Critical popcorn

There’s a famous quote often attributed to John Ford, but actually from his western, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance: “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.” It’s an aphorism that serves as a central theme of John Sayles‘ incredible 1996 mystery drama, where characters are forced to confront ghosts of the past, potentially tarnishing a local legend, and with wider implications for the town itself.

Lone Star isn’t a western. There are no mythic heroes here, no heroic showdowns at high noon. Neither is it anything as extreme as a revisionist deconstruction of the genre. Instead, it’s a subtle film that makes use of western iconography, as well as drawing from film noir and mysteries, to tell an infinitely more interesting story. Infused with the social consciousness that pervades all of Sayles’ films, it’s both an informed study of racial tensions in a border town, and an exploration into the relationship with the past, how past actions have long reaching ramifications, and how it can create insurmountable barriers between the generations, with a particular emphasis on fathers and sons.

Sam Deeds (Chris Cooper) is the sheriff of Frontera, a small Texas town with rising tensions in the multi-cultural population in the lead up to a celebration of local legend, and Sam’s father, Buddy Deeds (played in flashback by a pre-stardom Matthew McConaughey). When two soldiers on leave dig up a human skull and a sheriff’s badge, it sets in motion an investigation into the disappearance of corrupt sheriff Charlie Wade (Kris Kristofferson), an inquiry that threatens to tarnish the reputation of Sam’s father. It’s a development not entirely unwelcome for the younger Deeds, who knew a very different man to the revered Sheriff the town worships, and despite the pressure from the mayor (Clifton James) and local business owners, he endeavors to uncover the truth, regardless of the consequences. Mirroring Sam’s relationship with his father is the presence stiff-necked Colonel Payne (Joe Morton) the newly appointed head of the local military base, whose own relationship with his estranged father (Ron Canada) is equally fraught.

Cooper gives a textbook example of doing a lot with a little. His laconic performance is understated while hinting at years of resentment towards his legendary predecessor. He perfectly captures the complicated feelings of a son trying to live up to the reputation of his father – trying to stay impartial in his investigation while also fighting the urge to tear down his father’s legacy. It’s a subtle bit of characterisation and Cooper sells it brilliantly.

It’s really an ensemble piece though, and every role is perfectly cast. Every character feels lived-in, and it makes the town seem like an authentic community. Elizabeth Pena is particularly credible as the prickly, no-nonsense schoolteacher. Morton does a great job of finding the real human being underneath the straitlaced military man, Kristofferson is a wonderfully craggy, malignant presence and Frances McDormand is characteristically brilliant in a cameo that deserves to be mentioned among those performances that steal a film with one scene.

Described in the special features of this release as the consummate independent filmmaker, Sayles is one of the most revered non-mainstream American auteurs in the industry. Retaining full control of his films, he is responsible for some of the most compelling, thought provoking films of the 20th century. Nowhere is his social awareness more evident than in Lone Star, where the rising tensions between the many different cultural groups of the town are depicted intelligently and with real nuance.

Take Miriam Colon’s restaurant owner, who has so completely assimilated into American culture that she phones the law on fellow Mexicans crossing the border. It’s only in her final scene that she is forced to confront her own cultural identity and past, when an employee asks her for help.

It’s an old fashioned film in the best way: Sayles has never really been a self-consciously stylish director, but the little flourishes here are excellent. The way he uses scene transitions to flashbacks, through the use of intricate blocking, is seamless and fluid, and makes the relationship between the past and present even more closely interwoven.

Sayles’ strongest trait has always been his writing, and this is no exception. The dialogue is lyrical and punchy without ever drawing attention to itself. It reminds me of the sparse, tough dialogue that you get in Howard Hawks films. The final line of the film, “Forget the Alamo” is both a wry bit of wordplay and a melancholy assertion that the future will be better, even if the characters know it won’t be that easy.

A film long overdue a physical media release, Lone Star is Sayles’ most acclaimed film, and it’s a well deserved reputation. The indie aesthetic, excellent cast and dense script all contribute to make an introspective gem of 1990s independent cinema, that reveals more layers with every rewatch.

Special Features

This director-approved release from Criterion shows the film in a digital restoration supervised by Sayles himself and director of photography Stuart Dryburgh. The special features include a new interview between Sayles and filmmaker Gregory Nava, a new interview with Dryburgh and an essay by Domino Renee Perez.

Lone Star is out on 26th of February, released by the Criterion collection.
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