It took me a while for Stagecoach to click, but once it did, I could appreciate the movie’s ambition. John Ford’s Stagecoach oozes charisma with an impressive balancing act of characters, ultra-specific editing, and a touch of fate. The movie opens with a series of concise vignettes: with just a minute or two of dialogue, a visage of each character is crafted. The doctor drunk, the lady unbelonging, a gambler smitten by love, all brilliantly told in poignant scenes. In Stagecoach, the stringing along of characters is the focal point of the story as they head towards Lordsburg. As we look at wide shots of the desert’s features, the intangibility of their shared destination and their ensuing struggles for survival charge a fatalistic impetus.
Over time, it is the deconstruction of these initial impressions that lay out Ford’s vision for America; there exists a shared identity of responsibility and of humanity that transcends archetypes and personalities. Ringo Kid is perhaps the most compassionate of them all, quickly shedding his rough exterior to support the others in all situations. The drunken doctor, long thought incompetent and useless, delivers Mallory’s baby and tends to Mr. Peacock’s wounds. The marshal initially presents himself as a parochial shell, but shows his own humanity by rewarding Ringo’s help. Buck and Mr. Peacock reflect the viewer’s hesitancy, providing a relatable lens into the movie. Mrs. Dallas tends to Mallory as she is sick and after she has the baby, even despite the tension between the two.
I can’t ignore the outdated stereotyping of Native Americans, as well as some of the language used towards them. However, it is impossible to deny Stagecoach’s role as a western trailblazer.
