McCabe & Mrs. Miller
John McCabe is a gambler. That is all you ever have to know about the character played by Warren Beatty in Robert Altman’s classic western. The first time we see him, riding in the rain into a small mining town, he stops at the saloon, and scopes the place out (so he knows where the back door is) before bringing in a cloth for one of the tables, setting up a card game for some of the guys in the saloon, and making a deal with the owner on a percentage of the profits. McCabe never moves too far away from that basic individual, and it is the reason why he will be lying alone, dead, in the snow by the end of the film.
“McCabe & Mrs. Miller” is a film I have long known about, and heard about, but never have gotten around to seeing, until now. I’m actually kind of grateful I had not re-familiarized myself with the narrative in sources like Roger Ebert’s Great Movies review of the film, because it allowed me to watch it relatively cold, unsure of how the narrative would play out. This is not the type of film I had become familiar with when I have watched Robert Altman’s work, but it’s unmistakably the work of the filmmaker, whom builds the world, and makes it a living, breathing place in the way his camera follows the action, and he uses overlapping dialogue and sound techniques to give us a sense of reality. I don’t know if I would call it my favorite western of all-time, but it’s certainly a part of the conversation.
John McCabe rides into the small town of Presbyterian Church, which is still being established and built when he enters, and immediately sets himself up as a brothel owner with some local women working in tents until the bathhouse can be built. Not long after, a British prostitute, Constance Miller (Julie Christie), rides into town, and offers to be a partner in the brothel, and bring in some classier women for the establishment. McCabe, though reluctant of having a partner, agrees, seeing the opportunity for growth, and more money in his pockets. When that opportunity comes in the form of a pair of agents from a nearby mining company offering to buy McCabe out, McCabe turns down the initial offer, in the hopes of getting them to agree for more. Constance respectfully disagrees, as the company has a reputation of killing people whom cross them. The gambit fails, and McCabe finds himself paranoid when some hired killers come into town.
McCabe and Constance’s relationship is near the center of the film, and it’s lovely and touchingly played by Beatty and Christie, but what resonated the strongest with me was the arc of McCabe himself, and the idea of corruption and ambition rotting the soul, whether that’s the character itself or the town. Altman as a storyteller is astute in how he brings themes and ideas to stories beyond the actual narrative; here, it’s much more upfront, especially by the time the town church is on fire while McCabe is fighting for his survival, alone. We see the corrupting impact of McCabe’s business ventures early on when a man gets in a fight when his wife is accidentally mistaken as a prostitute; he later dies. Of course, this is a western setting, so violence and gambling and prostitution is par for the course, but in Altman’s fans, we feel as though that type of life is foreign for the people in Presbyterian Church, and McCabe is taking advantage of that. And yet, the town is ripe for the taking, and they have no problem partaking in what he has to offer. When one of the townspeople gets violent with a passer by whom has holed up at the brothel, though, it feels like a violation of the world we’ve come to know in this film, leading to the climax mentioned earlier in this paragraph. That climax is one of the most haunting and beautiful I’ve seen, with the production design of the town brilliantly shot by Vilmos Zsigmond, and songs by Leonard Cohen that set the mood and world as well as any song previously written for a film. Cohen doesn’t feel out of place in Altman’s old west, and it’s unforgettable once we’ve heard it with this film, especially left with the image of Constance Miller, lying in a bed, huddled with other members of the community after putting out the fire, and McCabe’s face, covered in snow and his hair, alone, dead, all because of his own hubris. Altman’s film is a work of art, and unexpected empathy for the characters involved.
