Where Even Mavericks Have a Home
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Robert M. Young's
The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez (1982) served as a model for these lean, mean productions. Young holed up in a Santa Fe hotel for six days and nights to hammer out a rough draft of the final script, recasting the thrust of Victor Villase–or's screenplay and AmŽrico Paredes' original novel,
With His Pistol in His Hand. Young struggled to bring balance and perspective to his true-life depiction of one of the century's most charged and divisive criminal cases. Borderland balladeers have long sung of the tragedy of Gregorio Cortez, a dirt-poor farmer who became the object of the largest manhunt in Texas history after he was accused in 1901 of gunning down two sheriffs in cold blood. Young wrestled with ways to sustain suspense in a story whose outcome was widely known. He elected to follow the fractured approach of
Rashomon, the Japanese classic that reveals its hand slowly, one facet at a time, through the shifting and opposing viewpoints of each character.
"The point of telling a story is not to tell people something they know about already," Young says. "I wanted to set it up so you don't know whether Cortez was guilty or not. All along, you think the same thing as the Texas Rangers, and then you begin to be let in on an entirely different set of facts, so you are forced to examine the case again and again, with fresh eyes."
The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez owes much of its intensity to Edward James Olmos' smoldering, career-making performance as the haunted fugitive. But the casting couldn't be much better from top to bottom. Young regrets passing on Ed Harris, who auditioned for a role, but the director redeemed himself by picking up such unimpeachable talents as James Gammon, Rosana DeSoto, William Sanderson, Brion James, Barry Corbin and Pepe Serna. Why use New Mexico - specifically the arroyos around Santa Fe and Chama's scenic train and high terrain - to substitute for Texas locales? Young is unapologetic about the choice. "We found we could re-create the historic settings we wanted more easily in New Mexico. For us, it really couldn't have worked out any better."
Like the bikers in
Easy Rider or the cross-country road racers in Monte Hellman's spare
Two-Lane Blacktop (1971), the Native American seekers in
Powwow Highway (1989) embark on a journey of self-discovery across the nation's heartland. But a more pressing mission compels philosophical Philbert Bono (Gary Farmer) and his activist companion Buddy Red Bow (A Martinez). Bonnie (Joannelle Nadine Romero), Buddy's sister, has landed in a Santa Fe jail. Buddy and Philbert load into a wreck of a 1964 Buick dubbed "Protector" and ride off from Montana to the rescue. Buddy wants to make urgent tracks, but Philbert, a gentle bear of a man, follows his own circuitous compass through the Dakotas to visit friends and sacred places so he can get into the right frame of mind for their quest.
David Seals' cult novel propelled
Powwow Highway, which rode to success atop a visionary blend of magic and comic resilience. The film made for strange bedfellows. While the cast was predominantly Native American, former Beatle George Harrison lent his support as executive producer and tapped South African Jonathan Wacks, in his directorial debut, to helm the picture. The first time proved the charm for Wacks. He took home the Filmmaker's Trophy from the U.S. Film Festival in Park City, Utah (which evolved into the prestigious Sundance), and he came to establish deep roots in New Mexico, where he currently heads the Moving Image Arts program at the College of Santa Fe.
