Marching Through Los Angeles

When Grand left Appomattox in '65 he thought that the North had won the war. And, indeed, the South was down in supposed defeat. But with true fighting spirit the sons of the Magnolia blossom rose to win the greatest fight of all: the Battle of Hollywood.

This battle has raged with such ferocity that any child learning American history from motion pictures would immediately see through spurious reports of an alleged Union victory. Could the South possibly lose with such stalwarts as Randolph Scott, Audic Murphy, Robert Ryan, John Wayne and Clark Gable fighting for her? Never! Overwhelmingly the odds favor the lads in grey because, since Birth of a Nation, heroes in pictures dealing with the post-bellum period uniformly speak in the "you-all" patois.

The plot is generally quite simple. A lean, hardfighting ex-officer and eternal gentleman returns to Old Home Town, Texas. Finding that some dam Yankee carpetbagger has cut him out of his job, girl, homestead, and even his favorite place in the saloon, the Forgotten Hero clenches his teeth and waits. He is still waiting and quietly suffering when the girl-snatching Nawthorn rascal injures either his mother (in pictures apologizing for the James boys) or anyone's honor (in all other films of this genre). Then all hell breaks loose with proud victors vanquished, widows revenged, and Yankee misrule giving way to the Texas Rangers.

There are many variations on this theme, such as Hellgate in which a neurotic Union officer brutally persecutes a southern boy unjustly sent to prison. But the idea germaine to all is that the South, alone, provides such stuff as heros are made of.

That doesn't mean that the north is always in the wrong. In The Red Badge of Courage a northern boy is the hero, albeit he is first a deserter. The point is that no southern boy is ever a pure villain. The nearest thing to a southern rapscallion was Quantrill and his merrie lads. Of course, there is much dispute as to the lethal guerilla's background and appearance. He ranges from the squat Brian Donley-type soldier (Kansas Raiders) to the distinguished Walter Pidgeon-type ex-school-teacher (Dark Command). There is universal agreement, though, that he had the best of intentions, and besides, he didn't really represent the South.

Now and again, some war and reconstruction embittered young hotblood oversteps himself. In Horizons West, for instance, Robert Ryan runs verily amuck when a money-grubbing, lecherous, mortgage-foreclosing carpetbagger slaps his face. He shoots the wretch, takes over his profitable rackets, and with great native ability builds them to new oppressive high. Naturally, he gets his come-uppance, but not at Union hands. His wizened Pappy and loving step-brother help an irate citizen gun him down in the street. But note: he sent another Yankee to the Happy Bucket Shop before the bug bit him.

At last, with Springfield Rifle the North seemed to be winning an engagement. There, on the screen, was Gary Cooper, obviously a hero, and he was wearing Blue! Soon, however, Cooper's elongated syllables marked him as no son of New England or Middle West. The truth came out. He was a renegade Virginian who had resigned his West Point commission only to reaccept it in time for First Bull Run. He then went west to perform yeoman service in breaking a gang of horse rustlers working with a fantastically honorable bunch of Southern officers. The real villain was a traitorous Yankee colonel (I think from Vermont) whom Cooper brought to grief in the final reel. Save your Yankee dollars boys, the Nawth will rise again.