During the golden years of the American Western, countless examples of gun slinging, cattle rearing, train robbing and every other rootin’, tootin’ trope of the genre was mined by the relentless surge of movies that was headed into cinemas like a crowded cattle drive. As a result, many seemed to get lost in the crowd so it was imperative that to stand out, something had to be done to help these cowpokes differentiate themselves from the horde of cowboys and outlaws flooding onto the big screen like a stampede.
This is where the impossibly perky Cat Ballou comes in, a movie that took all the aspects of a casual Western and spliced it with the zany, “gee whizz” DNA of a screwball comedy that would usually see people like Cary Grant or Marilyn Monroe getting into all sorts of farcical scrapes. But could two genres that are the epitome of cinematic chalk and cheese possibly coexist – you better believe it, the freaking thing even managed to nab an Oscar!
Catherine Ballou is returning home by train to Wolf City with dreams of becoming a school teacher but immediately (and quite accidently) starts brushing up to the outlaw life when she gets into an embarrassing muddle with accused cattle rustler, Clay Boone as he flees a pursuing Sheriff with his drunken uncle Jed. Unwittingly helping the noticably horny outlaw to escape, Cat manages to finally make it back to her father’s ranch only to find the stubborn, old coot being pressured by the Wolf City Development Corporation to sell his land by hook or by crook by notorious, nose-patched, killer, Tim Strawn.
Terrified for her father’s safety, Cat conspires with Native American hired hand, Jackson Two-Bears, not to mention a returning Clay and Boone, to hire a gun fighter to protect her curmudgeonly old man, but after putting a call out to the legendary Kid Shelleen, they find the legend hasn’t exactly been updated over the years.
To put it bluntly, Kid Shelleen has been reduced to a rickety old drunk, with a nose so red it could stop traffic and barely able to stand up straight let alone shoot a bullet in the right direction (unless he’s beyond wasted) and within minutes of showing up, the man he was hired to protect is shot dead. A grieving Cat soon finds that the entire town stands to profit from the corporation’s machinations and gets no help from the local law. Determined to not let them make her cry and make them all pay, Cat wrangles her motley entourage of smitten hangers on to stick it to Sir Harry Percival and the Wolf City Development Corporation by becoming outlaws and targeting the company’s payroll by robbing a train. However, the reason that Shellen, Clay, Jed and Jackson follow Cat in her quest to go from teacher to criminal, is that they are all smitten with the gutsy young woman to varying degrees, something that’ll eventually drive a wedge between gang at the worst possible time.
It’s not like there hadn’t been other tonally diverse Westerns before or since Jane Fonda first tentatively approached that hangman’s noose; after all, Mel Brooks infamous, establishment baiting spoof, Blazing Saddles and the truly bizarre experience of seeing Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin warble their way through the musical, Paint Your Wagon, instantly comes to mind, but when it comes to a comedic balancing act, Cat Ballou boasts some impressive credentials. Cross pollinating genres takes a steady hand. For example, for every horror comedy that hits the bullseye of An American Werewolf In London and actually score both legitimate scares with its chuckles, you get at least five Lesbian Vampire Killers that provides neither, so it’s a testament to Elliot Silverstein’s direction and the savvy nature of the script that Cat Ballou confidently stands with a ladies’ sized cowboy boot planted in each genre. Good naturedly ribbing the tropes of a fair few gunslinger movies, the film deals up broad examples of stock characters like the over the hill, alcoholic sharp shooter or the overexcited young male who thinks more with bis pecker than he does with his grey matter – but wisely never mocks them or belittles them. The result is that, despite its colourful and undeniably theatrical demeanour, the movie still plays respectfully within the rules of the Western while simultaneously flipping some other tropes like a burger on a grill.
The obvious signifier is Cat Ballou herself, played with wide eyed enthusiasm by a ridiculously adorable Jane Fonda, who goes from naive teacher to train robbing murderer while never losing her innocent nature, even when she dolls herself up as a prostitute to finally get her revenge. Serving up a female lead in a male dominated genre who has men doing whatever she wants thanks to the overpowering nature of her feminine wiles could have had her come across as an opportunistic female fatale, but Fonda’s attitude never allows Cat’s character to become tarnished, even when she leads her gang further into lawlessness. Other examples of the flick mixing things up is that the Native American character is exceptionally well educated, rustlers Clay and Jed have never actually fired a shot in anger and the revenge driven actions of Ballou actually are detrimental to every man, woman and child who live in Wolf City as Percival’s plans are due to bring prosperity to the mangy town. This leads to Cat Ballou’s most interesting (and pretty dark) aspect as the whole story is told by the musical stylings of Nat King Cole and Stubby Kaye, whose banjo plucking ditties tell a noticably different story than the one we’re actually witnessing. Are they just relating the take via the basis of the townsfolk, or is the real joke that Cat Ballou is not exactly the innocent victim those pouting lips and wide eyes suggest and we’ve just gotten caught up in her sensual orbit just like everybody else?
Of course, the real star here is the sight of Lee Marvin finally being able to stretch his legs into the realms of comedy after years of playing swaggering brutes and he knocks it clean out of the frickin’ park in the dual roles of the haggard Kid Shelleen and and the threatening Tim Strawn – in fact, the sight of his clearly wasted ass propped up against a wall by a clearly exasperated horse may be the single greatest comedic Western image not crafted by Mel Brooks.
Hardcore lovers of the genre may complain it’s too light, but thanks to being loaded with killer lines (When Kid asks what’s wrong with his eyes hes told that they’re red and bloodshot. “You ought to see them from my side.” is his raspy retort) and some iconic performances, Cat Ballou plays the Western at it’s own game while adding a couple of new wrinkles to damsels in need, gun twirling slingers and the myths of the Old West itself.
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