. Urban Cowboy is one of those films that came as a result of an already flourishing, expansive culture, that became much much larger and more mainstream once the film was released. Gilley’s, already a very popular establishment, blew up and gained notoriety it never had before. This led to the popularization of line dancing, mechanical bulls, cowboy chic, and in general, a significant mainstream revival of country music. The soundtrack is perhaps the most iconic, and the best part of this film, along with Travolta’s trademark fancy footwork, which was choreographed here by an emerging performer named Patrick Swayze. Because of its bleakness, lack of a coherent narrative structure, and extended dance sequences, many people (including my mom) refer to Urban Cowboy as the Southern fried version Saturday Night Fever—another style-forward bummer bonanza of banality. Urban Cowboy is a film with more vibes than plot, but are the vibes good? Not especially. I’m a sucker for a Texas-set romance, even if it’s a little bit dark and depressing, but there just wasn’t much substance, and certainly no romance to this movie. As someone who really values dialogue, and gets a thrill out of a perfectly-crafted, riveting conversation, I was bored watching this almost dialogue-free film! Writer-director James Bridges once said, “The film is a real look at the lifestyle of a mechanized West and the need for fantasy by those in contemporary society who work daily in dangerous jobs. In the saloon they go to at night after work, these men create another reality for themselves, almost a small town where they live the cowboy myth”, which is a far more thoughtful and nuanced take than any single moment in this film. I’m not sure how that sort of conceptual dissonance occurred between the idea for this film and its script, but at least it features the line, “well, pop them titties and let’s get rollin’!”

Thankfully tonight’s next film was compelling, unpredictable, and included incredible dialogue, this is John Sayles’ 1996 neo-Western mystery Lone Star. This is a film I only just learned about, and when you look at its cast and premise on paper, it seems like it would be a well-known Southern crime story. But this is a sweeping, Texas-sized blockbuster in intimate, indie packaging. Lone Star opens on two off-duty army sergeants who are out metal-detecting in an open, arid field of nothing but yucca and horseflies, when one of them stumbles upon the bones of body that was buried long, long ago. Cue Sheriff Sam Deeds (Chris Cooper) a kind, honorable man who begrudgingly lives in the shadow of his former Sheriff of a father. Sam is determined to solve the biggest mystery their sleepy border town of Frontera, Texas has ever seen, and his investigation leads him decades back into the past, to the glory days of his father’s time as Sheriff. We flash back to when Sam’s dad, Buddy (Matthew McConaughey), was just a Deputy, and the fearsome, cantankerous, and bigoted Sheriff Charlie Wade (Kris Kristofferson) ruled over all of Frontera with an iron fist and a greed-fueled sense of entitlement—the Mayor explains, Charlie was a, “bullets and bribes kinda Sheriff.” As the old legend goes, the whole town hated Charlie, and it was good ole Buddy Deeds who finally told him off, and scared him right outta town with the last of his bribe money. But Sam has another theory: that this dead body belongs to Charlie Wade, and that his father—the beloved, angelic, placed-on-a-pedestal good guy Buddy Deeds—actually killed him to make him finally go away. No one in this town wants to believe that Buddy could’ve killed someone, even someone as despised as Charlie, and the community is instead too busy fighting about race and culture and what histories should be taught in school. Frontera is a predominantly-Mexican town with a handful of white folks, and an even smaller handful of black folks, and as with many small Southern towns with a plethora of different cultures all sweating alongside one another, the community is constantly at odds with one another. This is evidenced by a town-hall-esque meeting between history teacher Pilar Cruz (Elizabeth Peña) and several concerned, white parents who fear that they’re being made to look like the bad guys (which they are.) Pilar explains how Mexican history is just as integral to the story of Texas as the tale of the Alamo, how the Tejano, African-American, and Native-American cultures are all part of the rich mosaic of their town, but all the white people hear is that they’re being “erased.” It’s an extremely prescient scene, one that feels eternally relevant as conversations and “controversies” stem from the notion of critical race theory. As Sam continues his investigation, talking to any old-timer who will speak to him, garnering important details about his own fabled father, Sam and Pilar—who were high school sweethearts—are unexpectedly guided back into each other’s lives. I’d love to tell you more about this movie, about how elegantly the past and the present are woven together into this unique, thoughtful, and layered story of culture and crime, but Lone Star is the kind of movie that deserves to be seen, and likely hasn’t been seen enough. The way that family dynasties and the weight of their legacies are portrayed through Tejanos, indigenous people, black people, and white people here was fascinating and important, especially considering how little these perspectives are ever represented at all, let alone all mixed together. While there is a murder mystery at the center of Lone Star, it is so much more than just an epic, Texas crime fiction, it is also funny, poignant, and deeply, complexly, palpably romantic. While chemistry was not a consideration in Urban Cowboy, the love between the leads in Lone Star is tangible, and I really believed in their yearning, burning desire. Even if you find the central mystery of this story to be predictable, I guarantee that Lone Star still has plenty of secrets to reveal before its over, some of which are bound to move and shake you. It is a crime thriller, a familial drama, and a Greek tragedy all rolled into one. I think it’s so cool that this was McConaughey’s first role after Dazed and Confused, and Lone Star also stars Clifton James, Míriam Colón, Joe Morton, Ron Canada, Frances McDormand, Tony Plana, Jesse Borrego, LaTanya Richardson, (Grey’s Anatomy’s) Chandra Wilson, and Stephen Mendillo (who was literally just in Broadcast News last week.) I was afraid that Lone Star was biting off more than it could chew, and taking on more responsibilities and stories than it would be able to firmly flesh out, but it somehow accomplished everything it set out to do. And because I’m always psychic (not in monetarily beneficial ways so far) of course I just learned that John Sayles has another upcoming Western starring Chris Cooper (and Oscar winner Amy Madigan!), so I’m extra excited for that now! Well, I guess it’s time I hit the old dusty trail, but I thank you for stopping by this here blog for a spell. Now y’all come back now, ya hear?