It's not an easy thing to admit when you know--deep down--that your time has come, and the world has turned. It's a prospect which faces the old, and men of every age, because time is a relentless force that yields to no man, inevitable. The Wild Bunch represents an end of an era, and the birth of another. ​Just as the "traditional western" was in decline in 1969, the Wild West was in 1913. Time catches up to every man, and even in film, the maxim of "adapt or die" rings out like the explosive roar of a machine gun, heralding the end of an age and a kind of man that will not go quietly into that good night.

The Wild Bunch primarily follows the story of outlaw Pike Bishop (William Holden), a living (but aging) legend and his posse of ne'er-do-wells, pursued by an erstwhile ally begrudgingly recruited to hound his former wily crew--Deke Thornton (Robert Ryan). Thornton and Bishop play a deadly game of cat and mouse across the Rio Grande, and heaven help any fool who gets in their line of fire. The Wild Bunch is a film of bold strokes, such as the opening scene where Bishop et al ride into town. The scene is intercut with children instigating a fight between fire ants and scorpions. It is cruel, but who would pity the scorpion or the fire ant, two of the deserts most deadly denizens? And The Wild Bunch is a story not strictly of the innocence of youth, but of the ease with which it can be maneuvered into malevolence, cruelty, and destruction, the dark side of our inner child exemplified. An ambush awaits the outlaws; headed by Thornton, it is supported by the most measly band of hillbilly mercenaries dredged out of some backwater. And by the end of the first twenty minutes, we already have the two factions in open war in the streets--the "law" being as wanton and irresponsible as the crooks they tried to nab. Though a rogue and killer, we are drawn more toward Pike than Deke, not only because Pike gets more screen time (and is, in fact, our protagonist), but because the company of the manipulative railroad agent and the detestable posse Deke is forced to endure is so unlikable compared with the professional finesse of Pike and his crew. And this is but one example how The Wild Bunch subverts expectations about "hero" and "villain". The army supposed to guard the guns on a train which becomes a target for Pike are dim-witted and green, and jump to the conclusion that Deke and the railroad representatives stole the guns while they were asleep. And the villainous Mapache (Emilio Fernández) is supposed to represent the Mexican federal government, but is nothing but a power hungry tyrant and drunk. So the outlaws in the gang end up coming across as almost noble by comparison with their unsavory officious counterparts. Dutch Engstrom (Ernest Borgnine) is the affable and reliable right-hand man to Bishop, and he is accompanied by the righteous rebel Angel (Jaime Sánchez), grizzled old coot Sykes (Edmond O'Brien), and the oxen simpletons, the "Gorch Brothers", Lyle (Warren Oates) and Tector (Ben Johnson). When they ride out of Angel's village, they are treated like cowboy "Robin Hoods"--and speaks volumes about public perception of "law enforcement" in Mexico, even today. Fans of the video game Red Dead Redemption will find immediate parallels in plot and theme between this movie and the game, and I would urge fans of one to experience the other.

Sam Peckinpah's western masterpiece is more than simply an epic hurricane of violence and bloodshed (although it is that); it is a tale of betrayal and unity, and even of courage...or at least revenge. The violence is intense, reaching staggering levels--at least for 1969--accentuated by clever and stylized editing and slow motion, giving a sense of heightened awareness--a cinematic equivalent of a jolt of adrenaline--that is a trademark of Peckinpah's directorial style. The Wild Bunch is book-ended by two notable shootouts, where the bandits of the first (Pike and his gang) become the avengers of the second, and the stakes are not riches (or washers), but honor and friendship. Both scenes are intense scenes where you can practically hear every bullet, and are bombarded with a constant barrage of violent imagery, so much so that you are left with no choice but to feel drowned in the carnage. These are the crescendos of violence that punctuate the story of Pike and his decline with the West, explored more fully in the bulk of the film, and periodically by flashback. Memory and the past are also significant in the film; the opening montage of The Wild Bunch is intercut with titles that are reminiscent of old photographs, as though the characters on the screen were dredged up from the archives of some turn of the century news clippings, relics of the past. Watching The Wild Bunch, one can see the dramatic shift from the westerns of yesteryear, and a take on new forms, new approaches to the material--from Sergio Leone all the way to Quentin Tarantino. And one detail that I've always found fascinating about The Wild Bunch is the ubiquitous presence of children, sometimes innocent onlookers to the carnage unfurling before them, sometimes agents of cruelty themselves, somehow absent of malice. And this comes back to the line delivered to Bishop from the venerable Don Jose (Chano Urueta), a resident from Angel's village: "We all dream of being a child again, even the worst of us. Perhaps the worst most of all."

Recommended for: Fans of anti-heroes seeking their last "hurrah" in the Wild West, or people looking for an action-packed western with a mighty dose of cynicism and wistfulness both.