MCCABE & MRS. MILLER (1971), dir. Robert Altman

“Glamorous” is the last adjective anyone would use to describe “McCabe & Mrs. Miller,” which sets out to show how brutal life was in the North American frontier. Directed by the great Robert Altman, it overturns a lot of conventions of the Western genre, depicting a world devoid of nobility, love, and ultimately, heroic ideals.

The plot involves a man named John McCabe (Warren Beatty), who sets out building his fortune in Presbyterian Church, a burgeoning town located in northern Canada. The main industry there is zinc mines, and the town is seemingly devoid of women. McCabe, whose dream is to start up a gambling house, purchases some prostitutes, but is woefully unprepared for some of the realities of the business.

Enter Constance Miller (Julie Christie), who seems as smart and cultured as John McCabe is not. She has an idea about opening a high-class whorehouse in place of what he already has set up. Such a place, she argues, would draw customers from beyond Presbyterian Church and double his money. All she needs is an investor who will let her run it. “I’m a whore, and I know a lot about the business of whoring.”

Mrs. Miller, however, is a serious businesswoman, while McCabe is the gambler by trade. This leads to conflict after the new brothel and bathhouse are built, when some men from a large corporation look to buy them out of their holdings. Believing he can wheel and deal with the best of them, McCabe turns down their price, which later infuriates and worries Mrs. Miller. “They’d just as soon shoot you as look at you,” she warns him.

Indeed, three assassins soon arrive under the auspices of hunting bear, and begin a reign of terror against the two entrepreneurs. A gunfight – notable for both its brilliant staging as well as overall ugliness – ensues: there’s no showdown out in the open, but on the contrary, participants hide in the shadows, have no qualms about shooting somebody in the back, and die messy deaths amidst desolate and snowy backdrops.

“McCabe & Mrs. Miller” is not exactly the kind of western Hollywood produced during its Golden Age. The differences start with the actors: Beatty, despite having leading man looks, conveys none of the moral fortitude of a John Wayne-type hero. He doesn’t resemble a villain either, more a supporting cast member – some dandyish-looking, grumbling, frequently drunk supporting cast member who should be providing comic relief with a seemingly-endless supply of bawdy jokes.

There’s also an unsubstantiated rumor McCabe was a gunfighter who killed a man named Bill Roundtree. He never acknowledges this, and when trouble is actually looking for him, McCabe seems awfully hesitant and full of trepidation for someone who once took another person’s life.

While the movie busies itself tearing down a legend, it also paints a grim picture of women in the wilderness: removed from creature comforts; stared at by lustful, desperate male eyes. Mrs. Miller provides some sanctuary, but the movie does not shy away from how isolation affects her as well. If McCabe has his liquor, she has her own vices, too. They’re just more exotic ones.

Julie Christie gets Mrs. Miller perfectly, conveying glamour as well as the requisite emotional detachment. She may not pack McCabe’s bluster, but she’s a better businessperson, as evidenced by a terrific scene in which she’s both motherly and rational in selling a recently-widowed mail order bride (Shelley Duvall) on prostitution. When she was married, having sex was a means of paying for her room and board. It’s no different now, except she gets to keep a little extra for herself, Mrs. Miller argues.

Overall, the relationship between herself and McCabe is a complicated one, and this is very much a movie where the opposite of what would happen in a traditional western takes place. That’s especially clear in their romance or lack of one, although McCabe does get to utter something borderline tender: “I never did nothing to you except try to put a smile on your face,” he says.

Mrs. Miller, on the other hand, only seems to thaw in one scene where she urges him to get out of town after outside forces threaten. She turns away and starts crying, and we expect her to reveal how she cares deep-down about her boorish business partner. But it turns out she’s really worried about losing the future profits from their partnership.

That may seem all too cool and cynical for some, but Altman, who also adapted the screenplay from a novel by Edmund Naughton, was known for his modern sensibility, and “McCabe & Mrs. Miller” ranks among his best work of the 70’s. Given the widespread distrust of the establishment during the decade, it probably made sense for major corporations to be the main villains. However, there’s also a darkly-humorous scene with intimations about what big liars politicians are.

McCabe seeks help from a lawyer (William Devane) who just happened to have been a governor. The man talks about using newspapers to affect public opinion, but offers no real assistance on how not to get killed. It’s funny, the kind of thing you’d read in “Doonesbury,” but you get the feeling this is exactly what Old West legends really were: ordinary, flawed individuals touted as heroes, when all they really did was gamble and lose.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

THE FRENCH CONNECTION (1971), dir. William Friedkin

The most interesting elements in the movie are the chase sequences and the lead character played by then-unknown actor Gene Hackman. But there’s also tight pacing and appropriately dingy-looking shots of 60’s/70’s era New York City, all of which add up to an entertaining cop picture.

Based on actual drug smuggling lore, the plot follows the efforts of police detectives Jimmy “Popeye” Doyle (Hackman) and “Cloudy” Russo (Roy Scheider) to nail some European criminals trying to sneak in high-grade heroin with the help of local gangsters. The film cuts back-and-forth between New York City and Paris, then the perspectives of the cops and their quarry, as the two sides continuously cross paths on their way to a major drug deal.

Friedkin, who won an Oscar for directing this film, and screenwriter Ernest Tidyman spend the first hour letting the tension build to near-unbearable levels before exploding it through a series of well-executed set pieces. But first, viewers get a feel for the Doyle character, a driven policeman with practically no personal life, and the slippery French smuggler played by Alain Charnier, who dines in fancy restaurants despite being aware of the constant police surveillance around him.

“Popeye” and the smuggler appear to be polar opposites, the refined Frenchman versus the loutish, alcoholic racist and xenophobe. At one point, Friedkin, who always seemed to know how to use depth of field effectively, stages a really neat shot illustrating the contrasts between the two characters.

In the foreground, we see “Frog One,” as Doyle comes to call him, enjoying a meal in some opulent setting. Who says crime doesn't pay? Eventually, the camera switches focus to the background, revealing the detective standing in a doorway across the street, looking cold and damp and drinking coffee so bad he tosses it after one sip.

On the plus side, once the movie hits the 70-minute mark, there's a terrific game of cat-and-mouse on a Grand Central subway platform, as well as a car/subway train chase that looks appropriately dangerous. I also credit Hackman and the filmmakers for fashioning one of the more memorable obsessed cops in cinematic history. Doyle is not some frothing-at-the-mouth maniac, but someone capable of blocking out everything in the single-minded pursuit of a goal, which actually makes him seem more normal to me, and therefore scarier.

One truly chilling moment occurs when he commits a serious blunder in the pursuit of a heroin smuggler. His partner is trying to deal with what’s happened, but Doyle just keeps repeating to him, “He’s getting away! He’s getting away!”

Finally, the movie spends a lot of time on routine police work, which by the looks of things can be dull and physically-taxing. There is a feeling these men do a job and not always an enjoyable one, but this type of portrayal gives “The French Connection” an air of authenticity which lingers even after the chase sequences provide the necessary shot of adrenaline.

Overall review: ***1/2