by Reid Williams
Digging through the treasure trove that is 20th-century cinema, one can’t help but notice a number of westerns that is quite disproportionate to the amount made in more recent years. Especially for American cinema, the western has always been a defining genre, shaping the landscape of film through much of the 40s, 50s, and 60s. Cowboys, outlaws, guns, horses, and a thousand other symbols of rugged American individualism adorn the canvas of many of these, while the west itself presents an ideal location for isolated, violent storytelling. Many of these films have been forgotten, but many of them have stood the test of time to now be regarded as classics. For me, however, one western will always stand slightly above the rest: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. No other film quite nails the bittersweet gaze of the west, an age gone the way we’ll all eventually go, and it does it with such tremendous style.
One of the greatest strengths of this film is undeniably the pairing of the two leads: Paul Newman, at the height of his powers, brings every ounce of his enviable charisma as Butch Cassidy, and a young Robert Redford provides a brilliant deadpan contrarian as his loyal partner, the Sundance Kid. The two actors complement each other perfectly, bouncing one-liners off each other in a way that genuinely gives the feeling that they are old friends. To add to the chemistry, the fantastic Katharine Ross plays Sundance’s girlfriend, Etta (who has one of my favorite character introductions ever). The trio balance each other extremely well, a tight-knit friend group that all share mutual respect despite their widely varied personalities.
The film follows a deceptively simple plot: Butch and Sundance are notorious outlaws, who spite a wealthy railroad man. In turn, he hires a posse of the best trackers and lawmen in the country, forcing Butch and Sundance to go on the run. However, the simplicity masks the film’s complex themes and allows the audience time to truly know the characters they are watching.
Beyond the unmatched pairing of the two lead actors, the characters they play are so expertly written that the film likely would have worked (though not nearly as well) with any two stars. Butch Cassidy, the legendary outlaw who charms everyone he meets, contrasts brilliantly with the Sundance Kid, his quieter partner with famous draw. More than could ever be displayed on their own, setting these characters side-by-side shows their personalities and differences in a way that is amusing and enlightening.
Before moving into dissecting the themes and ending of this cinematic landmark, I want to make a final appeal to anyone who has yet to see this film. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is unlike any other western put to film. The tone is light and always fun, partnered beautifully with the musical choices. However, there is much more going on beneath the surface, as the movie has much to say about the west as a whole and saying goodbye. It is endlessly watchable and truly beautiful. This, more than any other movie, has given me the desire for more. I didn’t want the film to end. Not a sequel (as the story ends perfectly as-is), but just because I wanted to spend more time with these characters. To me, that is a truly special achievement. I plead with you: see this movie. Now that I’ve said my peace, I’ll move on, but this is your spoiler warning.
When thinking of this movie, I’ve often felt that there is a surface theme of friendship and loyalty. Very early on in the film, it becomes apparent that Butch and Sundance would not survive without the other. Butch needs Sundance for his quick hand and intimidating reputation; Sundance needs Butch to talk them out of trouble and to spark creativity and do the thinking (that’s what he’s good at). They get into situations where they certainly wouldn’t survive without the other. Sundance never would have jumped to escape the posse if Butch hadn’t forced him, and Butch never would have survived the encounter with the Colombian bandits if it weren’t for Sundance’s quickness. You can see, even a legendary figure such as either of these men, can’t survive alone. Everyone needs a friend to pick them up when they can’t lift themselves, and no film shows this quite as beautifully as this one.
However, there is certainly a deeper meaning to the tale (certainly thanks to the genius work of screenwriter William Goldman). The faceless posse symbolizes the coming age of law and order, from which Butch and Sundance find it impossible to escape. The world is changing on them, and they know it. Men like them have no place in the world that is coming, as their told in chilling words by the Sheriff that they’ve befriended: “I never met a soul more affable than you, Butch, or faster than the Kid, but you’re still nothing but two-bit outlaws on the dodge. It’s over, don’t you get that? Your time is over and you’re gonna die bloody. All you do is choose where.” This theme was common in the westerns of the 60s (my favorite decade for westerns), as other great films like The Wild Bunch and The Man Who Shot Liberty Valancetackle similar ideas. However, no film does it with as light of a touch or with half the charm of Butch and Sundance.
This relationship between men and the world they no longer belong in is certainly true of cowboys in the dying west, but I believe that this is more or less true of everyone, which is why this film resonates so deeply with me. Eventually, the world leaves all of us behind, no matter what we may do or think. It’s harrowing to think of but seeing Butch and Sundance face this fate with such grit and humor makes it all seem a bit more manageable.
Despite this seemingly grim examination of the themes of this movie, it never feels overly heavy. I laugh more during this movie than I do during most comedies. The timing is so good, and the characters are so well-developed that the jokes truly land. This is one of the many reasons that I find this film so endlessly watchable: these guys are so pleasant and fun to be around, even when they’re fighting. Nothing gets dull, and nothing gets stale, it’s just a great time.
One other aspect that I don’t want to be forgotten is the brilliant way that it is put together. There are plenty of gorgeous landscape shots that one would expect from a large-scale western, but there’s much more than that. The montage scenes are some of the best in film history, making great use of photography and music to give one of the most unique transitions I’ve ever seen in a film. On top of this, the bicycle scene (which may seem pointless to some viewers) really establishes the characters of Butch and Etta and sets the complex dynamic before the audience in a way that feels playful and innocent. There’s not a moment in this film that I don’t believe is perfect.
All of this is to say nothing of the great cast of supporting characters that are temporarily featured in this movie: Strother Martin, Ted Cassidy, and George Furth all show up for very little screen time but leave a lasting impression of colorful characters in a colorful time, adding to the beauty of this world that no longer exists.
Finally, this film boasts one of the best endings in all of cinematic history. With their backs against the wall and defeat seemingly imminent, the duo is finally out of time. However, that doesn’t change them. Ever sure of themselves, the two face off against what seems like the entire Bolivian army, taking off with the final words: “Oh, good. For a moment there I thought we were in trouble.” They head off into certain death, but in my pick for the best final shot in cinema history, the shot freezes before they’re ever struck. The music plays, the picture fades, and the credits roll, leaving us with the sound of the gunshots that followed their escape attempt, a haunting image of these characters we’ve come to love. However, we’ve not seen them die. Did they? Almost certainly, but it isn’t shown. So, these men may be dead, but their spirit of adventure and freedom lives on in some small part, in anyone who identifies with their story. Therefore, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid will never truly die.