An outstanding and unjustly neglected western from that fine genre director Phil Karlson who, if he never quite made it to the front ranks, could nevertheless be counted upon to produce first rate and thought-provoking entertainments of which this is one. Karlson had no problem juggling the pieces' myriad themes, (the Freudian relationship between a martinet father and his hot-headed son, miscegenation and racial prejudice, gun culture and the changing ways of the West), without ever sacrificing the solid entertainment value of what is essentially a good old-fashioned western.
As the father piling all his affection on the wrong son, Van Heflin is as reliable as ever. The real surprise of the picture, however, is Tab Hunter as the son who both hates and idolizes his father. Hunter was never much of an actor but here, cast against type as the villain of the piece, he manages to bring depth and feeling to the role. Perhaps he located the misfit nature of the character. After all, being gay in Hollywood in the fifties and living a life that was fundamentally a lie, surely can't have been easy.
As the father piling all his affection on the wrong son, Van Heflin is as reliable as ever. The real surprise of the picture, however, is Tab Hunter as the son who both hates and idolizes his father. Hunter was never much of an actor but here, cast against type as the villain of the piece, he manages to bring depth and feeling to the role. Perhaps he located the misfit nature of the character. After all, being gay in Hollywood in the fifties and living a life that was fundamentally a lie, surely can't have been easy.