Redondo
Swing Out, Sweet Land (1970)
directed by Stan Harris
rating: 3 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from the Carnegie Library
Like Lyndon Johnson, John Wayne receives no quarter from progressives of a certain stripe. Because of his role in selling Vietnam as a patriotic mission that Americans should take in pride and support – and The Green Berets is the epitome of that influence - he is to some degree accountable for the unnecessary deaths of the men who enlisted to fight overseas. Worse, that film indirectly legitimized and even popularized the Vietnam War in the eyes of Americans (and American leaders) who could sign off on troop escalations or longer tours of duty without sending their own children to Southeast Asia to fill either quota. Duke was a national icon, and he deserves his share of that blame.
But Swing Out, Sweet Land is a good argument for a better legacy. The Wayne Doctrine, as it were, was not rabidly pro-war, and Wayne’s targets were not critics of Vietnam so much as protesters. He believed in “civilized” dissent, and his bone to pick was with what he perceived as an effort by liberals to categorize the great historical accomplishments of American society as inconsequential footnotes to centuries of mindless, bloodthirsty expansion. No, I do not agree with him. I am aware of the cultural coding of the word “civility” when used by conservatives in 1970. But movie lovers love Wayne and conservatives love Wayne, and there has to be some way to bridge the divide without discounting (or adopting) his political influence completely.
Made for TV and paid for by Budweiser, Swing Out, Sweet Land is Duke and his buddies recounting highlights of United States history in the vaudeville/roast tradition of the era. Bob Hope does a set at Valley Forge, Dean Martin plays Eli Whitney as a skirt-chasing drunk, and Glen Campbell lip-syncs the worst of the Irving Berlin songbook (“If this is flag waving/Do you know of a better flag to wave?”). Wayne, in coat and tie, traverses an enormous sound-stage map that grows with the continent. In the 90 minutes worth of skits, Belva Lockwood, an early female candidate for President, is reduced to a caricature in need of “support,” and Frederick Douglass (née Roscoe Lee Browne) is neutered of any racial anger in favor of actually complimenting Mark Twain (aka Bing Crosby) on his decidedly non-racist (ha!) novel Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
So again, this is not an apology. But what Wayne understood was the American promise that a man can be who he wants to be. He can start over if he needs to: a clean slate. And, of course, that is not quite true either, and certainly in 1970, as before, that promise did not apply to a huge portion of the population. But unlike Vietnam or lowering taxes, it is an argument and a myth worth believing in. And in Swing Out, Sweet Land, Duke sells it. The best guest is Johnny Cash, singing a song about Promontory Summit from the front of a moving train with enough swagger to wake the dead. But the best short is Wayne’s.
Dressed in full cowboy regalia, he rides into a ghost town somewhere out west. The camera is a crane shot, and Wayne sits on horseback alone. The horse moves slowly, and Wayne dismounts in front of the ruins of an empty pioneer bar. He takes a seat inside, looks around, and draws circles in the dust with his finger. "Must be a lot of ghosts around here," he muses. Then he grins. "Bet I know how to wake 'em up!" he roars. In an instant, the camera cuts to a crowded saloon full of Old West types as they raise sloppy glasses of beer and join in a lustful rendition of "My Darling Clementine." It’s mythmaking, for a moment, at the level of John Ford, who might have been a “Maine Republican” but stood up against H. U. A. C. when it mattered.
Still, I wouldn’t have run on quite this long if that’s all there was to it. At the very end of Swing Out, Sweet Land, John Wayne stands in front of the camera and recites a monologue about the country he loves. He recounts the unassuming childhoods of great citizens – men born ordinary who rose to spectacular heights – and he proudly includes African-Americans among them. He does not mention Vietnam, does not mention protestors, and has no words of ill intent towards anyone. Instead, he speaks gently, and makes a heartfelt appeal to generosity, kindness, and brotherhood. He believes, he says, not only in second chances, but in third chances, and more. And he concludes with a joke that isn’t one. "Free is still the best four-letter word I know." Say what you will, but there’s no Republican these days like him, and speaking as a Socialist Democrat, I wish he was still around.
directed by Stan Harris
rating: 3 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from the Carnegie Library
Like Lyndon Johnson, John Wayne receives no quarter from progressives of a certain stripe. Because of his role in selling Vietnam as a patriotic mission that Americans should take in pride and support – and The Green Berets is the epitome of that influence - he is to some degree accountable for the unnecessary deaths of the men who enlisted to fight overseas. Worse, that film indirectly legitimized and even popularized the Vietnam War in the eyes of Americans (and American leaders) who could sign off on troop escalations or longer tours of duty without sending their own children to Southeast Asia to fill either quota. Duke was a national icon, and he deserves his share of that blame.
But Swing Out, Sweet Land is a good argument for a better legacy. The Wayne Doctrine, as it were, was not rabidly pro-war, and Wayne’s targets were not critics of Vietnam so much as protesters. He believed in “civilized” dissent, and his bone to pick was with what he perceived as an effort by liberals to categorize the great historical accomplishments of American society as inconsequential footnotes to centuries of mindless, bloodthirsty expansion. No, I do not agree with him. I am aware of the cultural coding of the word “civility” when used by conservatives in 1970. But movie lovers love Wayne and conservatives love Wayne, and there has to be some way to bridge the divide without discounting (or adopting) his political influence completely.
Made for TV and paid for by Budweiser, Swing Out, Sweet Land is Duke and his buddies recounting highlights of United States history in the vaudeville/roast tradition of the era. Bob Hope does a set at Valley Forge, Dean Martin plays Eli Whitney as a skirt-chasing drunk, and Glen Campbell lip-syncs the worst of the Irving Berlin songbook (“If this is flag waving/Do you know of a better flag to wave?”). Wayne, in coat and tie, traverses an enormous sound-stage map that grows with the continent. In the 90 minutes worth of skits, Belva Lockwood, an early female candidate for President, is reduced to a caricature in need of “support,” and Frederick Douglass (née Roscoe Lee Browne) is neutered of any racial anger in favor of actually complimenting Mark Twain (aka Bing Crosby) on his decidedly non-racist (ha!) novel Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
So again, this is not an apology. But what Wayne understood was the American promise that a man can be who he wants to be. He can start over if he needs to: a clean slate. And, of course, that is not quite true either, and certainly in 1970, as before, that promise did not apply to a huge portion of the population. But unlike Vietnam or lowering taxes, it is an argument and a myth worth believing in. And in Swing Out, Sweet Land, Duke sells it. The best guest is Johnny Cash, singing a song about Promontory Summit from the front of a moving train with enough swagger to wake the dead. But the best short is Wayne’s.
Dressed in full cowboy regalia, he rides into a ghost town somewhere out west. The camera is a crane shot, and Wayne sits on horseback alone. The horse moves slowly, and Wayne dismounts in front of the ruins of an empty pioneer bar. He takes a seat inside, looks around, and draws circles in the dust with his finger. "Must be a lot of ghosts around here," he muses. Then he grins. "Bet I know how to wake 'em up!" he roars. In an instant, the camera cuts to a crowded saloon full of Old West types as they raise sloppy glasses of beer and join in a lustful rendition of "My Darling Clementine." It’s mythmaking, for a moment, at the level of John Ford, who might have been a “Maine Republican” but stood up against H. U. A. C. when it mattered.
Still, I wouldn’t have run on quite this long if that’s all there was to it. At the very end of Swing Out, Sweet Land, John Wayne stands in front of the camera and recites a monologue about the country he loves. He recounts the unassuming childhoods of great citizens – men born ordinary who rose to spectacular heights – and he proudly includes African-Americans among them. He does not mention Vietnam, does not mention protestors, and has no words of ill intent towards anyone. Instead, he speaks gently, and makes a heartfelt appeal to generosity, kindness, and brotherhood. He believes, he says, not only in second chances, but in third chances, and more. And he concludes with a joke that isn’t one. "Free is still the best four-letter word I know." Say what you will, but there’s no Republican these days like him, and speaking as a Socialist Democrat, I wish he was still around.
posted by NPK at 1:40 PM
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