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The Lone Ranger: Confirms its Infamy

By Jim Rohner · July 8, 2013

 

Sometimes the legend overshadows the actual product. This isn't just true of history, but cinema as well, where in the past titles such as Heaven's Gate, Ishtar, Waterworld, and John Carter were pre-judged by the press and audiences months before release due to widespread stories of out of control and often chaotic productions. With the benefit of hindsight, completely detached by time from the context that spawned the tales of their misery, some of those titles (Heaven's Gate, Waterworld depending on who you ask) have proven not to be as bad as initially thought. Perhaps there's some minor consolation for the filmmakers to know that history has diluted the poison initially heaped on them, but the fact remains that some titles were just never given a fair shake having already been drowned by the infamy that accompanied them.

The Lone Ranger is the most recent cinematic offering to suffer the same fate, its release having been heralded for months by nightmare stories of budget and scheduling overruns so widely reported that there was no possible way Disney's intended summer tent pole would be received objectively. A fan of Gore Verbinski, I tried to block out the hate spewing forth about the big budget Western, avoiding reviews and reports and trying to focus instead on the fact that the legend of John Reid (Armie Hammer) and Tonto (Johnny Depp) was being brought to life by one of the most innovative directors Hollywood has to offer. I didn't want the legend of the production to cloud my judgment; I wanted the product to speak for itself.

If only the product had anything worthwhile to say.

In a way, it's fitting that The Lone Ranger film is overshadowed by its legacy because the narrative works so hard at trying to convince both the audience and the dastardly outlaws of Colby, Texas that a rather uninteresting and often bumbling man should be feared and adored as something so much more. As a District Attorney, John Reid was already a man of justice upon his return to Colby courtesy of Mr. Cole's (Tom Wilkinson) westward expanding railroad, but John's exploits are likely far less heroic to recall than those of his brother, rough and tumble Ranger Dan Reid (James Badge Dale). Dan not only has the respect of the community, but the heart of the woman John loves, Rebecca (Ruth Wilson), and the ire of notorious outlaw, Butch Cavendish (an almost unrecognizable William Fichtner).

It's primarily to aid in the capture of the latter (with perhaps a tiny bit of desire to impress the former) that sees John accompany his brother and posse into the desert in order to recapture Cavendish, whose escape from the Colby-bound train reeked heavily of insider assistance. An ambush later and seven graves are being dug in the desert by Tonto, who was earlier chained up in the same train car from which Cavendish escaped. It's only due to the interference of the Spirit Horse, the white horse later dubbed Silver that will pathetically serve as most of the film's comic relief, that Tonto doesn't bury John, who through non-vocal communication between the horse and Tonto has been dubbed "The Spirit Walker," the one who has been to the other side and cannot be killed.

Seemingly having been brought back from the dead, John vows vengeance on the man who killed his brother. To aid in his quest, Tonto gives him what we all know to be an iconic mask, intended to feed into the legend that he has indeed come back from the dead to extract his justice. Together he and Tonto set out to stop Cavendish in the most bumbling and incompetent ways possible subsequently uncovering a plot about corporate corruption and Native American genocide that two men of their skill sets should have no business solving.

Ignore the title The Lone Ranger because the filmmakers REALLY want you to pay attention to Johnny Depp as Tonto. Undoubtedly, this has something to do with the fact that were anyone coming to see this film, it would be because of his worldwide appeal. While I understand the logic in that, I can't say that I understand the logic in giving him absolutely nothing to do aside from appeal to juveniles with a silly slapstick humor. If you want to see Depp argue with a horse, I wish no harm upon you, but it's a crime that in a film about an iconic masked man, said masked man has to play second fiddle to a character that is nothing but the comic sidekick with exceptionally more screen time.

The film could perhaps be forgiven for its juvenile sense of humor—the Lone Ranger's story is, after all, framed as a tale passed down to a child—if it wasn't so distractingly omnipresent. Buried deep within the confused narrative are nuggets of an intriguing story that talk of America's long, ugly history with greed and racial inequality, but Verbinski and his screenwriters are more concerned with trying to play up the yuks with painfully unfunny running gags such as Tonto feeding the dead bird on his head or having he and John misunderstand each others' cultures. The humor largely feels deliberate rather than organic, an attempt to pander to the younger viewers who aren't likely to appreciate Jess Gonchor's eye-popping and elaborate production design or the way Bojan Bazelli shoots the sweeping western vistas.

Verbinski has typically been a director who was able to do a lot with a lot and if there's one strong compliment I can give to The Lone Ranger, it's that the money is up on the screen. Perhaps even more than the stupid humor, Verbinski wants to cram historical authenticity and grandiose set pieces down our throats. He can't be bothered to fact check the number of stars that would appear on an American flag at that point in history, but the climactic train sequence is a reminder that Verbinski still does harrowing very well. Unfortunately, while the money is up on the screen, so are all the problems that accompany it, a resounding confirmation that this film has lived up to its infamy.