Cinema: Cardin Cowpokery

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Death of a Gunfighter might have been as good as its actors. As bone-weary Marshal Frank Patch, Richard Widmark is as legitimate and leathery as a saddle. His mistress (Lena Horne) cannot make a move or a speech that is not correct or elegant; her appearance in this symbol-minded film sadly recalls a 13-year absence from Hollywood. Like the High Lama in Lost Horizon, Widmark and Horne seem at once endlessly old and miraculously preserved, as if they were waiting for a revelation. Death of a Gunfighter is not it. In a town settling into the 20th century, stallions mix with horseless carriages and Mazda bulbs compete with gaslight. The contrast of periods is minor compared with the clutch of anachronisms offered by the script. Among them: police brutality, strained race relations, the lowly role of the Jew in society, adolescent sex, and finally the message, delivered by the county sheriff: "Frank Patch is your conscience, and you're afraid."

Though the end contains a ritual slaughter, it comes too late to save the project. The western is essentially a naive art. When it tries for sophistication it collapses into self-mockery, like a cowpoke dressed by Cardin.