The father has two sons and one of them is rotten. The only problem is the father sees more of himself in the rotten one than the other.

This here is the West, and 20 years ago, it took men like Lee Hackett (Van Heflin) to settle it and turn it into cattle country. That required grit, determination, and the employment of violence—particularly toward the natives already living on the land when men like Lee Hackett pushed in.

But push in men like Lee Hackett did, and now the territory is settled and civilized so called. Lee still lives, and with him the rough and tumble past that is ready to reemerge at a moment’s notice. The townsfolk, specifically Sheriff Harry Brill (Robert F. Simon), don’t want that past to reemerge. They’re ready to move on. Brill even brings in a man from back east, Will Motley (Mickey Shaughnessy), a pugilist looking for something less punishing, to be his deputy and civilize the town.

Welcome to 1958’s Gunman’s Walk, and welcome to one of the most interesting westerns not likely to be on your radar. Directed by Phil Karlson, a craftsman of tough, no-nonsense noirs, and scripted by Frank S. Nugent (fresh off The Searchers) from a story by Ric Hardman, Gunman’s Walk is a bona fide classic, shot in Technicolor and Cinemascope by the great Charles Lawton Jr. And that I’ve made it this far down the page without mentioning the star of the picture: Tab Hunter, only speaks to the depth of talent in front of and behind the camera.

Hunter plays Ed, the rotten son of Lee. According to Hunter’s autobiography, Tab Hunter Confidential: The Making of a Movie Star, co-written by Eddie Muller, Hunter decided his character was more or less a Nazi living in the old West. Hunter conveys that subtext through his pretty blonde hair and blue eyes and by buttoning the collar button on his shirt. He looks like he’s wound too tight and might snap at any moment. Brother Davy (James Darren) knows that which is why he keeps his distance when he can and refuses to carry a gun.

As the title implies, firearms and all the phallic imagery they suggest are the central component of Gunman’s Walk. Ed loves his. Lee wears his, but more for pride than intimidation. He’s a crack shot and damn happy about it. Ed is, too, but not as good as Lee. Davy used to be but isn’t anymore. That really burns Lee up inside. So does Davy’s love interest, a mixed-race Sioux, Clee (Kathryn Grant).

As you might expect from Lee’s past, he holds no love for the Native Americans living next door. He’ll employ them, sure, but a racially charged mean streak comes out the second he learns Davy has chosen Clee and her family over his.

Though Nugent’s screenplay has plenty to hang its hat on—including a mock trial and an opportunistic cattleman (Ray Teal)—the real hook of Gunman’s Walk is the Freudian tension between Ed and Lee. Ed’s one goal in this world is to prove he’s bigger than his old man. And the only one he needs to prove it to is Lee.

Hunter, who wanted to prove he was more than his good looks, excels in conveying Ed’s forceful desperation. Heflin, a naturally gifted actor, plays Lee with the same natural gifts. The juxtaposition couldn’t be better. Lee is the man who won the West for the U.S. and carries all the costly talents to prove it. That Karlson casts Heflin, who just one year prior played the uncompromising good guy in 3:10 to Yuma, only deepens the psychopathy of the character.

Gunfighter’s Walk, gorgeously restored by Sony Pictures Entertainment from the original 35 mm negative, is a mid-century western begging to be rediscovered. It plays nicely alongside the other psychological westerns of the era à la Anthony Mann and Allan Dwan but doesn’t have the portentousness of One-Eyed Jacks or the A-level weight of a John Ford picture. It’s a classic Saturday matinee that’s bound to stick to the ribs well after Sunday.

Gunman’s Walk (1958)
Directed by Phil Karlson
Screenplay by Frank S. Nugent
Story by Ric Hardman
Produced by Fred Kohlmar
Starring: Van Heflin, Tab Hunter, James Darren, Kathryn Grant, Robert F. Simon, Mickey Shaughnessy, Ray Teal
Columbia Pictures Company, Not rated, Running time 97 minutes, Premiered July 23, 1958.

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