Review: The Ballad of Cable Hogue

After being left for dead in the desert and robbed of water by two shifty comrades (Strother Martin and L.Q. Jones, natch), the title character (played by Jason Robards) manages to stumble across some water and wants to stake a claim for the land and charge people for access to the water. Calling the area Cable Springs, he’s soon in league with a lustful displaced English preacher (David Warner) and a bosomy hooker named Hildy (Stella Stevens). Slim Pickens turns up as a stagecoach driver, and R.G. Armstrong is a disinterested banker.

Imperfect, but surprisingly likeable 1970 western/comedy from director Sam Peckinpah (“The Wild Bunch”, “Convoy”) and screenwriters John Crawford (a veteran character actor whose only writing credit this was) and Edmund Penney (also an actor, who only wrote one other screenplay) is a good showcase for veteran character actor Jason Robards in a rare lead role. Playing the title character, Robards (who I have no doubt spent a lot of time drinking with the infamous director) is pretty perfect in the role of an illiterate but chatty and stubborn man with money and revenge on his mind. I wouldn’t say the film is remotely stagey, but you can definitely tell Robards (whose character frequently converses with God, who sounds a lot like karma) is a theatre guy, and the role suits that style without coming across as anything other than a motion picture.

English actor David Warner gets a pretty big role here as the preacher with a thing for the ladies. He’s good as always, and Stella Stevens (and her cleavage) are suitably cast in a somewhat clichéd role. Seriously, though, how about that ample bosom? It’s a shame that Peckinpah wastes the talents of Slim Pickens and R.G. Armstrong in nothing roles, but Strother Martin and L.Q. Jones make for perfect shit weasels, as per usual. I did think, though, that they ought to have been paired up with someone with more genuine menace and threat (George Kennedy, Jack Palance, Christopher George, and Neville Brand all spring to mind), as they are pretty much left to be the only villainous presence in the film, and they’re certainly no threat. So that was unfortunate, though Jones and (especially) Martin do the slightly comedic shit weasel thing really well. The film is also a bit too slow and musical for my liking. Yes, there is singing, including the opening tune sung by Richard Gillis under the assumption that he’s Frankie Laine. He’s not. At all. Jerry Goldsmith (“The Omen”, “A Patch of Blue”, “Planet of the Apes”) delivers a typically solid score however, but it’s far from his best. I also found the film’s structure a tad episodic (not to mention it has more endings than “Return of the King”), but honestly the pacing is the only major flaw here and even that doesn’t quite ruin the experience.

This is a much lighter, more likeable side of Peckinpah, albeit with a conclusion that seems to come from the mind of Kurt Vonnegut. It’s a fairly solid, if slow film. A must for Jason Robards fans, and probably Stella Stevens admirers too.

Rating: B-