In the sleepy Arizona town of Bisbee, a gang of cowboys walk into an empty saloon where a young, sad-eyed woman wordlessly pours them drinks. The head of the outfit, an unconventionally handsome man with a friendly smile that hints at years of troublemaking, matter-of-factly tells the woman they just came across a stagecoach robbery where the driver was killed. What he doesn’t say is that the men in front of her were the robbers and he was the one who shot the driver and a member of his own posse when the driver tried to take him hostage.
This man is Ben Wade, the notorious outlaw played so deliciously by Glenn Ford in the psychological western 3:10 to Yuma (1957). When we first meet Wade, the camera pans across his gang as they surround a stagecoach until we land on him, his mouth twitching into a slight smirk as he sits atop his horse. This introductory scene is familiar to any western fan — a stagecoach is held up by a terrifying gang, whose leader establishes his ruthlessness within minutes while also dropping a few quips to demonstrate that there is more than ice running through his veins. On the one hand, Wade is the kind of antagonist you’d expect: thoroughly in control, clever, confident, rascally. But then he walks into that saloon and meets Emmy (Felicia Farr), the woman tending the bar.
Once his posse leaves the town, Wade stays behind and finds himself alone with Emmy, an unhappy woman who misses the time she spent singing in a livelier town before her health forced her to be in a drier — and more boring — climate. There is a poignancy to their interaction, their isolation etched on their faces as they reminisce about the past and think about the coldness of the present. Two lonesome souls reaching out to one another, surrounded by the hopelessness of a dusty ghost town.
Make no mistake, though, this is also a scene of seduction. Wade and Emmy want each other. With a delicacy you wouldn’t expect from the man we saw shoot one of his own minutes before, Wade moves into Emmy’s space, caressing her face and nuzzling her neck. There is gentleness in their carnality, a mournful whisper rather than a feverish scream. When we next see them coming from the backroom, Wade without his hat and Emmy touching her clothes, there is no doubt about what’s happened. The intimacy of the moment is heightened even more as director Delmer Daves cuts to a close-up of the couple as they note the fleetingness of their time together. “I ain’t complainin’,” Emmy assures him. “I got something to remember.” “Me too,” Wade replies with complete sincerity. This isn’t a romance that will last for the rest of their days; it’s an hour of human connection, a warm memory to turn to when life makes you feel bitter.
When I first saw 3:10 to Yuma, I was not prepared for how much Glenn Ford would take my breath away. Perhaps I should’ve been — after all, this is the same man who makes me (and Bette Davis) swoon in A Stolen Life, who cracks me up with his sly comedic skills in The Gazebo, who frustrates me to no end (as he is supposed to) in Gilda, and who shatters my heart in The Courtship of Eddie’s Father and Dear Heart. But 3:10 to Yuma is another animal entirely.
As Ben Wade, Ford scorches the screen while barely moving an inch. Captured in Bisbee and held at gunpoint by impoverished rancher Dan Evans (a wonderful Van Heflin) in a hotel room until he can be sent to prison on the 3:10 train, Ford spends much of the film laying on a bed, his hands cuffed together and his hat casting shadows over his face. Waiting for his gang to inevitably free him, Wade tries to convince Evans to let him go, his words sending the man into a spiral of self-doubt, fear, and regret. As Evans unravels, though, Wade remains calm, even a little amused. A flicker of a facial expression is all it takes to rivet us, his hunched shoulders and soft-spoken swagger evoking a tough-guy coolness that somehow exists alongside a clear regard for politeness and a surprising sense of fairness. There is no need for ostentation here — just a twinkle in the eye and a smile that could ruin your life… but man, would it be worth it.
There is a lot to love about 3:10 to Yuma: the tremendous black-and-white cinematography; watching the effect of Wade’s mind games on Evans; the story’s fascinating interrogation of traditional ideas of masculinity and heroism; the emotional, ecstatic release of the ending… But I always come back to Glenn Ford. It is a magnificent, quietly towering performance that telegraphs what made Ford such a beautiful and staggering actor, and it’s a piece of cinema I’ll never forget.
3:10 to Yuma will be screened at IU Cinema on December 8 as part of the Re:Made series. Its 2007 remake will be shown on December 10 with a post-screening Q&A with cinematographer Bear Brown and filmmaker Zachary Spicer to discuss the films and the role of the antihero.
Michaela Owens is thrilled to be the editor of Establishing Shot, in addition to being IU Cinema’s Communications and Outreach Media Specialist. An IU graduate with a BA in Communication and Culture and an MA in Cinema and Media Studies, she never stops thinking about classic Hollywood, thanks to her mother’s introduction to it, and she likes to believe she is an expert on Katharine Hepburn and Esther Williams.