An imperious gunman (his creed: "I won't be wronged, I won't be insulted, and I won't be laid a hand on"), the last of a vanishing species, faces the prospect of weeks in bed, in pain, and in delirium with a terminal cancer, and decides instead to stage a farewell gunfight befitting his legendary status. The script doesn't permit much introspection, but John Wayne plainly understands the protagonist on a deeper level than anyone else involved in this project. If the entire show were played at the level of Wayne's conviction, it would be really grand. As it is, it's baby grand. Don Siegel's direction is very exciting in the few action scenes, but he does only a good technician's job with the parlor-kitchen-bedroom stuff in this mostly indoor action movie, set in the tame, bourgeois West; and Bruce Surtees nicely underlines the funereal theme with a copper-y, subtly shaded image that appears to be lit by setting suns instead of arc lamps. Not enough is gotten from a fine cast (most of the players are shooed on and off for quick guest-star spots), but there are good bits from Sheree North as a shockingly venomous old flame, Hugh O'Brian as a slick-shooting faro dealer (his latest killing is measured at 84 feet, 3 inches), Richard Boone as an alternately bearish and effeminate grudge-holder, and even Harry Morgan, who is best when kept to small doses, as the priggish town constable ("What I'll do on your grave won't pass for flowers"). With Lauren Bacall, Ron Howard, and James Stewart. (1976) — Duncan Shepherd
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