Duel At Apache Wells (Republic, 1957)

This post is part of Legends of Western Cinema Week 2024, hosted by the fine folks at
Along the Brandywine
Hamlette’s Soliloquy
Meanwhile, in Rivendell…

While Duel at Apache Wells is *not* a Legend of Western Cinema, its cast includes a stalwart and, yes, Legend of Western Cinema (and Television): Jim Davis. Davis, as noted by Jeff in his review of The Cariboo Trail, has an amazing 223 Western credits and is “always convincing as a tough Westerner”.

Jeff Arnold’s West appreciates the opportunity to celebrate ridin’ and shootin’ with other supporters of the noble genre!

The word ‘duel’ is a popular one for film titles. Jeff has previously posted about six westerns with names that include it. This particular Duel is a late offering from Republic, produced when the studio was in distress; the picture was released one year before production ceased. Its screenplay was written by Bob Williams, who churned out a good number of oaters for Republic in the 40s and early 50s. His last western before this one was released in 1952. One wonders if the script was stashed in a Republic filing cabinet for a few years and retrieved due to the studio’s troubles. The film was shot in black-and-white, presumably to lower costs given the finances at the time, but also used ‘Naturama’, Republic’s in-house response to CinemaScope and VistaVision. Duel at Apache Wells is thus one of 17 pictures that Republic shot in the wide-screen format.

Joe Kane directed and produced. I cannot comment upon Kane’s direction relative to Scott Eyman’s widely-circulated, hyperbolic, and perhaps mean-spirited quote  (“a man who made more than one hundred movies without an interesting shot to be found in any of them”), as I did not view his film as intended. The U.S. network showing the film modified its wide-screen image to fit current television screens. Only the opening was letterboxed so as to not lop off the edges of the credits. Frustrating. Although not as frustrating, I suppose, as watching in the days of tube televisions.

The movie opens with a sign indicating Apache Wells is the property of the Cannary Cattle Company and then spins to the obligatory written opener (“the size of a man’s ranch was determined by his ability to take the land and hold it from all comers”). A stage roars into town and second-billed Ben Cooper, playing Johnny Shattuck, steps from it. Cooper was around 23 when the picture was made, and looks it, despite the cigarettes he was constantly puffing. Also smoking while reconnoitering those disembarking the stage is old favorite Bob Steele, playing a bad guy. Perhaps that last clause is unnecessary.

Ben heads to the livery, which is owned by none other than Francis J. McDonald, yet another legend with 243 western credits as a character actor (according to Jeff’s post on Pawnee aka Pale Arrow). Then the star of the show arrives.

Jim Davis, playing Dean Cannary, strides purposely through a doorway wearing a splendid wide-brimmed black hat, black vest, and, as if applying an exclamation point, shiny black gloves. He and Johnny clearly have a history, and their back-and-forth sets up the rest of the film. We learn that Johnny has been away for four years, Dean has bought his own ranch and fenced off Apache Wells, and how is Johnny’s rancher father going to get his cows to market? Davis smiles broadly, chuckles evilly, and delivers lines such as “The little fighting cock thinks he’s tough” in his west Missouri accent.

The star of the show

Within 10 minutes, Dean/Davis, along with his Greek chorus of hired guns, disarm Johnny/Ben, force him from his rig, send the rig off a ridge (sans horses, thankfully), and shoot at Johnny’s feet with a Winchester. Then Davis sidles into the local cantina, creepily hugs first-billed Anna Maria Alberghetti, and tells her to stop thinking about Johnny and start thinking about him. And, as if all that isn’t enough, he later shoots and wounds Johnny’s father. Good gracious. In Duel at Apache Wells, the viewer need not guess who is the villain. Jim Davis owns his black hat, and the movie, from the first few minutes. He plays the bad rancher with swagger and gusto.

Jim Davis’ first screen appearances were in 1942. After a hiatus during WWII to serve in the Coast Guard, he paid cinematic dues in in a succession of small parts. In 1948, he received what could have been a big break: he was the choice of the formidable Bette Davis as her co-star in an adaptation of a novel, Winter Meeting. Unfortunately for both Davises, the production was troubled; the director was a stage veteran but this was his first film, and Jim Davis, according to Bette, was “lost”. After the film’s artistic and commercial failure, Davis was again relegated to lower billing.

Winter Meeting: two pensive Davises

But he worked steadily, appearing in a few movies for big studios (Howard Hawks and Henry Hathaway were among his directors) and more for smaller studios; Eagle-Lion, Lippert, Monogram, and Republic were employers while Davis appeared with with Gene Autry, Randolph Scott, Forrest Tucker, and especially Wild Bill Elliott (four Republic pictures). And in the early 50s, Davis made the move into television, appearing in several series but starring in 39 episodes of Stories of the Century as railroad detective Matt Clark. Before the release of Duel at Apache Wells, Davis had appeared in over 25 big-screen oaters.

After dueling at Apache Wells, he received his first top billing in The Badge of Marshall Brennan and then again in Monster from Green Hell (not a western but certainly an entertaining title). As the 50s ended and the number of big-screen westerns sadly dwindled, Davis starred in a few more pictures, but ultimately moved to guest appearances on television, supporting roles in movies, and a short-lived series called The Cowboys. Still, the man remained a working actor for almost 40 years. Even better, his last act had a Hollywood ending: when the CBS show Dallas became a huge hit and pop culture phenomenon, Davis was in the cast as family patriarch Jock Ewing.

Only 36 years after his first role, Jim Davis was in the spotlight. He remained there for three years.

Endorsing boots, as befitting a star of Dallas

Alas, health problems intervened. Jim Davis, the pride of Edgerton, Missouri, passed on April 26, 1981 of multiple myeloma.

As for the rest of the movie? It moves briskly enough except for a too-long interlude when characters discuss a plan to move cattle to market without water from Apache Wells. A friendly rancher has old railroad tanks on his property. The tanks can hold water for the cattle! Except Bob Steele and cronies dress as Apaches and burn the tanks. In desperation, Johnny and cowpokes start a stock footage cattle drive, which leads to the inevitable confrontation (not a spoiler, given the film’s title).

Despite her first billing, Italian soprano Anna Marie Alberghetti doesn’t have much to do but look adoringly at Johnny and stare disapprovingly at Dean. She does both well enough. Alberghetti also rides convincingly when she leaves town to join Johnny for the big showdown.

Looking adoringly

This film was her second and last for Republic; her first was The Last Command,  the studio’s Alamo movie in Trucolor with a budget of $2 million (big money for Herbert Yates and company). The budget for Duel at Apache Wells was much lower ($150,000 if IMDB’s estimate is to be believed).

Besides smoking, Ben Cooper also squints frequently. But he does bring youthful insouciance to his role as a son with a secret.

Ben squints, Bob glowers

Really, though, watch this one for the villains, e-pards. Whet your appetite with gruff lines and great glower from Bob Steele, then feast upon Jim Davis having a rollicking good time being bad.