In making The Alamo, director John Lee Hancock faced a task
similar to James Cameron when he made The Titanic. Both films are based
on historical events where the outcome is certain. Thus, the challenge
is not so much to surprise viewers as to depict characters and events
as dramatically and as realistically as possible so when the end does
come, we feel as if we’ve lived the adventure ourselves.
So
how does Hancock score? Pretty well on some counts, not so good
on others. This film gets high marks for costumes, sets, props, and
battle sequences. If The Alamo were a painting, it would fall into the
category of photo-realism. And it would earn top dollar.
Hancock wins bonus points for presenting a fairly balanced
depiction of the conflict. Instead of painting the “Texians” as heroes
and the Mexicans as bad guys, he makes it clear that each side had only
its self-interest in mind, and both were willing to kill for it. What
made the Texians different was that they were fighting for liberty—even
though their gaining liberty meant depriving others of the same. Then
again, I guess you could say the same thing about the Mexicans…
On a character level, the Mexican General Santa Anna definitely comes
off as the villain here. But, this being an attempt at revisionist
history, he isn’t the only one with his warts on display. When we first
meet Colonel William Travis, the young officer charged with defense of
the Alamo, he’s signing the papers that will allow him to abandon his
pregnant wife and two children. The reason? He’d rather have a few days
of glory in Texas than a lifetime without a “name.” It’s hard to
believe we’ll care when this guy bites it. But we do, if only because
of how much his death will devastate his son.
It is a little more difficult to care about James Bowie, famed
knife-fighter. That’s no slam against Jason Patric who portrays him.
It’s just that after resolving a leadership dispute with Travis, Bowie
basically retires to his deathbed for the remainder of the film. In
addition to tuberculosis, I got the sense Bowie’s character also fell
victim to the slash and burn editing process this film was forced to
undergo between its original release date of December 2003 and today.
Our greatest sympathies go to Davy Crockett, played with a delicate
mixture of bravado and introspection by Billy Bob Thornton. Crockett
arrived at the Alamo not even realizing a war was going on. He just
wanted the 640 free acres of land promised to anyone who signed up for
the Texas militia. The burden of Crockett’s celebrity also weighs
heavily upon him. Not only does this make it impossible for Crockett to
flee when the opportunity arises (What would people think?), his
presence inspires the other men to glorify the position they find
themselves in. But Crockett knows all they have to look forward to is
killing and death. Glory may come, but they won’t be around to
experience it. He tries to tell them the truth, but the men merely
clamor for the fictional version of his life.
Despite these engaging character studies, this film ultimately fails
from a structural point of view. By presenting the fall of the Alamo as
one long flashback book-ended by General Sam Houston’s response, the
pacing just doesn’t work. It’s anti-climactic, slow to get going, and
far longer than it needs to be. One gets the sense that the footage was
there, but things never really came together in the editing room.
Perhaps they spent too much time working on it.
As one might expect in a story that takes place in a Spanish Catholic
mission, the cross is an ever-present icon in this film. We first
encounter it at night when Bowie leads a small scouting party through a
graveyard of crooked wooden crosses just outside the Alamo. Later, a
crucifix hangs over Bowie’s deathbed as a Mexican folk healer makes the
sign of the cross over him with an egg and then cracks it into a glass
of water. A cross-shaped window also lights Bowie’s room. From time to
time, we even view the action outside through this glowing symbol. But
never once does Bowie acknowledge it or his need for a savior. Though
barely conscious, his attention remains fixed solely on protecting his
self-interest, to the point where his last act is to kill those who
would deprive him of his final hours of life.
Perhaps that is the problem with everyone in this film, “Texians” and
Mexicans alike: They’re all looking out for number one. The Texas
Rebellion, of which the battle for the Alamo was but a part, was led by
Americans who had recently broken away from the British Empire. Now
they wanted to gain independence from Mexico, which had recently won
independence from Spain. But there was no way Mexico’s Santa Anna was
about to extend the same freedoms his own people had just obtained.
For, in a moment of prescience, he states, “If we lose this war, we
will forever be begging crumbs from the Americans’ table.” Seems he
understood the stakes perfectly well. The question is: Where does the
battle for independence end? And at what point does the number of lives
lost negate the freedoms gained?
There is no question the defenders of the Alamo were in a dire
situation. But as the cross kept reappearing in this film, I couldn’t
get over the fact that the solution to this conflict was right in front
of them, and yet no one was able to see it. They came close though.
During what is perhaps the film’s most poignant scene, Crockett plays
his fiddle to accompany a song the Mexican army plays every night
before shelling the Alamo. The Mexicans are so touched by the gesture
they forego the attack for that night. “It’s amazing what a little
harmony can do,” Crockett remarks afterwards. Indeed. For a moment,
both sides seem to discover the common bond of humanity that unites
them. They may be at war, but they are all fighting for the same basic
principles: freedom, dignity, and the chance to create a better life
for their families. Perhaps if they had looked to the cross—to
Christ—they would have realized this, set aside their arms, and worked
out a more creative solution to their conflict. In a world where
violence only begets more violence—both at home and overseas—it would
behoove us all to do the same.