You can ride with a gang that seems to share a rough code of honour, but you'll be pursued by a former friend who's betraying you to stay out of prison. You can try to earn an easy score through the bloody hard work of robbing a bank, or a railroad, and cross the river into the freedom of a country where no law applies to you, but once you've crossed the river you'll be consumed by the chaos that always flourishes in the absence of law. You can try to rescue a friend, but your gesture will be rendered useless by a knife blade's flash. Then, when there's no more running, and nowhere to run to, when you've given your word and found that no one values it, when you've played out your string right to the end, what will you do?
The Wild Bunch is Sam Peckinpah's exploration of that question. An artist who knew and loved life on the land, who knew well, and hated, the corruptions of 'civilization', and was compelled to cross the border into lawless territory, to seek a freedom which his own knowledge could never let him inhabit, Peckinpah made this marvellous film. It's set in a physical and spiritual landscape that any thinking middle-aged man is appallingly familiar with - the world of turning a blind eye to one's own cruelty, of watching one's hopes trashed by malevolence and stupidity, of being betrayed by friends, of fantasizing about the stroke of good luck that will let a man walk away from his compromises and failures.
And Peckinpah's refusal to accept false sentiment reflects a middle-aged man's knowledge that self-interest and cruelty tempt even the very young, that even the powerful dream of being a child again is an illusion promising no peace. The children dream of being as brave and powerful as the adults whose violent actions are so seductively exciting. In the film's penultimate cathartic moment, it's a child who pulls the rifle's trigger. So, in the face of the disintegration of his world, and the impossibility of returning to innocence, what must a man do?
No, the characters in this film are not honourable. But they dream of honourable actions - helping one's countrymen, one's village, one's friends. Yes, the idea of the frontier as an escape, and a new beginning, dies, in a welter of bullets after a man is dragged by technology across the abrasive landscape of his failure to see the consequences of his own actions. But the freedom of the frontier is its uncompromising offer of a chance to assess what's really true about existence. Sam Peckinpah knew that the assessment was the important thing. Death will happen. . . the important thing is to be ready to face death honestly, and so be able to live truly. The Wild Bunch isn't a young person's film, but for people who are ready to live in the minute details of existence faced honestly, ready to face the inevitable truth of death, The Wild Bunch is the necessary film. Peckinpah's clear vision cost him his happiness, and his health, finally, but left the rest of us a tough, miraculous, work of art.
The Wild Bunch is Sam Peckinpah's exploration of that question. An artist who knew and loved life on the land, who knew well, and hated, the corruptions of 'civilization', and was compelled to cross the border into lawless territory, to seek a freedom which his own knowledge could never let him inhabit, Peckinpah made this marvellous film. It's set in a physical and spiritual landscape that any thinking middle-aged man is appallingly familiar with - the world of turning a blind eye to one's own cruelty, of watching one's hopes trashed by malevolence and stupidity, of being betrayed by friends, of fantasizing about the stroke of good luck that will let a man walk away from his compromises and failures.
And Peckinpah's refusal to accept false sentiment reflects a middle-aged man's knowledge that self-interest and cruelty tempt even the very young, that even the powerful dream of being a child again is an illusion promising no peace. The children dream of being as brave and powerful as the adults whose violent actions are so seductively exciting. In the film's penultimate cathartic moment, it's a child who pulls the rifle's trigger. So, in the face of the disintegration of his world, and the impossibility of returning to innocence, what must a man do?
No, the characters in this film are not honourable. But they dream of honourable actions - helping one's countrymen, one's village, one's friends. Yes, the idea of the frontier as an escape, and a new beginning, dies, in a welter of bullets after a man is dragged by technology across the abrasive landscape of his failure to see the consequences of his own actions. But the freedom of the frontier is its uncompromising offer of a chance to assess what's really true about existence. Sam Peckinpah knew that the assessment was the important thing. Death will happen. . . the important thing is to be ready to face death honestly, and so be able to live truly. The Wild Bunch isn't a young person's film, but for people who are ready to live in the minute details of existence faced honestly, ready to face the inevitable truth of death, The Wild Bunch is the necessary film. Peckinpah's clear vision cost him his happiness, and his health, finally, but left the rest of us a tough, miraculous, work of art.