Arthur Penn, Little Big Man: Old School Reviews

Little Big Man (1970)

Director: Arthur Penn

Stars: Dustin Hoffman, Chief Dan George, Faye Dunaway, Martin Balsam, Jeff Corey, Amy Eccles, Richard Mulligan

Release Company: Paramount Home Video

MPAA Rating: PG-13

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"Because the human beings, my son, they believe everything is alive. Not only man and animals. But also water, earth, stone. And also the things from them... like that hair. The man from whom this hair came, he's bald on the other side, because I now own his scalp! That is the way things are. But the white man, they believe everything is dead. Stone, earth, animals. And people! Even their own people! If things keep trying to live, white man will rub them out. That is the difference."

Back in 1970 when first viewing Little Big Man, Chief Dan George's emotional analysis the difference between the cultures struck like a thunderbolt, setting the stage for my eventual sojourn to work and live among the Navajo and Hopi for over twenty years. Despite justifiable criticism that such an analysis is oversimplification, a great deal of insightful wisdom lies within Chief Dan George's observation—the dominant society does tend to value technology and material progress much more highly while family and human values are significantly more highly prized among Native Americans. Director Arthur Penn (Bonnie and Clyde) blatantly contrasts the two cultures throughout in one of the most entertaining and provocative films of the decade.

Using Jack Crabb (Dustin Hoffman) as the pivotal 121 year old narrator—provides the structure since the former frontiersman has lived a variety of lifestyles from both the Cheyenne (termed "human being") culture and from the dominant Anglo culture—store owner, settler, huckster, gunfighter, muleskinner, army scout, mountain man. Who better to tell the "true" story of the West than someone with all that experience? But anyone thinking that this premise promises a "balanced" look of American westward expansion during the Indian Wars of the late 1800s is just as foolish as the historian that interviews Crabb. His ignorant assertion that the Battle with Custer at the Little Big Horn was hardly indicative of the period sets Crabb off on the narrative that emphasizes the basic humanity of the Plains Indians and the depravity and hypocrisy of the victorious dominant culture.

And what an entertaining and provocative tale Crabb weaves—essentially a light-hearted version of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee along with satirical takes of white society. Younger viewers may think that the first major Hollywood feature to show Native Americans as real people with a tremendous sense of humor are greatly overlooking Little Big Man. Based on Thomas Berger's novel of the same name, ten-year-old Jack learns Cheyenne ways after his parents are killed on the wagon trail by marauding Pawnee. Torn between the two cultures, survivalist Crabb switches sides when necessary and provides social criticism a plenty.

The biggest mystery becomes why a basically honest Crabb would even attempt to settle into white civilization after being burned continuously by a series of comical characters that parallel the character sketches that Charles Dickens describes for 19th century London and generally come across as stereotypes. Basically the Cheyenne practice an honor code and are the good guys while the whites are universally flawed seriously. Memorable Anglo scoundrels include a gluttonous reverend and his sexually obsessed wife (Faye Dunaway), an snake oil scam artist (Martin Balsam) that continually loses body parts, and an ever vigilant Wild Bill Hickock (Jeff Corey) ever watching for his assassin. The most honorable white person cited by Crabb is none other than General George Armstrong Custer (Richard Mulligan), whose ambition and arrogance eventually doom him to blubber senselessly on the battlefield before his inevitable demise.

Contrasting greatly with the pretense and dishonesty shown by the whites, the Cheyenne are portrayed honorably and developed much more fully. Crabb takes Sunshine (Amy Eccles) as his wife after she bravely gives birth during the Sand Creek massacre, and she provides warmth and natural poignancy when begging her husband to provide for her sisters. Soon after, she plays the central figure in the film's most devastating scene, shot silently through a telephoto lens. While that critical scene thrusts the film forward to the inevitable, the scene chewing scenes belong to the film's lone Oscar contender.

Chief Dan George is a real hoot as Old Lodge Skins—from his initial embarrassing discovery about Jack's sister, to his laughable concepts of taking coup to humiliate the enemy, to his remarks about sexual practices of white women vs. Cheyenne. Anyone who's seen the film will remember his great comic timing and sincere, down to earth manner and attitude that marks a fully actualized human being—the silly critics that thought he would stand no chance for nailing down the Supporting Actor Award (he was nominated) because he was "only playing an Indian" obviously didn't know any real Native Americans. But neither did most of the Academy, who awarded the gold to John Mills that year for a film (Ryan's Daughter) that I hardly remember and have no desire to sit through again. After having his heart "soar like a hawk" during his nomination, I can imagine him saying "e-yah. . . I was afraid of that" when learning about the realities of the Oscar contest: "Sometimes the magic works, sometimes it does not."

Accompanied beautifully and appropriately by the blues music of John Hammond that underscores the improvisations that Hoffman's character must make, Little Big Man remains a truly magical movie that works well. After years of Hollywood westerns and John Ford's emphasis on the Duke's contributions to western expansion, it's refreshing to see a major film respectfully paint Native Americans as real human beings with a tremendous sense of humor. Penn doesn't offer a sympathetic white man savior to the Indians in the same spirit that Kevin Costner does in his over-rated Oscar winning homage—his tragic comedy elicits pathos and questions the way the history books have been written about this period. You may not believe all of Jack Crabb's narrative, but he leaves indelible impressions and entertains well enough to warrant multiple viewings.