Giant (1956, USA, George Stevens) AKA You Bought it Sight Unseen
Dan Jardine:
Giant is a great big old-fashioned film that is framed as an epic, as it spans several decades in the lives of an extended family of characters at a time in Texas history when sweeping social and economic changes were besetting its people. Yet, the story has a quiet intimacy to it despite the immense grandeur of the setting and the scope of the historical backdrop. The heart of the story is found in the protagonists, the Benedict family, and their changing relationship to the land, its people and each other, with the consequent triumphs and tragedies forming the emotional screen onto which these images are cast.
Giant covers the better part of the first half of the 20th Century Texas as it moves from traditional agrarian forms of commerce (specifically, cattle ranching) to more risky but economically rewarding forms (fossil fuels). While the film may simplify the history a bit, it doesn’t whitewash it either, describing the theft of the land, which was bought by acquisitive white ranchers for 5 cents an acre, which left the indigenous (as well as subsequent illegal immigrant) Mexicans impoverished. The arrogance of Texans towards these folks is implicit in every exchange, and at first goes largely unquestioned. That is, until Leslie (Elizabeth Taylor) arrives. After Jordan Benedict (Rock Hudson) successfully wins her heart in a whirlwind and stormy courtship, Leslie is swept away from her gentrified East Coast existence and dropped rather unceremoniously into a frontier Texan life that nearly proves her undoing. However, in a nice twist on the whole "fish out of water" cliché, Leslie proves a quick study, and rather than being crushed by the experience, finds herself not only adapting, but bringing about significant change herself.
What makes Giant an atypical film of its genre (epic western) is the primary importance of Leslie’s civilizing influence on the rough and ready denizens of the Benedict Reata. Director Stevens (Shane, A Place in the Sun) is right at home in the western genre, which allows him to play around with its conventions in order to drive his points home. Those familiar with westerns will recognize the tensions at work between the traditional ranchers and the more modern-minded oil farmers. Stevens quickly establishes a number of dualities. "Your country, our county. Makes us sound so far apart," says Leslie. The "us versus them" conflicts are not just between Texas and the east coast, but also between Mexicans and Texans, rich and poor, men and women, as well as cattle and oil. There is also plenty of antagonism between genders (as Leslie refuses to play the dutiful wife) as well as emergent racial tensions (as Leslie refuses to accept the residing opinion that Mexican-Americans are somehow lesser humans) which add considerably to the complexity of film’s themes. The feminization of the Benedict ranch, which plays with the macho credo of traditional westerns, while the interesting gender-bending friendship of Jordan’s rather butch sister, the Calamity Jane-like Luz (Mercedes McCambridge) and his rather effete nemesis Jett (James Dean) further complicates the film’s subtextual sexual politics. One of my favourite images in the film is the silhouette of the Luz and Jett shot against the great big west Texan sky. Not only does it highlight the film’s interestingly ambiguous sexuality, it’s just way cool.
Elizabeth Taylor is in rare thespian (rather than movie star) mode, giving a capable performance as the high-spirited and high-minded Leslie. Raised on the dreaded East Coast, with its book-learning and snooty attitudes, Leslie quickly becomes the ranch’s conscience, determined to guide her strong-willed and self-assured husband to discover his humility. Taylor is charming and likeable, and in the lighter scenes she and Hudson make a believable pairing. There is little doubt that she is the film’s moral centre, and Taylor proves up to the task. As her cattle-ranching husband, Hudson certainly looks the part of a western hero, tall, rugged, square-jawed. But he quickly gets wooden and unconvincing when trying to emote in the film’s dramatic scenes, and is always at his best in the moments of light romance and comedy. James Dean, in the third of his breakout roles in 1956 (Rebel Without a Cause, East of Eden) is an interesting choice to play Jett. At first he is all self-conscious twitches and tics, but Dean undergoes an interesting transformation as his character’s fortunes change, emerging as a degenerate symbol of the modern Texan oilman.
Giant certainly makes great use of its Texan setting, with a palette rich in dusty-tinted hues, and vast vistas, one heaped upon the next. Stevens’ imagery is often quite resonant, as he proves capable of making powerful statements with nary a word spoken, such as when we suddenly see Angel’s flag-draped coffin, a moving elegy while also making an understated but eloquent statement about the costs of war. However, once the character dynamics and thematic elements are established by the film’s midpoint, the remainder of the film starts to stutters and stumbles through the suddenly episodic narrative. As the characters begin to age rather rapidly in this scenario, contemporary audiences may find the makeup and wigs used to depict these changes rather laughable. And while the film seems to veer off course at times, and occasionally lose its way, staggering towards the finale like an exhausted marathon runner at high altitude, Stevens does manage to find a hidden reserve in order to deliver one last push to the finish line, as the dust-up in a small diner between Rock and the racist owner proves to be a rollicking knock-em-down, drag-em-out conclusion to an uneven, but satisfying variation on the traditional western.
Score: 81/100
Dan Jardine:
Giant is a great big old-fashioned film that is framed as an epic, as it spans several decades in the lives of an extended family of characters at a time in Texas history when sweeping social and economic changes were besetting its people. Yet, the story has a quiet intimacy to it despite the immense grandeur of the setting and the scope of the historical backdrop. The heart of the story is found in the protagonists, the Benedict family, and their changing relationship to the land, its people and each other, with the consequent triumphs and tragedies forming the emotional screen onto which these images are cast.
Giant covers the better part of the first half of the 20th Century Texas as it moves from traditional agrarian forms of commerce (specifically, cattle ranching) to more risky but economically rewarding forms (fossil fuels). While the film may simplify the history a bit, it doesn’t whitewash it either, describing the theft of the land, which was bought by acquisitive white ranchers for 5 cents an acre, which left the indigenous (as well as subsequent illegal immigrant) Mexicans impoverished. The arrogance of Texans towards these folks is implicit in every exchange, and at first goes largely unquestioned. That is, until Leslie (Elizabeth Taylor) arrives. After Jordan Benedict (Rock Hudson) successfully wins her heart in a whirlwind and stormy courtship, Leslie is swept away from her gentrified East Coast existence and dropped rather unceremoniously into a frontier Texan life that nearly proves her undoing. However, in a nice twist on the whole "fish out of water" cliché, Leslie proves a quick study, and rather than being crushed by the experience, finds herself not only adapting, but bringing about significant change herself.
What makes Giant an atypical film of its genre (epic western) is the primary importance of Leslie’s civilizing influence on the rough and ready denizens of the Benedict Reata. Director Stevens (Shane, A Place in the Sun) is right at home in the western genre, which allows him to play around with its conventions in order to drive his points home. Those familiar with westerns will recognize the tensions at work between the traditional ranchers and the more modern-minded oil farmers. Stevens quickly establishes a number of dualities. "Your country, our county. Makes us sound so far apart," says Leslie. The "us versus them" conflicts are not just between Texas and the east coast, but also between Mexicans and Texans, rich and poor, men and women, as well as cattle and oil. There is also plenty of antagonism between genders (as Leslie refuses to play the dutiful wife) as well as emergent racial tensions (as Leslie refuses to accept the residing opinion that Mexican-Americans are somehow lesser humans) which add considerably to the complexity of film’s themes. The feminization of the Benedict ranch, which plays with the macho credo of traditional westerns, while the interesting gender-bending friendship of Jordan’s rather butch sister, the Calamity Jane-like Luz (Mercedes McCambridge) and his rather effete nemesis Jett (James Dean) further complicates the film’s subtextual sexual politics. One of my favourite images in the film is the silhouette of the Luz and Jett shot against the great big west Texan sky. Not only does it highlight the film’s interestingly ambiguous sexuality, it’s just way cool. 
Elizabeth Taylor is in rare thespian (rather than movie star) mode, giving a capable performance as the high-spirited and high-minded Leslie. Raised on the dreaded East Coast, with its book-learning and snooty attitudes, Leslie quickly becomes the ranch’s conscience, determined to guide her strong-willed and self-assured husband to discover his humility. Taylor is charming and likeable, and in the lighter scenes she and Hudson make a believable pairing. There is little doubt that she is the film’s moral centre, and Taylor proves up to the task. As her cattle-ranching husband, Hudson certainly looks the part of a western hero, tall, rugged, square-jawed. But he quickly gets wooden and unconvincing when trying to emote in the film’s dramatic scenes, and is always at his best in the moments of light romance and comedy. James Dean, in the third of his breakout roles in 1956 (Rebel Without a Cause, East of Eden) is an interesting choice to play Jett. At first he is all self-conscious twitches and tics, but Dean undergoes an interesting transformation as his character’s fortunes change, emerging as a degenerate symbol of the modern Texan oilman. Giant certainly makes great use of its Texan setting, with a palette rich in dusty-tinted hues, and vast vistas, one heaped upon the next. Stevens’ imagery is often quite resonant, as he proves capable of making powerful statements with nary a word spoken, such as when we suddenly see Angel’s flag-draped coffin, a moving elegy while also making an understated but eloquent statement about the costs of war. However, once the character dynamics and thematic elements are established by the film’s midpoint, the remainder of the film starts to stutters and stumbles through the suddenly episodic narrative. As the characters begin to age rather rapidly in this scenario, contemporary audiences may find the makeup and wigs used to depict these changes rather laughable. And while the film seems to veer off course at times, and occasionally lose its way, staggering towards the finale like an exhausted marathon runner at high altitude, Stevens does manage to find a hidden reserve in order to deliver one last push to the finish line, as the dust-up in a small diner between Rock and the racist owner proves to be a rollicking knock-em-down, drag-em-out conclusion to an uneven, but satisfying variation on the traditional western.
Score: 81/100
