Joshua Reviews Robert Montgomery’s Ride The Pink Horse [Blu-ray Review]

There are few film genres that have evolved over their time on the big screen as dramatically as that of film noir. Be it its early days as fodder for underrated “B” pictures or its current state as the home for some of the most innovative and forward thinking tales of skewed morality that the film world has ever seen, noir cinema is a genre all its own. With its natural ability to shine a light on the gray areas in the world, particularly when using the genre’s patented contrast heavy black and white photography to turn the world itself into a gray landscape of bad men, tough dames and corruption, noir pictures come in many shapes and sizes, but always give the viewer the same sense of ever present doom.

That said, there are films that break the mold, and become catalysts in the genre’s constant evolution. Think the energy of a Gun Crazy or the existential angst found in a film like Le Samourai. But there’s nothing quite like Ride The Pink Horse, from actor and filmmaker Robert Montgomery.

Itself drenched in brooding and oppressive post-war angst, Montgomery’s unsung and brazenly off kilter noir sees Montgomery in the film’s lead role as Gagin, a former G.I. who arrives in the New Mexican city of San Pablo with a briefcase and a purpose. Looking to take revenge on a mob boss partly responsible for the death of a former friend, he goes about trying to make good on his attempted blackmail plot while meeting a couple of locals that change his life forever. One half of this duo is a merry-go-round operator named Pancho that becomes his closest ally after meeting one night in a bar. Then there’s the young Native American girl he becomes enthralled by named Pila, and much like this isn’t your prototypical noir picture, she couldn’t be further from your run of the mill “femme fatale.” Naive and full of innocence, Pila is out of her comfort zone here, a world full of revenge and verbose interchanges between people unsure about their lot in life.

At first glance, the film does truly look like most other noir films. Dream like and heavy on light and shadow, Russell Metty’s beautiful black and white photography is something to truly behold. Metty, best known for his work on the seminal noir, Orson Welles’ Touch Of Evil, is absolutely at the top of his game here, particularly in the film’s feverish final act. It’s a lighter noir, aesthetically, and the angst-ridden script is as poignant a look at post WWII disenchantment is a devastating take on a trope that filled these types of features following that war, a war where this type of moral grey scale became manifested. Full of shadows and tactile locales, Metty is arguably the film’s biggest star, with director Montgomery’s camera delving into the world that he painted with a surrealist bent, turning this into a definitive look at the mood of this generation. The final act is far and away the film’s strongest sequence, a brilliantly paced and directed sequence that sees our hero fight against existential forces with every last breath. Michael Almereyda’s essay on this Criterion release discusses the film’s relation to the idea of PTSD, and the final act, particularly one sequence set aboard a bus, brazenly portrays that concept with such haunting uneasiness that it really stands up as a crowning achievement of noir cinema.

That all being said, the film has aged about as poorly as one could imagine. While the film’s sense of humor coming almost entirely at the behest of the two supporting, minority characters is enough to leave the viewer a tad uneasy, the fact that Pila not only plays the butt of many sarcastic jokes but is ultimately a Native American being played by an Irish woman from Florida is really quite off putting. Not an upstanding piece of racial storytelling, the film at least treats these characters, particularly Pancho, with some love, and while the final act hints at a relationship that’s more than unsettling, if a viewer can get past the initial queasiness of the racial overtones, the film should thrive as an existential gem.

Criterion’s release is superb. The transfer here really brings to life Metty’s photography, and the sound design (particularly in the aforementioned bus sequence) is absolutely stunning here. Almereyda’s essay is fantastic and an important text when discussing this film, as is the commentary with Alain Silver and James Ursini. Both offer great insight into the making of the film and its place in noir history. Toss in a radio adaptation and a must watch interview with Imogen Sara Smith, and you have a release that will hopefully shine a light on an underrated look at a distinct and deeply important moment in American history.