Shane: The Loves of a Gunslinger

The western classic Shane (1953, staring Alan Ladd) traces a straightforward, archetypal plot: mysterious gunslinger Shane rides in; befriends hardworking homesteader Joe, his son Joey, and wife Marian; eventually faces down ruthless cowboy mob, including hired gunslinger Jack Wilson; and rides out of town in a mood of quiet, triumphant, heroic, but melancholic loneliness. The setting is the high plains near the Grand Teton Mountains and perfectly frames the resonant mythic themes: battle between good and evil, the loneliness of the hero, and the tender bonds of affection between prairie family and noble stranger. The film is particularly lucid and penetrating in its unveiling of a tripod of masculine loves: Shane’s devotion to Joe, Marian and Joey.

The brotherly friendship between Shane and Joe develops in a quintessentially masculine manner: initial respect and hospitality, followed by suspicion, loyalty, staunch and fierce solidarity in work and combat, shared love for women and children, and finally a fierce physical conflict rooted in loyalty and love. They work aggressively together, shirtless and muscles rippling, to attack a large stump on the farm; later, Shane single-handedly stands up to a vicious saloon mob and is rescued by a fierce, powerful, club-swinging Joe. The brotherly love between them is pronounced and inspiring: they intuitively recognize and mutually respect each other’s courage, decency, and nobility of character; they work and fight together in defense of family and justice; they fiercely confront each other, even drawing blood as each seeks to do the right thing. This theme of brotherly conflict is constitutive of man-to-man affection and loyalty. My son Paul tells me that in the military, when two men quarrel they are immediately directed to the boxing gloves and they slug it out with each other; afterwards, the combatants infallibly become good friends. Shane and Joe perfectly image this classic pattern of masculine love.

The sexual attraction between Shane and his friend’s wife Marian (played by an older Jean Arthur) is pronounced, but impeccably discreet, chaste, and ennobling. Shane, played by Ladd, is virile, handsome, mysterious, decent and immensely appealing. One understands that a woman, amidst the monotony and hardship of frontier life, would be enlivened by the appearance of such a man. Marian is modest, lovely, gentle, loyal, and tender. No wonder that a lonely and red-blooded man like Shane finds her irresistible. But her marital bond with Joe is so sacred to all three of them that it is never even remotely endangered. And so, the complex web of loyalties (brother-to-brother, husband-to-wife, wife-to-husband, brother-to-friend’s-wife, wife-to-husband’s-friend, father-to-son, mother-to-son, hero-to-younger-admirer) is so powerful that they are able to recognize and entertain the mutual attraction with a striking tenderness, discretion, and chastity, free of jealousy, resentment or covetousness. The scenes in which they dance together, when she serves an elegant meal and is respectfully complimented, and especially when she tends his battle wounds…each unveils an affection most poignant for its gentleness, reverence, tenderness, nobility, and saddened sense of longing.

This dynamic recalls the chemistry that occurs between priest and woman in strong Catholic cultures such as the one that flourished in the USA in the two decades after World War II. In that era, the priesthood attracted many virile men, including veterans, while marriage was highly cherished and protected by the ex-GIs and their loyal wives. In that context, the chastity of the priest and the spousal fidelity of the wives were unquestionable; as a result, woman and priest were protected by an inviolate taboo system and a certain wholesome and restrained flirtation was possible. Like Shane, the priest also is a stranger from another world; he is not domesticated and rooted in the family; he enters a family’s life, brings freedom from evil, and then moves on in a heroic, mysterious manner that is not comprehensible within the categories of home and family. He is unavailable and therefore all the more appealing. By virtue of his celibacy, he is more strikingly masculine in his loneliness, courage, and self-sacrifice.

The drama unfolds through the eyes of 8-year-old Joey who immediately idolizes Shane. His love for his own father is undiminished by this obsession; rather, it seems to complete and complement his passion to emulate masculine nobility. Here again we encounter an archetype of the male itinerary: the son loves and emulates his own blood father, but must also move beyond that foundational role model to find new heroes and mentors. The son knows his own father in the context of domestic routine and monotony; in the inescapable drudgery of duty and responsibility. Unconsciously, the loyal son admires and imitates this quiet, humble loyalty. But the son is also destined to leave his mother and father, to test and prove himself in battle, to follow his own vocation, to forge his own distinctive masculine identity, and to start his own family. Therefore, by a marvelous, complex and incomprehensible mimesis, the son respectfully distances himself from his own father and finds alternate mentors and masters.

And so, for me as a father, it has been thrilling and delightful to observe my two sons journey into masculinity as they are mentored by “secondary father” including teachers, coaches, priests, uncles, professors, officers, bosses, and random strangers like the mysterious gunslinger.

Shane was produced in 1953 in the heart of the post-war renaissance of primordial values rooted in spousal loyalty, feminine virtue, and masculine heroism. In the wake of the sexual revolution, it became improbable for such a film to come out of Hollywood. But it is good for us to return to such movies though Netflix or Turner Classics, to encourage and inspire ourselves in the pursuit of such masculine nobility.