Cockfighter

I'd avoided 1974's COCKFIGHTER, adapted by Charles Willeford from his 1962 novel, for several years because I'm becoming more and more sensitive to depictions of animal cruelty onscreen.  Especially when it's real.   Don't scan the credits for any disclaimers from the American Humane Society this time.  But, here was a picture starring Warren Oates and Harry Dean Stanton and directed by Monte Hellman.  One that gets its claws dirty into the grit of the Deep South of the '70s.  Impossible for me to ignore, especially as such a big fan of Hellman's TWO LANE BLACKTOP.

I'd read that the movie was ugly and unpleasant. Also that the cockfighting scenes are rough viewing.  It's true, but I was surprised that Hellman and editor Lewis Teague used a bit of restraint, even with horrific slow motion that shows some detail.  I do have to admit that a hotel room cockfight was almost beautiful in some grotesque fashion.  Here was some artistry, even in a Roger Corman production, albeit one of the few that didn't make money.  When the movie failed, Corman renamed it BORN TO KILL and re-released it with the same result.  How does one overestimate the box office potential for a story about a cockfighter? What audience do you seek? Gore fiends? Those few who recognized that the talent involved might tell a thoughtful tale? Stoned teens at the drive-in who could care less?

Oates plays Frank, the titular character who has taken a vow of silence until he wins the coveted Cockfighter of the Year award.  He's had a few tough losses to competitor Jack (Stanton) who ends up winning his car, trailer, and even girlfriend (Laurie Bird).  The two have a rather uneasy yet consistent friendship throughout the movie.  Frank's thoughts serve as voice over and it is one of the few times narration really worked for me.  I actually craved more of it.  In fact, if the movie played its tone more seriously and let Frank's observation on life drive the story a bit more, the modest but vivid COCKFIGHTER might've been a minor classic.  But there's some innocuous, at times goofy Southern fried humor (at Corman's insistence?) that kept this from happening.  Too bad.

The cast is fine.  Richard B. Shull, a familiar faced character actor, has fun as Frank's business partner.  Ed Begley Jr. and Steve Railsback play hayseed rivals (in separate scenes) who fold under pressure awful quick like.  Patricia Pearcy has some presence as Frank's long suffering fiancee, and their final scene may at first seem a bit corny but climaxes on a rather unexpected and eccentric note.   Stanton is always worth watching.  And Oates?  Far as I'm concerned he's an American Legend.