IRRESISTIBLE ROGUES
A tribute to the most fascinating, seductive,infuriatingly endearing blackguards of history,
literature, stage, & screen...rogues we hate to love
Gaius Julius Caesar
After Sulla pardoned Caesar, he still thought it a wise idea to avoid potentially falling back into disfavor. Caesar, at 20 years old, left Rome for Asia in 80 B.C.E. He next joined the staff of the Asian governor, Praetor Marcus Minucius Thermus, and got an advance start on his military and political career. While in service to Thermus, he was sent on a diplomatic mission to King Nicomedes IV of Bithynia with the purpose of raising a fleet. Caesar seems to have stayed so long in Bithynia that rumors began to circulate about what he was doing. By the time he did return to Thermus, with the fleet he was sent to muster, it was widely believed that Caesar was having an affair with Nicomedes. His fast return to Bithynia, to settle some affairs for the King, added to the gossip. The incident, while there is no evidence other than speculation, was a great source of joy to Caesar's enemies later. They delighted in referring to him as the Queen of Bithynia. As he struggled for the rest of his life to quell the rumor, he turned into a notorious seducer of Roman women. Possibly, a designed effort in part to refute the charges, Caesar would later have affairs with countless Roman noblewomen. Wives and family of Senators were his favorite targets, and though he was never quite able to live down the Nicomedes rumor, he assuredly had an overwhelming reputation as a ladies man.
After the incident with Nicomedes, Caesar returned to Asia, and was involved in several military operations. In 80 BC while still serving under Thermus, he played a pivotal role in the siege of Miletus. During the course of the battle Caesar showed such personal bravery in saving the lives of legionaries, that he was later awarded the corona civica (oak crown). The award was of the highest honor, and when worn in the presence of the Senate, they were forced to stand and applaud his presence. Caesar wore the crown whenever it was opportune as he certainly delighted in 'rubbing it in' to his enemies.
Caesar next served under Servilius Isauricus in Cilicia but only for a short time. Hearing of Sulla's death in the same year, it was finally safe to return to Rome. For the next few years, he worked diligently at his oration skills by serving as a trial attorney, in which he excelled. In just his early twenties, he was gaining a powerful reputation for a populares champion taking on several elite aristrocrats. Of the most notable, in 77 BC, Caesar brilliantly prosecuted the ex Consul Gnaeus Cornelius Dollabella for extortion from various Greek cities during a term as governor. Though the end result was a victory for Dolabella, his reputation was terribly damaged. The great orator Cicero even commented, "does anyone have the ability to speak better than Caesar." Another high profile, though ultimately unsuccessful prosecution of Gaius Antonius Hybrida followed. Only the bribery of the Tribune of the Plebes bought Hybrida an acquittal, but Caesar's star was rising fast. With such a promising career well under way, Caesar next sought to continue his education in rhetoric and oration, key skills for any Roman politician.
An education begun under the same teacher as Cicero, Marcus Antonius Gnipho, needed further refinement. In 75 B.C.E., Caesar left Rome to study in Rhodes under the great teacher Apollonius Molon. While en route, however, he was waylaid by Cilician pirates, who infested the Mediterranean sea, and taken hostage. The Romans had never sent a navy against them, because the pirates offered the Roman senators slaves, which they needed for their plantations in Italy. As a consequence, piracy was common.
In Chapter 2 of his Life of Julius Caesar, the Greek author Plutarch of Chaeronea (46-c.120 C.E.) describes what happened when Caesar encountered the pirates. The translation below was made by Robin Seager.
First, when the pirates demanded a ransom of twenty talents, Caesar burst out laughing. They did not know, he said, who it was that they had captured, and he volunteered to pay fifty. Then, when he had sent his followers to the various cities in order to raise the money and was left with one friend and two servants among these Cilicians, about the most bloodthirsty people in the world, he treated them so highhandedly that, whenever he wanted to sleep, he would send to them and tell them to stop talking.
For thirty-eight days, with the greatest unconcern, he joined in all their games and exercises, just as if he was their leader instead of their prisoner. He also wrote poems and speeches which he read aloud to them, and if they failed to admire his work, he would call them to their faces illiterate savages, and would often laughingly threaten to have them all hanged. They were much taken with this and attributed his freedom of speech to a kind of simplicity in his character or boyish playfulness.
However, the ransom arrived from Miletus and, as soon as he had paid it and been set free, he immediately manned some ships and set sail from the harbor of Miletus against the pirates. He found them still there, lying at anchor off the island, and he captured nearly all of them. He took their property as spoils of war and put the men themselves into the prison at Pergamon. He then went in person to [Marcus] Junius, the governorof Asia, thinking it proper that he, as praetor in charge of the province, should see to the punishment of the prisoners. Junius, however, cast longing eyes at the money, which came to a considerable sum, and kept saying that he needed time to look into the case.
Caesar paid no further attention to him. He went to Pergamon, took the pirates out of prison and crucified the lot of them, just as he had often told them he would do when he was on the island and they imagined that he was joking.
Lucius Catiline was a man of noble birth, and of eminent mental and personal endowments, but of a vicious and depraved disposition. His delight, from his youth, had been in civil commotions, bloodshed, robbery, and sedition; and in such scenes he had spent his early years. His constitution could endure hunger, want of sleep, and cold, to a degree surpassing belief. His mind was daring, subtle, and versatile, capable of pretending or dissembling whatever he wished. He was covetous of other men's property, and prodigal of his own. He had abundance of eloquence, though but little wisdom. His insatiable ambition was always pursuing objects extravagant, romantic, and unattainable.
Since the time of Sulla's dictatorship, a strong desire of seizing the government possessed him, nor did he at all care, provided that he secured power for himself, by what means he might arrive at it. His violent spirit was daily more and more hurried on by the diminution of his patrimony, and by his consciousness of guilt; both which evils he had increased by those practices which I have mentioned above. The corrupt morals of the state, too, which extravagance and selfishness, pernicious and contending vices, rendered thoroughly depraved, furnished him with additional incentives to action....
In so populous and so corrupt a city [as Rome], Catiline, as it was very easy to do, kept about him, like a body-guard, crowds of the unprincipled and desperate. For all those shameless, libertine, and profligate characters, who had dissipated their patrimonies by gaming, luxury, and sensuality; all who had contracted heavy debts, to purchase immunity for their crimes or offences; all assassins or sacrilegious persons from every quarter, convicted or dreading conviction for their evil deeds; all, besides, whom their tongue or their hand maintained by perjury or civil bloodshed; all, in fine, whom wickedness, poverty, or a guilty conscience disquieted, were the associates and intimate friends of Catiline. And if any one, as yet of unblemished character, fell into his society, he was presently rendered, by daily intercourse and temptation, similar and equal to the rest. But it was the young whose acquaintance he chiefly courted; as their minds, ductile and unsettled from their age, were easily ensnared by his stratagems. For as the passions of each, according to his years, appeared excited, he furnished mistresses to some, bought horses and dogs for others, and spared, in a word, neither his purse nor his character, if he could but make them his devoted and trustworthy supporters. There were some, I know, who thought that the youth, who frequented the house of Catiline, were guilty of crimes against nature; but this report arose rather from other causes than from any evidence of the fact.
Catiline, in his youth, had been guilty of many criminal connections, with a virgin of noble birth, with a priestess of Vesta, and of many other offences of this nature in defiance alike of law and religion. At last, when he was smitten with a passion for Aurelia Orestilla, in whom no good man, at any time of her life, commended anything but her beauty, it is confidently believed that because she hesitated to marry him, from the dread of having a grown-up step-son, he cleared the house for their nuptials by putting his son to death. And this crime appears to me to have been the chief cause of hurrying forward the conspiracy. For his guilty mind, at peace with neither gods nor men, found no comfort either waking or sleeping; so effectually did conscience desolate his tortured spirit. His complexion, in consequence, was pale, his eyes haggard, his walk sometimes quick and sometimes slow, and distraction was plainly apparent in every feature and look.
The young men, whom, as I said before, he had enticed to join him, he initiated, by various methods, in evil practices. From among them he furnished false witnesses, and forgers of signatures; and he taught them all to regard, with equal unconcern, honor, property, and danger. At length, when he had stripped them of all character and shame, he led them to other and greater enormities. If a motive for crime did not readily occur, he invited them, nevertheless, to circumvent and murder inoffensive persons, just as if they had injured him; for, lest their hand or heart should grow torpid for want of employment, he chose to be gratuitously wicked and cruel.
Depending on such accomplices and adherents, and knowing that the load of debt was everywhere great, and that the veterans of Sulla, having spent their money too liberally, and remembering their spoils and former victory, were longing for a civil war, Catiline formed the design of overthrowing the government....- Gaius Sallustius Crispus: Conspiracy of Catiline (literally translated by the Rev. John Selby Watson)
TO THE POSTBOY
Rochester.
Son of a whore, God damn you! can you tell
A peerless peer the readiest way to Hell?
I've outswilled Bacchus, sworn of my own make
Oaths would fright Furies and make Pluto quake;
I've swived more whores more ways than Sodom's walls
E'er knew, or the College of Rome's Cardinals.
Witness heroic scars - Look here, ne'er go! -
Cerecloths and ulcers from top to toe!
Frighted at my own mischiefs, I have fled
And bravely left my life's defender dead;
Broke houses to break chastity, and dyed
That floor with murder which my lust denied.
Pox on 't, why do I speak of these poor things?
I have blasphemed by God, and libelled Kings!
The readiest way to Hell - Come, quick!
Boy. Ne'er stir:
The readiest way, my Lord, 's by Rochester.
Ned Kelly
Four horseman rode out from the heart of the range,
Four horseman with aspects forbidding and strange.
They were booted and spurred, they were armed to the teeth,
And they frowned as they looked at the valley beneath,
As forward they rode through the rocks and the fern -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.
Ned Kelly drew rein and he shaded his eyes -
'The town's at our mercy! See yonder it lies!
To hell with the troopers!' - he shook his clenched fist -
'We will shoot them like dogs if they dare to resist!'
And all of them nodded, grim-visaged and stern -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.
Through the gullies and creeks they rode silently down;
They stuck-up the station and raided the town;
They opened the safe and they looted the bank;
They laughed and were merry, they ate and they drank.
Then off to the ranges they went with their gold -
Oh! never were bandits more reckless and bold.
But time brings its punishment, time travels fast -
And the outlaws were trapped in Glenrowan at last,
Where three of them died in the smoke and the flame,
And Ned Kelly came back - to the last he was game.
But the Law shot him down (he was fated to hang),
And that was the end of the bushranging gang.
Whatever their faults and whatever their crimes,
Their deeds lend romance to those faraway times.
They have gone from the gullies they haunted of old,
And nobody knows where they buried their gold.
To the ranges they loved they will never return -
Ned Kelly, Dan Kelly, Steve Hart and Joe Byrne.
But at times when I pass through that sleepy old town
Where the far-distant peaks of Strathbogie look down
I think of the days when those grim ranges rang
To the galloping hooves of the bushranging gang.
Though the years bring oblivion, time brings a change,
The ghosts of the Kellys still ride from the range.
- Edward Harrington
The Death of Ned Kelly
Ned Kelly fought the rich men in country and in town,
Ned Kelly fought the troopers until they ran him down;
He thought that he had fooled them, for he was hard to find,
But he rode into Glenrowan with the troopers close behind.
"Come out of that, Ned Kelly," the head zarucker calls,
"Come out and leave your shelter, or we'll shoot it full of holes."
"If you'd take me," says Kelly, "that's not the speech to use;
I've lived to spite your order, I'll die the way I choose!"
"Come out of that, Ned Kelly, you done a lawless thing;
You robbed and fought the squatters, Ned Kelly, you must swing."
"If those who rob," says Kelly, "are all condemned to die,
You had better hang the squatters, for they've stolen more than I."
"You'd best come out, Ned Kelly, you done the government wrong,
For you held up the coaches that bring the gold along."
"Go tell your boss," says Kelly, "who lets the rich go free,
That your bloody rich man's government will never govern me."
They burned the roof above him, they fired the wails about,
And head to foot in armour, Ned Kelly stumbled out;
Although his guns were empty he made them turn and flee,
But one came in behind him and shot him in the knee.
And so they took Ned Kelly and hanged him in the jail,
For he fought singlehanded although in iron mail.
And no man singlehanded can hope to break the bars;
It's a thousand like Ned Kelly who will hoist the flag of stars.
- John Manifold
Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this son of York;
And all the clouds that lowered upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front,
And now, instead of mounting barbèd steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks
Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty
To strut before a wanton ambling nymph;
I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion,
Cheated of feature by dissembling Nature,
Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time
Into this breathing world, scarce half made up,
And that so lamely and unfashionable
That dogs bark at me as I halt by them -
Why I, in this weak piping time of peace,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sun
And descant on mine own deformity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover
To entertain these fair well-spoken days,
I am determinèd to prove a villain
And hate the idle pleasures of these days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunk prophecies, libels, and dreams,
To set my brother Clarence and the king
In deadly hate the one against the other;
And if King Edward be as true and just
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should Clarence closely be mewed up
About a prophecy which says that G
Of Edward's heirs the murderer shall be.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul - here Clarence comes!
XXVI
Don Juan in his feminine disguise,
With all the damsels in their long array,
Had bow'd themselves before th' imperial eyes,
And at the usual signal ta'en their way
Back to their chambers, those long galleries
In the seraglio, where the ladies lay
Their delicate limbs; a thousand bosoms there
Beating for love, as the caged bird's for air.
XXVII
I love the sex, and sometimes would reverse
The tyrant's wish, "that mankind only had
One neck, which he with one fell stroke might pierce:"
My wish is quite as wide, but not so bad,
And much more tender on the whole than fierce;
It being (not now, but only while a lad)
That womankind had but one rosy mouth,
To kiss them all at once from North to South.
XXVIII
Oh, enviable Briareus! with thy hands
And heads, if thou hadst all things multiplied
In such proportion! - But my Muse withstands
The giant thought of being a Titan's bride,
Or travelling in Patagonian lands;
So let us back to Lilliput, and guide
Our hero through the labyrinth of love
In which we left him several lines above.
XXIX
He went forth with the lovely Odalisques,
At the given signal join'd to their array;
And though he certainly ran many risks,
Yet he could not at times keep, by the way
(Although the consequences of such frisks
Are worse than the worst damages men pay
In moral England, where the thing's a tax),
From ogling all their charms from breasts to backs.
Hook has a somewhat double-sided nature: although he is a ruthless pirate captain, at times he seems almost compassionate, most commonly with Wendy; being a lady, most on the island are polite and attempt to be proper around Wendy. Hook, while usually hard towards the Lost Boys, is strangely gentlemen-like when concerning Wendy, thus possibly developing a soft spot for her. He is hurt by the fact the children despise him, even though he has caused their hate himself. J.M. Barrie says Hook is often melancholy; the only time he is thrilled is when he is "plunging" his hook into a victim. Barrie also says Hook is a wonderful storyteller - he loves flowers and sweet music. He is also a talented musician, playing the flute in the stage play and the harpsichord in the novel and Disney film. He apparently smokes, as he devised a special double cigar-holder. There are many suggestions that Barrie based the character of Hook on himself, and they share the same first name.
In a published speech by J.M Barrie titled "Captain Hook at Eton", given to pupils at Eton College in 1927, Barrie describes Hook's love of poetry, particularly that of the Lake Poets, and also his sporting and academic achievements whilst at school. According to Barrie: "his sympathies were with the classical rather than the modern side. In politics he was a Conservative". As in Peter Pan, Hook is described as lonely, regretful and depressed, writing in the ships' log: "Better, perhaps, for Hook that he had never been born". Hook also displays narcissistic tendencies, although he recognizes this trait in himself, and rather scolds himself for it.
In Peter Pan and Wendy, Hook is described as "cadaverous" and "blackavised", with blue eyes and long dark curls which look like "black candles" at a distance; in the film Hook, Captain Hook's hair is simply a wig. He has a hook in place of his right hand (this is often switched to his left hand in film adaptations). He is also described as tall, with an air of elegance, and lovely diction. Captain Hook is often portrayed wearing a large feathered hat, a red or blue coat, and knee breeches. This pertains to the novel's description of him "In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II". Barrie also later wrote of him as "In a word, the handsomest man I have ever seen, though, at the same time, perhaps slightly disgusting."
In stage appearances and films, George Darling and Captain Hook are often played by the same actor. This is based upon the belief in the book that "All grown-ups are pirates."
Hannibal Lecter: First principles, Clarice. Simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius. Of each particular thing ask: what is it in itself? What is its nature? What does he do, this man you seek?
Clarice Starling: He kills women...
Hannibal Lecter: No. That is incidental. What is the first and principal thing he does? What needs does he serve by killing?
Clarice Starling: Anger, um, social acceptance, and, huh, sexual frustrations, sir...
Hannibal Lecter: No! He covets. That is his nature. And how do we begin to covet, Clarice? Do we seek out things to covet? Make an effort to answer now.
Clarice Starling: No. We just...
Hannibal Lecter: No. We begin by coveting what we see every day. Don't you feel eyes moving over your body, Clarice? And don't your eyes seek out the things you want?
Thus I stand like the Turk, with his Doxies around;
From all Sides their Glances his Passion confound;
For Black, Brown, and Fair, his Inconstancy burns,
And different Beauties subdue him by turns:
Each calls forth her Charms, to provoke his Desires;
Though willing to all, with but one he retires.
But think of this Maxim, and put off your Sorrow,
The Wretch of To-day, may be happy To-morrow.
In Russell Crowe, who plays the skinheads' sinister leader, Hando, it has a leading man whose mixture of menace and animal magnetism suggests a post-punk answer to Marlon Brando in The Wild One. Hando has swastikas tattooed on his body, sleeps under a Nazi flag, and reads passages from Mein Kampf aloud with biblical solemnity. As ludicrous as Hando may be, in Mr. Crowe's portrayal he exudes an antiheroic charisma that could persuade more forgiving audience members to take him as a role model, a sexy rebel with the wrong cause.
- Stephen Holden, The New York Times
Who is Keyser Soze? He is supposed to be Turkish. Some say his father was German. Nobody believed he was real. Nobody ever saw him or knew anybody that ever worked directly for him, but to hear Kobayashi tell it, anybody could have worked for Soze. You never knew. That was his power. The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And like that, poof. He's gone.
Me? I'm dishonest, and a dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest. Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for, because you can never predict when they're going to do something incredibly...stupid.
3:10 to Yuma is a very modern western, but it's also a throwback to the '50s classics of the genre's heyday. It's a remake of the 1957 film of the same name, and is exactly what a remake should be: not merely updated, but better. This is a film that revels in all the most entertaining conventions of its genre, but also strives for - and achieves - a deeper inquiry into moral psychology. On one level it's about gunfights, spurs, and saloon showdowns, but on another it's a film about the fuzzy lines between right, wrong, and the law in an altogether lawless frontier land.
With 3:10 to Yuma, director James Mangold follows his Oscar-nominated Walk the Line with another film that deals with western Americana and the personal quest for honor and redemption. The story setup is pretty simple: An Arizona rancher (and wounded Civil War vet) named Dan Evans (the remarkable Christian Bale) is down on his luck, about to lose his ranch to the Southern Pacific suits who are bringing the railroad to the tiny town of Bisbee. Seeking to redeem himself financially and in the eyes of his adolescent son Will (Logan Lerman) - who wishes his dad were more like the legendary heroes of his Old West dime novels - Evans stumbles upon a major chance to prove himself. [Christian Bale as Dan Evans] Christian Bale as Dan Evans
The notorious outlaw, Ben Wade (Russell Crowe), has just been captured in Bisbee. Hoping to rid the region once and for all of this infamous scourge to the railroad's safety, a Southern Pacific businessman (Dallas Roberts) offers to handsomely reward any man who will join the posse to safely transport Wade to prison. Evans jumps at the opportunity, but the task is easier said than done. It's a three-day journey to the town of Contention, where Wade is to be put on the 3:10 train to the Federal Court in Yuma. And it promises to be a perilous journey fraught with hostile Indians, railroad ruffians, as well as the violent gang of outlaws determined to free their leader - Wade - before he is put on the train to Yuma.
As the fateful journey plays out, bullets fly and blood is spilt. The posse finds Wade to be deadly even when bound and gun-less. As the body count grows (and it is fairly predictable who dies and in what order), Evans becomes determined to be the last man standing with Wade - the man who successfully delivers the criminal to the law in Yuma.
From the outset of the film, however, it is clear that the Evans/Wade dynamic is not going to be your typical battle of archenemies. Wade seems to respect Evans - as a morally upright family man driven only by a desire to protect his land and dignity. Likewise, Evans seems uninterested in destroying Wade. If not for the circumstances of their meeting, they might have been friends. A scene of a captured Wade sitting at the dinner table with Evans, his wife (Gretchen Mol), and two sons, is especially touching. Evans cuts the meat for the handcuffed Wade, who might as well be some distant uncle in town to wow his nephews with stories of gunfights, hold-ups, and Apache attacks. Alas, Wade's familial charm cannot hide the fact that he is a bad, bad man.
Crowe's wickedly complicated Ben Wade is a self-described rotten-to-the-core villain who is as enchanted with his own mythology as everyone else is fearful of it. He is a holster-bearing Hannibal Lecter - minus the cannibalism. Like Lecter, Wade works on his victims primarily psychologically. He's deadly with his gun ("the hand of God"), but his words are even deadlier.
Like many of cinema's most psychologically toxic antagonists, Wade is well read and adroit at quoting Bible verses to tease his foes. Apparently he read the Bible cover to cover only once (in only three days, at age 8, or so he claims), but he quotes it like a preacher. His motto seems to be Proverbs 21:2: "All a man's ways seem right to him, but the Lord weighs the heart." Wade takes from this verse a twisted justification for his own wayward actions - apparently believing that since God is ultimately the only judge of right and wrong, man has no mandate but to do what is right in his own eyes.
Wade's odd brand of moral relativism makes him an interesting character - especially in the film's final moments, when his mythologized shell begins to crack. But it is Bale's Evans whom I found most interesting - and frustrating - to watch. On one hand it is easy to root for him and sympathize. He's just a family man, protecting what's his and serving a greater justice. But Evans' motivations become more ambiguous as the film goes on (and this is chiefly a testament to Bale's nuanced, restrained acting). Is it really about the reward money or serving justice? Or is it a pride issue? Some deeper psychological drive that makes him - in the end - not all that different from Wade? As he is forced to kill dozens of people and put his own family in grave danger, these questions become ever more pertinent. At what point does proving your honor become secondary to protecting yourself and the lives of your loved ones?
Despite its deeper psychological layers, Yuma is first and foremost a pulp western. As such, it features top-notch action sequences, pretty much from start to finish. There are horse-and-carriage chases (with an amazing wagon-mounted machine gun turret), massive shootouts, cattle stampedes, a blown-up horse, and a psychotic Luke Wilson (in an uncredited cameo) using some electro-torture device on the captured Wade. As westerns go, Yuma is more Robert Rodriguez than John Ford. Even so, the violence is not excessive; it feels pretty accurate for its unlawful setting in the wild West.
Much of the tension of the film comes from what we know is coming at 3:10 (we are made aware of the countdown by constant shots of pocket watches, etc. - a nod to High Noon). As the train's arrival becomes imminent, so too does the dread of an unavoidably nasty fight. Wade's gang catches up to Evans's posse in Contention (the aptly-named town which will serve as the setting for the violent showdown), and their second-in-command leader, Charlie Prince (Ben Foster), unleashes a ruthless wrath. Foster's Prince, who is really the worst scoundrel in the bunch (at least when it comes to brute, trigger-happy violence), is a deliciously wicked character who steals most of the scenes he's in. Bale and Crowe are both marvelous, but Foster (a phenomenal young actor who wowed critics with his turn earlier this year in Alpha Dog) really captures the soulless, unruly spirit of the western outlaw.
In the end, Yuma portrays a West that is stark, barren, and morally ambiguous. Like all the great "revisionist westerns" of recent years (Unforgiven, The Proposition), very few characters are all good or all bad. Everyone is a mixture (just as Evans and Wade are, in a way, two sides of the same coin) and everyone has an opportunity to change - to redeem whatever rotten past they came from. Predictably, then, the ending (which sees the train heading off to Yuma) is rather unresolved. Like the broad horizon that dominates the western frame, the sky's the limit on possibility.- Brett McCracken, Christianity Today (7 September 2007)