“Fightin’ is Excitin’”:

Scoring Aggression in the Classic Hollywood Western

“Peace is a pious precept, but fightin’ is more excitin’ ”— so stated Bosley Crowther in his New York Times review of William Wyler’s The Big Country on October 2, 1958, the day after its general release. Unlike other reviewers, Crowther focused on the violent aspects of this film, rather than its pacifist intent.  Despite Wyler’s intentions, the “screen [is] crowded with quarreling and fighting,” Crowther writes, and by the end of the film three main characters are dead (including one “executed” by his father), and the male leads have “slugged and slammed at each other until both have dropped.”  The contradiction between Wyler’s objective and Crowther’s review points to the problematic nature of this film and why film scholars have generally avoided it.  Yet the music for the film is emblematic of the beginning of an era when Westerns would be accompanied by music that not only conveyed the excitement of the action, but also brought out the underlying emotional impetus of the characters. 

Before I delve into the essential conflict in The Big Country and how it is scored, I would like to examine some earlier Westerns to provide an historic context.  In addition to The Big Country, I have selected three Westerns representative of classic narratives, with notable directors, stars, and composers. Tall in the Saddle, an early John Wayne film with classic representations of aggression, will establish a framework for how music was used in the classic Western.  I will then explore Decision at Sundown, a vengeance Western gone awry, and from there I will examine The Violent Men, a film based on a novel by the same author as The Big Country.  These films demonstrate the development of the genre—narratively and musically—through the late 1950s.  During this period the Western became more realistic and complex, resulting in the so-called adult or psychological Western.  As the external conflicts in the Western became entangled with emotional or mental turmoil of the individual characters, the music reflected these complications with added intensity and nuanced perceptions.

Tall in the Saddle

As Rocklin’s amusing sidekick alerts the town to the impending standoff, the music matches his excitement. The meeting in the street between Rocklin and Clews does not seem tense except for the high string tremolos and ascending chromatic lines in the lower strings. Webb’s accompaniment would have been just as appropriate to any of the thriller films that he scored.An ascending line before and brassy repeated notes after emphasize the end of the stand off.While all of the ingredients of an interesting shootout are evident, only Wayne’s performance is engaging.

The fisticuff scene between Rocklin and the dishonest judge provides an especially typical example of how fights were often scored. As Rocklin notices the cards, which he suspects may be the marked cards that led to his uncle’s murder, the music enters with the characteristic string tremolo, once again suggesting a fight is imminent. The melodic line gradually ascends chromatically, creating more tension under the dialogue. The loud music starts when the fists start to fly. Webb repeats simple phrases in shorter segments, sometimes higher and sometimes lower. As the fight ends, the music hesitates and then provides the stinger needed to mark the falling of the judge and then the bookcase.

In this cue there are no references to any known melody that might have been associated with the characters; it does little to help us understand why they are fighting or how they feel about the fight.  We are not provided with any insight about the characters; instead, the music is simply loud to get our attention and follows the action on screen.

Decision at Sundown

This elemental approach to scoring fights is slightly more developed in Decision at Sundown, released in 1957, the third of a series of Westerns normally referred to as the Ranown Cycle, and featuring Randolph Scott.  Similar to Tall in the Saddle, but much more developed, this film offers a lone rider narrative:  A stranger comes to town and changes everyone’s lives by providing conflict resolution, usually by killing several bad guys, and then leaves.  Decision at Sundown takes place within one day, starting with the arrival of Bart Allison (Randolph Scott) in the town of Sundown and ending with his departure, appropriately at sundown. He is there to kill Tate Kimbrough, the town boss, who was ostensibly responsible for the death of Allison’s wife.  As Bart’s sidekick Sam describes it, “He’s got that town in his fist and he’s squeezing it hard.”

The day Allison arrives in town coincides with Kimbrough’s wedding day, so Allison interrupts the ceremony and warns the bride, “If you marry this man you’ll be a widow by sundown.”  Allison and his sidekick retreat and are pinned down in the livery stable.  During this nicely choreographed escape, Roemheld’s music shines.  In between the reiterated chords and quick string runs, we hear Allison’s theme, sometimes elongated for dramatic purpose and sometimes embellished by the percussion.  The theme is simple and innocent, yet its upward triadic motion offers a musical representation of Allison’s heroism.  Roemheld utilizes Allison’s melody almost exclusively to underscore the dialogue, enhanced by the syncopated chords in between. As an example of Roemheld’s classical training, when Allison and Sam move bales of hay for protection, the music, including low strings with the interjections of the piccolo, sounds (to me) like it was lifted from the storm scene in “Rigoletto.” 

By the time the shooting stops and the attention returns to the church, the bride has changed her mind, and she throws her bouquet on the ground as she pulls away from the church. Accompanied by high string tremolos, Roemheld offers a short (and probably sarcastic) snippet of the wedding march, played by a xylophone so we don’t miss it.

Eventually the townspeople begin to realize that Allison is an opportunity for them to be free of Kimbrough’s command. They encourage a gunfight between Allison and Kimbrough’s minion, the Sheriff, who has killed Allison’s sidekick, Sam. The fight is accompanied by stealth music, which is far subtler than the cue for John Wayne’s bogus gunfight, and this gives the scene gravitas. Rather than high string tremolos to create tension, Roemheld calls on the tympani with quietly sustained woodwinds, while a low flute plays a descending major second. Eventually, the tympani is replaced by plucked bass strings in ascending chromatic steps, and the low woodwinds sustain a dissonant sonority as both men stop and face each other. The tympani roll announces the action and the brass repeat a short dotted fanfare amidst scurrying strings. As Allison cuts his hand, Boetticher highlights the significance of this action by zooming in on the shot, showing us it is his gun hand. The action ends with a descending line in the horns and reiterated fourths in the tympani, providing a fitting end to the Sheriff’s life and the cue.

In an interesting twist, the final gunfight between Allison and Kimbrough (which is initially scored very similarly to the one with the Sheriff) is interrupted by Kimbrough’s mistress and Allison is cheated out of his vengeance as he finally accepts the truth: that his wife was unfaithful.

The Violent Men

As in most Westerns there is a pivotal event that triggers the outcome of the film. In The Violent Men it is the killing of the innocent ranch hand, Bud, by the Wilkisons’ lead gun, Matlock. As Parrish and his men ride to the scene we hear his theme, then the violent men music as Matlock and his cronies retreat. Although this known music accompanies the ride to the scene and the retreat, during the ranch hand’s beating the music is completely different and exceedingly modern. It begins quietly [36:52 in the film], as the man is being threatened, with tremolos in descending minor seconds. Like the violent men’s thematic material, the music that accompanies this thrashing is dissonant and harsh. Steiner allows the action to inspire the underscoring and it is characterized by lots of mickey-mousing, where the music mimics the movements of the men, especially during the initial whipping section. The music loses its intensity and momentarily pauses on a cadence, but as the men continue roping Bud a new series of musical gestures are heard, primarily based on descending minor seconds. As things begin to intensify we hear a series of ascending four-note figures ending when a quick descending flute line mimics the rope coming over Bud’s head. The music pauses on a tremolo as Matlock prepares to shoot, then shifts to identify the coming riders (Parrish) as well as the retreating bad guys (Matlock). A pause signifies Bud’s death. The somber music that follows, a solo cello and oboe playing descending minor seconds, announces Parrish’s decision to retaliate, which is made especially clearer as each iteration is louder and more fully orchestrated.

Parrish conceives of a plan to stand against Cole Wilkison’s rampage across the valley, assembling his men and directing them to leave the ranch in anticipation of a visit from Wilkison. Once Cole and his men have finished burning his ranch, Parrish and his men ambush them during their retreat. Often in Westerns of this era the music stops as the shooting starts. In this instance, it is the opposite. The shooting begins and so does the music, starting with scurrying descending strings, tympani and horns. Steiner follows with a statement of the violent men theme and then Parrish’s theme, as if implying that Parrish has become one of the violent men and now his music, which has similarly become harsh (different from previous hearings), reflects that. As the Wilkison men retreat, there is an awkward edit and we hear what sounds like circus music: descending lines played by French horns with cymbals crashing. As Parrish and his men survey the fallen, a slow variant Parrish’s theme is played in the low strings, followed by a solo English horn. (Cue below.)

The Big Country

Unlike Roemheld and Steiner, Moross was thoroughly American in his compositional style.  Born and raised in New York City, and partially self-taught, he was influenced by popular idioms, especially jazz and popular song.  In his film scores Moross scorned the notion of connecting themes with specific characters, as was typical of other film composers and as Steiner did in The Violent Men.  Instead Moross’s musical materials emphasize the drama while commenting on significant events and emotions.

The unease between the Hannasseys and the Terrills is evident from the beginning of the film, but it is not until the hazing scene, when McKay is roped, hauled off the wagon, and subjected to indignities in front of his fiancé, that the music begins to participate in this aspect of the narrative. Unlike the scene with the ranch hand in The Violent Men, the music for this similar event is not tied to the action.  Moross’s music is not there to articulate each movement, but rather to generally reflect on the roughness of the encounter, as well as to provide the initial musical materials that are going to characterize the Hannessey’s throughout the remainder of the film.  Moross musically distinguishing them with an ascending chromatic line followed by a descending diminished arpeggio that is anything but lyrical. What is also significant in this clip is that the dissonant music alternates with the driving, romp-like music that accompanies the previous scene when the Hannasseys were chasing McKay and showing off their riding skills.  These interjections imply that this hazing is all in good fun (like the previous cue) and not to be taken seriously.  McKay recognizes it for what it is, but the Terrill’s are less forgiving.

The harsh music of this cue is echoed in all of the music associated with the Hannesseys, featuring strident orchestration, angular melodies, and dissonance; a sharp contrast from the lyrical tunes associated with the “good guys,” McKay and Julie, and the tense, agitated music we connect with the Terrills. This distinction between the music for the three sets of characters is not unlike the thematic material in The Violent Men where their music was harsh and dissonant, while the theme for Parrish was more heroic.  And this becomes important as we examine the subsequent cue.

The hostilities between the two families is developed in a scene that takes place the morning following the hazing episode. Major Terrill and his men, led by foreman Steve Leech (played by Charlton Heston), ride out to the Hannassey ranch to seek vengeance for the previous day’s events. This series of scenes is accompanied by an extensive cue, entitled “The Raid,” which exists in two very different versions. Examining Moross’s revision of this cue demonstrates his focus on the overall drama and emotional content of the scene.

In the version of the film that Moross viewed, the raid focused on Terrill’s men riding out and McKay watching them depart, without any shots of Pat. Once Pat goes back into the house, leaving McKay alone on the porch, we were not going to see her until much later in the film. Moross’ original conception for this scene was similarly simple. It started with syncopated seventh chords alternating with a descending minor second in the upper strings, the universal Western symbol for danger (as we have experienced in the earlier films).

Moross followed this introduction with varying statements of the main theme that are altered to reflect McKay’s unease with the situation. Here is the main theme in its original form.

After the film was shot Wyler had three shots of Pat interpolated into the scene: first, changing her clothes in the bedroom, second, mounting her horse and riding quickly across the horizon, and third, dismounting and sitting under a tree. Her body language in these intervening shots tangibly demonstrates her anger and frustration at McKay’s perceived cowardice.  These changes called for different music, giving Moross the opportunity to develop the sense of animosity in the overall scene, but especially the frustration emanating from Pat.

Moross’ revisions include two major changes. First, he introduces a new motive for Pat and continues it throughout the cue, combining it with McKay’s existing music.  Pat’s motive is an angry, repetitive melodic line, which reflects her frustration. 

McKay’s music, that is the statements of the main theme, is shortened and the altered statements of the main theme now feature an ascending gesture at the end, almost as a question mark as McKay muses on the turn of events. By having Pat’s motive accompany the thematic material associated with McKay, Moross assures her presence throughout the scene and infuses this first part of the raid with Pat’s anger.

Second, Moross introduces the rhythmic motive that propels the second part of the raid, where we see the Terrills riding viciously into the Hannassey ranch. Here is a snippet of that.

By combining this driving rhythm with Pat’s theme, Moross musically connects Pat with the men riding on the Hannasseys, establishing her complicity in the raid, and also providing additional unity to the entire cue and scene.

These revisions to the raid strengthen the differences in the personalities and priorities of the three characters in this scene. While McKay stands on the porch passively observing, the Terrill’s are moving and so is their music. This is the first indication that McKay’s character and temperament is significantly different from that of his fiancé, and clearly foreshadows the inevitable breakup.

One of the most remarkable (and remarked upon) scenes in The Big Country is the culminating fight between McKay and Leech. 

Clearly in love with Pat, Leech has been provoking McKay from the beginning, challenging him to fight without success. Finally, after McKay and Pat have broken off their engagement and McKay is ready to leave Ladder Ranch, he knocks on Leech’s door in the middle of the night and offers to fight him. Although this scenario doesn’t offer the requisite spectators Leech has been wanting, he agrees and they fight in an empty field. The alternating shots, between medium and extremely long shots, highlight the insignificance of the two men in relation to the world around them. Moross enhances this perception by allowing the fight to run for a long time before bringing in the music as the fight is winding down. And when he does it is extremely subtle, comparable to Roemheld’s gunfight in Decision at Sundown. Musically, Moross alternates between F major and B major, a tritone apart, signifying how distinctly different the two men are in many ways. Initially we barely hear low strings and brass playing the single notes in the example, but then the low winds and eventually upper winds enter with chords. The sound continues to grow but pauses as the two men talk and the cue ends with a consonant, hymnlike sonority, as peace is attained.

Although producer William Wyler did not like it, the score to The Big Country attracted considerable attention, and when the soundtrack recording was complete, the orchestra gave Moross a standing ovation.

You will note that I scarcely discussed anything but the action music in these films, although there is plenty of romance and atmosphere in them as well.  Indeed, most of the scores for these films offer a pastoral melody to accompany the outdoor scenes, providing a consonant backdrop to the scenes of aggression, hostility, or conflict.  As the modest shoot ‘em up, action-driven adventures became psychological dramas, and the community-building mythical reenactments of western lore became individualized explorations of masculinity and social development, the music altered its focus to enhance the emotional tension in the narrative.  We use the Western struggles with moral and ethical dilemmas to explore the socio-political world around us, and the music, which makes the fightin’ so excitin,’ helps us to understand it even better.