The Three Mesquiteers series wasn’t quite set in stone with the inaugural The Three Mesquiteers in 1936. Oh, the series formula was well in place, as it differed little from the formula of other matinee B-westerns. The series’ one unique difference was in employing a trio of gunslingers, and that’s where The Three Mesquiteers had yet to evolve – its cast. Sure, Ron Livingston and Ray Corrigan would stay on, as Stony Brooke and Tucson Smith respectively (and interchangeably), but Syd Saylor just wasn’t going to pass muster as Lullaby Joslin. That’s why a new Lullaby was needed for the Mesquiteers’ follow-up, Ghost-Town Gold.
“Starring Max Terhune as Lullaby Joslin.” Terhune came from the Gene Autry school of singin’ cowboys, but with a major distinction separating him from all other performers. He was also a magician, whose specialty card tricks could surely find a home in the tense western card games which often presage shootouts. He was a ventriloquist too, known for performing with his horrifying, hell-darkened soulless dummy Elmer. Both of these extra skills were worked into his interpretation of the comic relief Lullaby, in place of Saylor’s lame “not a cowboy” schtick.
This was the triumvirate that would triumph throughout fourteen entries, before series casting became a little more loosey-goosey. (That’s not counting Livingston’s one-movie absence for The Trigger Trio.) The Three Mesquiteers as they are remembered are most known for these three, together. The series was well in place.
As stated, Tehune’s Mesquiteer introduction was Ghost-Town Gold, which I have not seen. Taking recourse to its IMDb synopsis, I find it concerns ghost-town gold. Otherwise, it’s a stock western. Without it to work with, I shall move right on to the third of the Three, Roarin’ Lead.
In The Three Mesquiteers, our evil, black hat-wearing nogoodniks were ranchers, set against the forces of good and nobility represented by homesteaders. This is a pretty arbitrary villain designation, especially when I’ve seen other westerns which play the homesteaders as the baddies. So Roarin’ Lead first needs to establish a much more clear-cut, hissable villain, with mustache groomed perfectly for the groomin’. And what’s the most instantly villainous thing a man can do? How ‘bout trying to kill orphans? Oh yeah, Roarin’ Lead’ll employ a style of cartoon villainy usually only seen in governors of Illinois.
Bank manager Hackett’s (Hooper Atchley) motivation for orphanage destruction is twofold. Most simply, it’s because he’s a bitter and unloved card-carrying deviant, in the mold of Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life, out to destroy orphans for his own latent inability to grasp the innocence of childhood. Basically, when you’re evil, you just strike out at the nearest orphanage or dog shelter or synagogue just because. More reasonably, though, Hackett wants the orphanage to foreclose so he can get their land. To accomplish this, it means a rather over-complicated Ponzi scheme which basically involves cattle rustlin’. Yeah, ‘cause it all has to go back to western tropes here. Hackett runs the Cattlemen’s Protective Association (CPA), and is actively bankrupting it via his own self-defeating cattle burglaries so that – Wait, he’s destroying his own fortune in order to destroy an orphanage?! No one ever said pure evil was logical.
The thing is, Hackett’s scheme has been arranged perfectly so that it is foilable by the Three Mesquiteers. In their cinematic universe, complex financial institutions = cattle rustlers. Oh, but Hackett needs a patsy or three to be his cow-stealin’ scapegoats. The first people henchman Gardner (George Chesebro) happens upon are the Mesquiteers, comin’ ‘round the bend whistlin’ a tune as singin’ cowboys are wont to do, without a care in the world but for droppin’ the ends off all infinitives. I love how the Mesquiteers appear at random ex nihilo; they aren’t three real characters, but simply plot mechanics in human form here at franchise’s behest.
So Gardner, acting as a legal authority hired to rustle up some cattle-rustlin’ cattle rustlers, rustles the Mesquiteers as cattle rustlers regardless he’s the cattle rustler he claims to be “rustlin’” for. I don’t think this is the most airtight evil plan in history. It doesn’t help that Hackett, the man who told Gardner to frame someone what for the rustlin’, is himself opposed to the idea of accuzin’ the Mesquiteers, on account of they’re the heroes. As villain, he has hero-dar, and apparently must operate under the Guild of Calamitous Intent’s bylaws…or something.
As an apology for his mook’s imprudence, Hackett offers the Mesquiteers a white flag that surely must appeal to them: punching! When all else fails, punch! So our heroes, beacons of fair play and pacifism that they are, slug Gardner and his underlings square in the jaws. They must’ve filmed a punchin’ scene for the second reel, and needed the screenwriters to justify it somehow.
Havin’ worked out the gist of the entry, the Mesquiteers pay the orphanage set a visit. Get ready for overly-calculated heart string plucking, as we bear witness to multitudinous children and their laments over the absolute inhumanity of their imminent adoptions. Adoption?! That’s bad?! I guess orphanages worked differently in 1919, or the 19th century, or whenever the hell this thing takes place. Of course, the prospective redneck parents arrive with the literal intent of adopting in lieu of mule ownership (i.e. indentured orphan servitude). That’ll do it. These movies are not substantially subtle.
The Mesquiteers shoo off the child-leeching hillbillies. Here Stony earns his designated love interest for this entry, before he rides off into the sunset to continue preachin’ his philosophy of virtue and prudence and chastity and monogamy. At least James Bond had an excuse for being a man-whore! That tossed-off, disposable wench this time is orphanage head Doris Moore (Christine Maple, whose scant credits include something called Beware of Ladies). (Meanwhile, Lullaby employs his horrifying dummy Elmer to “romance” the orphans, thus scarring them for life.)
Now…we’ve all seen The Blues Brothers. Snidely Whiplash substitute aside, it has the same basic plot as this – save a financially destitute orphanage. The solution is the same too: Let’s Put On a Show! Now, knowing this belongs to the “singin’ cowboy” subgenre, I was mistaken in assuming the Mesquiteers would be performing. You know, being heroes? Nah! To avoid their forced labor, the orphans are being forced into labor – in the follies! They are to give a money-raising vaudeville variety show, which is certain to eat up that danged screen time.
But what are the Mesquiteers to do while the plot is off resolving itself? Well, if you guessed “Ride around the same two acres of western ‘wilderness’ we keep on seeing, with no aim whatsoever,” give yourself a gold star – You’re now a sheriff! Here they see Gardner’s men engaged in more cattle rustlin’, which seems a little ill-advised since you’re already going to take control of the insolvent orphanage, and this act only succeeds in tipping off the Mesquiteers. Nimrods! Nitwits! Maroons!
This discovery leads to a shootout on horseback. That means lotsa ridin’, lotsa shootin’ with thorough aimlessness, and an absolute zero percent casualty rate on both sides. This is what all westerns were, oh my droogies, before the slow and steady introduction of realism and violence that lead to Sam Peckinpah and Clint Eastwood. No wonder the genre was unrespectable before Stagecoach.
Taking a break from horse stunts, the Mesquiteers ride into town for some saloon stunts, the specific plot context for this action now eluding me. That means they face off against the same guys they were just fighting, only now in Hackett’s offices. Chairs get broken over backs with a regularity that must absolutely gobsmack the town carpenter. Lullaby, who’s “funny” simply because he’s the “third,” gets his hand caught in a spittoon – this leads head-clonking.
This essential action now “accomplished,” the Mesquiteers go right back to their directionless horsin’ around over at the “nature” setting. That same shootout we just saw basically replays, though they do have the good graces to use new footage. There’s not much in the way of strategy or anything, and they must’ve already been running out of uses for the same rock formations they always use. No matter, the Mesquiteers are cornered, leading to an escape into the river which is very familiar to western fans: They pull a Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid! That makes the 1969 film less “original,” but more respectful to its genre history, and more impressive in its competence. The cliff diving stunt is rather underemployed here.
The Mesquiteers enjoy a brief respite back at the orphanage, as Lullaby earns a chance to employ his ventriloquism to confuse a showdown opponent. Seriously, the guy spins around at the “voices in his head” just as Lullaby grabs his pistol. The orphan in attendance, whose delicious meat this conflict was over, comments as such: “Jiminy Christmas!” Well golly gee fucking whillickers yourself, kid!
And despite, like, five attempts on their lives by Hackett’s henchmen, the Mesquiteers cannot arrest him yet. (Running time.) Thus they shall fool Hackett into attending the orphanage’s All-Parentless Child Revue, and attempt actual Charlie Chan techniques (that is, trick him into confessing his vaudevillian villainies).
The revue is, as expected, a tedious process of eating up minutes as we fill out the Mesquiteers’ designated hour-long timeslot on the matinee’s Saturday bill. Such detours are usually the worst things about films from the 30s, and a B-western hasn’t the luxury of stultifying us with talented actors. Worse yet, these are talentless children we’ll be watching from here on out. Doing whole acts for an unmoving camera, as the editor sneaks out to visit the studio commissary for a spell.
The first act is a child couple “dancing.” It’s basically a reenactment of what people in the 1930s thought of marital life – that is, the boy beats the girl all around the stage. Ah, indirect references to spousal abuse! No wonder the children who grew up watching this stuff are now the types who opposed every social movement from the 60s onward. The most bigoted generation!
The next act is “Baby Mary,” a three-year-old – A three-year-old! I’d rather be watching freaking Shirley Temple of all damned people, to let you know how bad this is. This barely-sentient toddler fidgets stiffly at center stage, like a white guy at a rap concert, as she acts “cute.” Her song, all 7 minutes of it, is utterly indecipherable, for a mass of technical reasons. I’m sure the preservation of forgotten B-westerns ain’t most film fanatics’ priority. Also, the girl is dubbed – By that, I mean an adult sings the song, whatever song it is, and is then electronically altered to a higher pitch…like the Chipmunks, but without their professional sheen.
Hackett shifts listlessly in the aisles, just as I do at home. I hate to side with a potential orphan-murderer, but this is insufferable. Given his black, Cheney-like soul, I’d wager Hackett’s discomfort stems from the mere proximity to children. So much cloying joy burns! A few more minutes, and he’ll be shootin’ aimlessly throughout the crowded theater hall!
But we have two more acts to go first! Would you believe those primadonna Mesquiteers are lowering themselves to appear in a child show? Well, they are, but only for Hackett’s benefit. First up is Lullaby’s ventriloquism act with Elmer. I advise all those with weak stomachs to navigate away from this page NOW, before you expose yourself to the life-ruining, Lovecraftian horror that is Elmer the dummy…Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you…
Oh God, it’s hideous, HIDEOUS! And that dummy on his arm’s not too pleasant-lookin’ either.
(As per this film’s awful audio problems, it’s mighty difficult to parse out what sort of Satanic screed Elmer is preaching. Whatever it is, it sure is angerin’ up Hackett’s blood, so maybe Elmer’s talking about rainbows and puppy dogs and unicorns.)
Then Stony takes the stage, in a “tasteful” act of lampooning India. He pretends as a swami fakir, the slimy faker, and uses his “great mystical insight into the mind” (and his towel hat) to probe the audience to the fullest extent Hayes would allow. Hackett cannot hack it; somehow, he is unaware this “mystic from Yellowest Orient” is actually Stony Brooke, because that towel on his head sure is convincin’! So now is when Hackett shoots at everybody. Way to go, stupid! Of course Stony is unhurt, as he knew would happen, by the standard aiming abilities of people in this franchise – sub-Stormtrooper, they are.
Another fistfight breaks out with Hackett’s lackeys. Even as the battle moves outside, Tucson feels the need to randomly break a few chairs, through force of habit.
We have our routine climactic shootout on the streets of Generic Olde Weste Towne # 3. It’s a chance for the same stunts as the equivalent scene in The Three Mesquiteers boasted – as I suspect every entry from here on out will also boast. Also, this is the only time in the story where the Mesquiteers can have any real efficacy. And Hackett’s many goons, well, they merit violent deaths, while Hackett must be arrested. “What measure is a mook?” TV Tropes asks. Of course, no one bats an eye at twenty men bleeding to death in the streets, as long as those sweet lil’ orphans can avoid adoption.
Doris, the love interest I’ve had nothing to say about, thanks Stony, who’s about to leave her forever. The orphans have a similar romantic farewell with Lullaby. One particular orphan (the sassy one comfortable with 1930s slang) has impressed Lullaby, so he vows to take this lad with the trio as they ride into the sunset. This is a bizarre ending, since we won’t be seeing the irrepressible little urchin in any follow-ups. Perhaps the Mesquiteers ate him, one night out on the range. Maybe a coyote got ‘im, or Elmer “ordered” Lullaby to slit his throat. At any rate, don’t expect any more of the boy.
But expect to see plenty more of the Mesquiteers. They were Republic’s premiere western series, with a simple and thought-free formula in place for mass production. I mean, there’s 51 Mesquiteers overall, and this is but the third! It’s heartening to know most are lost or unavailable at this point, but it’s still staggering.
Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (1937)
• No. 7 Come On, Cowboys! (1937)
• No. 8 Range Defenders (1937)
• No. 9 Heart of the Rockies (1937)
• No. 10 The Trigger Trio (1937)
• No. 13 Call of the Mesquiteers (1938)
• No. 14 Outlaws of Sonora (1938)
• No. 19 Santa Fe Stampede (1938)
• Nos. 29 – 38 (1940 – 1941)
• No. 35 Prairie Pioneers (1941)
• Nos. 39 – 51 (1941 – 1943)
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