The Three Mesquiteers movies are now reaching a Charlie Chan level of one-off consistency. They’re at the point where a new setting or theme can be settled upon for each entry, while things are still fresh. As in Charlie Chan at the Circus, Come on, Cowboys! chooses the circus as its venue – not an awful notion, considering the lead actors’ skills derive from circus-like rodeos (see my write-up for the original Three Mesquiteers for a consideration of how the western genre evolved from this).
There is another element Mesquiteers movies bring to the table, which the Chans never dabbled in: character exploration. The Three titular Mesquiteers now have well-defined personas (er, except for Tucson), which different entries can explore, much like a TV show could. Similarly to Hit the Saddle, Come on Cowboys! decides to focus on the Mesquiteers’ oft regressive, repressive attitudes towards that most matrimonial of subjects: marriage.
We’ll get to that. For now, Mesquiteer Lullaby Joslin (Max Terhune) is performing at the circus with –
GRAHJLGSAXSAAAAAAHHHHH! That THING is back! Elmer the Satanic Puppet just has a knack of leapin’ up at ya, doesn’t he?
At least they got the contractual dummy horror out of the way early this time. Instead we can focus on the relatively calming sight of Mesquiteer Tucson Smith (Ray Corrigan) in a tiger-striped he-man loincloth, like a circus strongman. He even lifts up a pair of cartoon dumbbells, with “500” clearly painted on the spherical weights. This must’ve seemed retro, even then.
Last Mesquiteer to perform is Stony Brooke (Robert Livingston), easing us back into the western thing with a trick shot act. Structurally, it’s favorable seeing the trio perform at the start rather than at halfway when we prefer plot.
Circus impresario Jeff Harris (Ed Cassidy, a sheriff in countless B-westerns) thanks the Mesquiteers for a fine introductory sequence, as they leave to get back to that ranch we’ve never really seen. Sticking with Harris, he returns to the headquarters of Harris and Rigby’s Circus, to have a conflict of interests with co-owner Thomas Rigby (Edward Peil Jr,. who played the lead in a 1921 series of Edward Pomeroy detective shorts). Perfectly mirroring the villain’s motivations in Charlie Chan at the Circus, both of these men seek sole circus ownership, suggesting such business enterprises were a tad more respectable in 1937. But Rigby has a proactive notion to secure his precious traveling freak show: In come U.S. Treasury Agents, who promptly arrest Harris for possession of counterfeit money (planted on him by Rigby).
With Harris put away for 10 years, the (Three) Mesquiteers are named join executors of his estate, and new legal guardians to his daughter Nancy…until she comes of age. At first, I was worried this underage minor might be Stony’s token love interest (they do skew young on that count), but Phew! Nancy’s in the single digits, and thus just a little too young. But there is her governess, Ellen (Maxine Doyle). Yeah, she’ll do!
The Mesquiteers set out to uncover the circus folk who framed Harris. Naturally, in order to do this, Tucson puts on his gorilla suit! Now, actor Ray Corrigan couldn’t even get his foot into Hollywood’s door at first, until he revealed the astounding suit: he was an actor who owned his own gorilla suit. Welcome aboard, future superstar! It’s amazing, during Corrigan’s dry spell in the 40s, his whole livelihood rode on that one ratty ape outfit. Of course, Hays seemingly required a monkey to appear in every movie from that era…
Thus disguised as “Bongo,” Tucson overhears what Rigby’s henchmen have to say. Following that, he runs violent rampage throughout the circus grounds, as any good 30s conception of a gorilla. Charlie Chan at the Circus had a similar anti-gorilla agenda.
Now the Mesquiteers know that Rigby, that black hat wearing dastard, is undoubtedly the villain. Their next effort is to smoke him out. Employing his astounding ventriloquism talents (soulless dummy mercifully absent), Lullaby phones Rigby and pretends as the sheriff, basically announcing a raid. Thus Rigby has his goons ride out into the always-nearby Californian deserts to ditch any counterfeit circus cash on their persons. This is the chance to squeeze in the standard horse chase sequence they had filmed in preparation for this entry. The Mesquiteers, having previously impressed us with their shootin’, show off their ropin’, capturing all the goons and dragging them back to town.
The sheriff is out of town, so Stony and Tucson take the lead and put the two mooks behind bars. As they’re doing that, Lullaby is off being far, far less helpful. In fact, he’s drunk, despite having not even had the opportunity to imbibe. Really, he’s drunk on plot contrivance. In a moment that seems more “Jackass” than anything else, Lullaby hitches a child’s sled (Rosebud) to two horses, shoots at them, and rides the sled off whilst going “Yee-haw.” Everyone in town chases off after him.
The reason for Lullaby’s sudden, severe lack of judgment is this: It’s the opportunity for Rigby’s other goon to sneak over to the prison and blow the two caged mooks away, execution style. Really, it’s the kind of violence I’d expect to see in a Scorcese movie, not a kid-friendly B-western! And, yeah, the plot needed these guys dead, after all the effort it put into getting them captured – hence Lullaby’s moment of idiocy. It’s hard to cheer for this guy now that his juvenilia is largely responsible for two bloody deaths.
Ellen grows concerned with the Mesquiteers’ ability to raise little Nancy, what with the surprisingly high percentage of fatalities they have a hand int. She’s therefore not being too unreasonable in demanding their guns, yet the franchise can never take a lowly woman’s side in such arguments. Thus Ellen’s anti-violence stance is squarely un-American, and it’s her fault that Rigby’s men instantly set an ambush for the unarmed Mesquiteers the next moment they randomly decide to go riding out into the desert set, for lack of anything else to do.
If the former horse chase sequence was a taste of what the Mesquiteers can do sans firearms, this sequence is the main course. There is much roping, jumping, fisticuffs, and all around western action goodness. Really, as overall movies, these Mesquiteer pictures don’t hold much water, but they do hold great action entertainment value. Credit for this, in all the entries, must go to legendary western stunt coordinator Yakima Canutt. Really, he was the Yuen Wo Ping of his respective era and genre.
If any name deserves proper respect, out of everyone ever connected to The Three Mesquiteers, it’s Yakima’s (also Rita Hayworth, but it’s hardly the same thing). All the classic Hollywood western stunts came from this man. He pretty much defined the genre as a showcase for stunt work! Stagecoach displays his incredible horse riding, as do Rio Bravo and Ben-Hur (oh right, and Gone With the Wind). Jumping from horse to train, or horse to horse, or ground to horse, or horse to ground, or pretty much anything concerning horses – he did it. And Yakima was one of Hollywood’s greatest ever second-unit directors, aiding men like John Ford, Stanley Kubrick, and Sergio Leone (Ben-Hur’s best scenes).
All glory to Yakima!
But come on, cowboy, what of Come on, Cowboys!? Well, the Mesquiteers’ latest unmonitored acts of ultra-violence are it, as far as the judge is concerned. He shall remove Nancy from their custody and transfer her to an orphanage (suddenly, unlike in Roarin’ Lead, orphanages are now evil – inconsistent politics, man). There’s one other option. The Mesquiteers can keep Nancy one the condition one of them marries. “Marries?!” all three shriek at once. I don’t want to maintain a homoerotic subtext reading, but these movies don’t help me there. Either Stony or Tucson is to wed (Lullaby having clearly been found unsound by cause of insanity). Tucson’s “justification” for fearing marriage is mighty suspect: “Stony and myself are very close – I mean, we share everything.” Suuuuuure, Tucson. It’s “I don’t know how to quit you,” 30s style!
In the film’s relative defense, the audience was preteen boys. Icky, icky women with their cooties and dollies (not masculine dollies like Elmer the proto-Chucky) – Yuck! So maybe The Three Mesquiteers aren’t gay, or female-o-phobic, but merely immature. Even Stony, the romantic of the bunch, who was actively eager to marry before (Rita Hayworth, as fine as catch as any), is terrified of this notion.
Also, when Lullaby advises his pajama-clad revue of banjo-twangin’ yokels to play a romantic wedding song, they play a funeral march. This must’ve been one of Al Bundy’s favorite movies.
Poor Stony draws high card, and is thus doomed to groom-hood. His wife-to-be, Ellen – Oh, right, of course Ellen’s gonna be the wife! It’s not like she was ever given a choice in the matter! Stony and Tucson simply told her, “Woman, you’s a-marry one of us – NOW!” So wherever Come on, Cowboys! falls on the orientation scale, it remains unequivocally backwards in its sexual politics.
Also, at what point did we completely forget about silly circus hijinks?
That dire, life-ruining wedding currently underway, Lullaby suffers a momentary case of sanity, and determines to help Stony. To accomplish this, he beats Rigby’s goons at a classic western game of cards, getting his hands on the counterfeit money they carry around on them out of idiocy. Only this does him no good, as the goons capture Lullaby and haul him back to Rigby’s evil villain’s lair (a shack).
A stereotypical Chinaman interrupts the wedding the very instant before the “I dos” are done, with news of Lullaby. At this, Stony practically shoves Ellen forcefully onto the floor, as he rides off with his life-partner Tucson to rescue Lullaby. Fortunately for them (and randomly for us), Lullaby keeps a deck of cards inside his mouth at all times. What the?! (This was set up at the start, which barely excuses it.) So Lullaby vomits up playing cards like so many bread crumbs, leaving his saddle mates a path leading straight to the evil shack.
We’re at end game, which means…shootout! Yeah, yeah, it’s always a shootout. Good ol’ Yakima always devises some new stunt gags, this time involving a runaway wagon. It’s exciting stuff out of context, because the mere physicality enlivens things immensely. And so once again the Mesquiteers are victorious. We can only presume Harris is exonerated, as we never see him again.
So that’s Come on, Cowboys! I think it makes for an interesting study into the Mesquiteers’ shared matrimonial terror, yielding insights the filmmakers wouldn’t realize are there. This is all well and good as a continuation of the franchise’s scope, even if I cannot agree with their conclusions re: marriage. And at least I can rest assured they couldn’t undermine the wedding institution any furth-
YYAAAIIIIIEEIIIIYYYAAAARRRGHH! Lullaby’s forcing his hateful, inhuman dolls into wedlock! [Shudder.] Just be thankful I opted not to show you their children. I’m serious, in the final shot the dolls go straightaway and have kids! Improve upon that, Seed of Chucky!
Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 3 Roarin’ Lead (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (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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