“He rode into our valley in the summer of ’89…” was the opening line of Jack Schaefer’s 1949 novel Shane, which was dedicated to his first son. There is gentle irony in this as both the novel and movie unfold through the eyes of a 10-year-old boy, injecting a refreshing sense of wide-eyed innocence into a violent story.

On a summer morning in 1951 at Jackson Hole, Wyoming, the cameras began to roll on what would be almost immediately recognized as a classic. Veteran director George Stevens had a dream cast to work with, each near perfect for their respective roles —with Alan Ladd as Shane, Van Heflin as Joe Starrett, Jean Arthur as Marian Starrett, and Jack Palance as the hired killer Jack Wilson.

When we first see Alan Ladd as he rides up to the Starrett homestead it is a toss-up as to which is the more beautiful—the actor or the majestic mountains and valley behind him. Ladd was at the peak of his fame, health, and physical fitness, a fact Stevens has some great fun with when he injects a scene for the ladies. In it Shane, stripped to the waste, covered in fresh sweat and looking magnificent, helps Van Heflin attack with axes an almost invincible old stump next to the log cabin. More than one reviewer compared Ladd’s appearance to that of a young Greek god. (Greek mythology often concerns a god or half god/half human as a “defender of the innocents,” defeating demons and sending them back to the underworld: the theme of this movie in a nutshell.) 

Alan Ladd had unbounded respect for Stevens, trusting his judgment in everything, and this was by all accounts a very happy set. In fact, Ladd and co-star Van Heflin became fast friends, remaining so until Ladd’s sad, premature death thirteen years later. 

Shane, whom we quickly learn is a gunman trying to put aside his past, decides to stay and help work the Starrett land. The plot line follows the growing tensions between a group of stubborn, courageous homesteaders—for whom Starrett is their acknowledged leader—and a cattle baron named Rufus Ryker. The smoldering conflict is about just who has the right to live on this vast open range. Such confrontations were common in the latter part of the 1880s in the American west.

There is a wonderful piece of dialogue between Ryker and Starrett after the farmers hold their July 4th celebration. Ryker and Wilson are waiting at Starrett’s home. The exchange is both passionate and realistic, giving logic to the viewpoint of both sides. While this takes place Shane and Wilson size one another up. At one point Shane approaches the well beside Wilson’s horse and unhurriedly gets himself a drink of water. As a test of nerves, it is like a menacing little dance. 

Increasingly the savagery of the meetings between antagonists mounts. When Wilson goads one of the settlers—a firecracker Alabama civil war veteran nick-named “Stonewall”—into a fatal confrontation, we know the climax cannot be far away. The look of contentment on Wilson’s face when the little guy lays dead on an ugly, muddy, manure-covered street speaks volumes about the brutality of many of the old shootists. It is one thing to face an equal (which few dared to do), quite another to initiate and enjoy a cold-blooded assassination. Suddenly we cannot wait for Shane to let go of the plow, strap on his six-shooter, and bring this all to an end by burying those bastards eyes down, facing hell.

Set design plays an important part in telling the tale. The Starrett log cabin was built with meticulous care (a statement not only about the Starretts’ character, but their determination to set down deep, deep roots). It is apparent in all the detailing right down to the careful caulking between the logs and the split wood shingles on the sloping roof. In this the film pretty much follows the book.

Inside there’s a real wood floor. Most places this deep into the new territories simply used packed earth. Homespun curtains adorn real glass windows that slide; blue check cloths are used; a silver condiment holder is centered on the dining table; all the chairs are well-tooled and carefully polished; and there is even a brocade-covered settee and some fine expensive-looking oval picture frames hanging on the walls. There are also two bedrooms. All this suggests either Joe or Marian had known some eastern comforts in their past. (The novel tells us it is Marian.) 

By contrast there is nothing appealing about the town itself. Even Dodge, Wichita and Tombstone would seem like Philadelphia compared to this pathetic grouping of haphazard ugly structures. The milled lumber used in their construction has since gone to seed through bad weather and lack of upkeep. A sun-faded sign, Grafton’s General Mercantile Co. Sundries and Saloon, is painted on the side of the building where much of the action takes place. The bar itself is merely a plank set atop supports cut from tree trunks—whereas establishments in the above mentioned cow towns often boasted hand-crafted lengthy “drinking posts” imported from the east, with lots of mirrors and painted nudes behind the bottles. Fittingly, this is where all the violence takes place.

At last the threats, including the burning out of one of the homesteaders on the day of Stonewall’s burial, reaches the point where many of the settlers are ready to call it quits. Until now they were held together by Starrett’s nerve and iron will; but that can’t keep them there forever. 

Ryker’s brother, Morgan, asks Starrett to meet Ryker to work out a final, peaceful resolution. The promise is the two will be alone. But one of Ryker’s men, Chris Calloway, who is disenchanted with his employer and now taking off for parts unknown, warns Shane that Starrett will never return alive. “He’s up against a stacked deck.” 

Shane makes his decision. As Starrett prepares to go to town, ignoring his wife’s pleas, little Joey suddenly runs in to the room: “Pa, Shane’s got his gun on. He’s coming!” 

“This is my kind of game, Joe.” Shane tells his friend. But Starrett is both tough and proud. A fight ensues and Shane finally has to “buffalo” him with his revolver to end it. As Shane gets on his horse, Marian asks: “Are you doing this just for me?” 

“For you Marian—for Joe—and little Joe.” Ladd’s honeyed voice never sounded more seductive. Her question, and the look in his eyes, is as close as we get to an admission the two have fallen in love. It is a powerful scene. Then Shane is gone. The musical score that accompanies his loping ride would alone have been worth the price of admission. (Shane does not know the boy has followed him by a different route so as to not be seen.) Waiting are Wilson and the man who brought him from Cheyenne, Rufus Ryker. 

“You’ve lived too long. Your kinda days are over,” Shane tells Ryker.

“My days? What about yours gunfighter?”

“The difference is I know it.”

The ultimate gunfight is beautifully staged. Wilson’s ugly bravado contrasts brilliantly with the calm buckskin clad Shane. It is as riveting a shootout as ever was filmed—with Shane having to kill not only Wilson but also Ryker who pulls a sneak gun on him. All this is witnessed by Joey who is crouched beneath the batwing doors. His bright, intelligent face, and obvious adoration of the man who rode onto their land a stranger. leaves us as still and hushed as the fight itself. 

As Shane holsters his weapon and turns to walk away Joey yells: "Shane, look out." He has seen Ryker's brother about to ambush him from the second-floor. Shane draws and whirls, but in dispatching his last adversary catches a bullet. 

“Shane! I knew you could, Shane. I knew it. I knew it just as well as anything. Was that him? Was that Wilson?”

“That was him. That was Wilson alright. He was fast—fast on the draw.”

Shane mounts his horse and tells the boy he’s not going back with him. “Joey, there's no living with…with a killing. There's no going back from one. Right or wrong, it's a brand. A brand sticks. Now you run on home to your mother and tell her…tell her everything's all right. And there aren't any more guns in the valley.”

Then Joey sees that Shane has been wounded. “Shane, it's bloody. You're hurt.”
 “I’m all right, Joey. You go home to your mother and your father. And grow up to be strong and straight. And Joey, take care of them, both of them.” (We do not know for sure how badly he has been hit.)

Tears in his eyes: “Yes, Shane.”

As Shane rides away Joey runs after him. “He'd never been able to shoot you if you'd have seen him.”

Shane, looking back one final time: “Bye, little Joe.”
“He’d never even have cleared the holster would he, Shane?”

The gunman says no more, just rides back to the same snow-capped mountains he came from as the heartbroken Joey continues to call out to him—while the echo of the name “Shane” reverberates in the valley. It is an unforgettable ending to a panoramic masterpiece of film-making.               

Copyright © 2006 by Michael Orr

About the author:

Michael has written numerous short subject films and documentaries, been a speechwriter and a journalist. He fell in love with movies as a youngster and continues to publish essays about American cinema. A special interest is the late 1920s when "silents, talkies, and radio all violently collide resulting in a cinematic cosmic big bang"—the focus of his recently completed novel, Hollywood’s A Scary Place! to be released soon by a British publisher. He makes his home in Toronto. He also "doctors" other people’s work and ghostwrites on occasion when the assignment is of interest. You may contact him at This email address is being protected from spam bots, you need Javascript enabled to view it .

Hollywood Popcorn:

Did You Know… ?

1. Shane was filmed in 1951 but not released until April two years later, a few months after High Noon.

2. The feisty southerner, Stonewall, was played by Elisha Cook, Jr., the little “gunnie” in The Maltese Falcon a few years earlier and, much later, the mob man Icepick in many episodes of Magnum P.I.).
 
3. Alan Ladd died on January 28, 1964 as the result of a combination of liquor and sleeping pills. There was not enough of either in his system for it to be a suicide. Son David explained, “It was just that magic number, that magic combination you just don’t wake up from.” He would have been fifty-one that September.

4. On July 24, 1971 Van Heflin had a fatal heart attack while swimming. He had co-starred in this unforgettable film just twenty years previously.

5. Director George Stevens passed away four years later. A common complaint by critics about Ladd was that he had but one good expression. Stevens countered: “You show me an actor with only one good expression and I’ll be happy. I can recollect only one good expression from Gary Cooper, but I’ve seen great pictures built around it.”

6. On July 6, 1976 Brandon de Wilde, now thirty and who had once reduced audiences to tears when he called out “Shane, Shane, come back.” died in a car crash in Denver, Colorado during a violent rainstorm. He was still working as an actor.

7. The long life of actress Jean Arthur, who played the mother of that appealing youngster, came to an end on June 19, 1991, of heart failure, at the age of ninety-one. She had begun her career in silent films, established herself as a brilliant comedienne in the talkies, and then retired after Shane.

8. Jack Palance, still the tough guy in a five-decade-long career was billed with a first name of Walter in the opening credits of Shane, something he wisely later changed.

9. Shane received six Academy Awards nominations: Best Picture, Best Supporting Actor (Brandon de Wilde), Best Supporting Actor (Jack Palance), Best Director, (George Stevens), Best Screenplay (A.B. Guthrie, Jr.) and Best Color Cinematography (which was its only win). Ladd himself was not nominated, a sad irony considering this was almost certainly his finest performance.

10. A survey of western newspapers from the late 1800s reveals that “gunman,” “assassin,” “man killer,” or “shootist” were the terms used to describe someone who was known for his skill with handguns—and willingness to use them. “Gunfighter” actually did not come into the common language until much later. (You can find this information in the reprinted version of the novel, The Shootist, by Glendon Swarthout, Berkeley Edition, August 1998, in a new Introduction by the author’s son, Miles. This is the only factual error in an otherwise faultless script.)