March 6 . . .
New York laughs at itself, California romanticises itself, and Texas glorifies itself. And nowhere does it take more patriotic pride than in the battle of the Alamo.
In the predawn hours of this day in 1836 in San Antonio, Texas, a veritable swarm of Mexican troops launched a massive attack on a dilapidated adobe mission occupied by a small, ragtag band of resistance fighters for the Republic of Texas. Every schoolboy knows the story of the battle of the Alamo – how 180 brave men fended off 5,000 of General Santa Anna’s troops, with the holy trinity of Col. William Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett at the forefront of the glorious battle.
The Alamo. Don’t get me started.
Too late . . I’m started.
First of all, I detest patriotism. Patriotism is propaganda, usually at the expense of truth. Americans have a rich history of swallowing lies. And the myth of the Alamo is rife with them.
But, as is usually the case with history, the real story is more complicated. The Mexican government, which legally owned the area of Texas, had graciously allowed the so-called 'Texicans' squatters’ rights, allowing them to live free on their land – but after a while the colonists rebelled against their hosts. Many of the ‘defenders of the Alamo’ weren’t patriots in the accepted sense of the word; they were mercenaries, land speculators, and, most surprising of all, slave owners – a dubious business for so-called freedom lovers. They begged their neighbors for help – immediate help – but it seems that pretty much every ‘loyal Texan’ within 400 miles of the mission had better things to do. The Mexican soldiers – usually portrayed as freshly-uniformed, formation-perfect killers – had just traveled hundreds of miles on foot from Mexico over tortuous terrain, were poorly armed, had no food, and were exhausted.
William Travis? A vainglorious, elitist egomaniac who valued his own image over the lives of those who served under him. Jim Bowie? Thief, ruthless and dishonest businessman, slave trader and murderer, an alcoholic brute who beat his wife and deserted his family. Davy Crockett? A self-promoting, wily and manipulative failed politician who, according to controversial but compelling evidence, tried to surrender during the final battle. These are the ‘heroes’ of the Alamo.
Still, the myth of The Alamo conjures vivid images of patriotism, sacrifice and bravery on both sides – and that makes for ripe movie material. Films like ‘The Last Command’ (1956) and ‘The Alamo: Thirteen Days to Glory’ (1977) are reasonably intelligent if bilious recountings, and 2006’s ‘The Alamo’ was a noble if ultimately vacuous exercise in Texas-style self-promotion. But for sheer big-budget, dunderheaded blockbuster bullshit, it’s tough to top John Wayne’s propaganda-fueled, rightwing testosterone fantasy fest, ‘The Alamo’ (1959).
It had long been Duke’s dream to film the saga and direct it himself, and he literally spent years in preparation, putting his entire personal fortune on the line. He constructed an identical full-scale version of the Alamo just outside of Bracketville, Texas (which is still standing, and has been used in ‘Lonesome Dove’ and ‘Barbarosa’.) The entire set covered 400 acres, utilized over 1 million adobe bricks, and had over 200,000 square feet of structures. (It speaks volumes that the state has done a better job of preserving this film set than the real thing.) Wayne cast himself as Davy Crockett (a much older Crockett; Wayne was in his mid-50s, the real Crockett 20 years younger), Richard Widmark as a taciturn Jim Bowie, and odd-man-out British actor L aurence Harvey as Col. William Barrett Travis.
The abominable script frequently lapses into simple-minded Hollywoodisms (particularly Wayne’s patriotic speech, “Republic. I like the sound of the word.”) and out-of-place comic, barfight macho humor, not to mention a woefully misguided love story subplot between John Wayne and a local Mexican lady. Wayne did a passable job in the director’s chair – rumored to have been assisted and advised by longtime mentor John Ford. ‘The Alamo’ is simple-minded and overlong, but Wayne’s attention to detail is admirable. (Well, there are a few noticeable lapses; keep an eye out for the mobile trailers in the background – and the soldier falling onto a mattress!)
Still, it ain’t history, it’s Hollywood.
Click here to see the original theatrical trailer . . .
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