by Ryan Silberstein, Managing Editor, Red Herring

This month, I’ll be looking at two 1950s films about white men who “go native.” This is a common trope most famously enacted by Dances With Wolves, which I covered here last year. Like Dances With Wolves, both Broken Arrow (1950) and Run of the Arrow (1957) are what Ebert described as ‘sentimental fantasies’ that imagine an alternate history for the United States that make it seem like it could have been possible to avoid the genocides that were enacted by white men. 

Broken Arrow is at least based on historical facts, and that may account for it coming across the best of the three in my view. Directed by Delmer Daves, it stars Jimmy Stewart as Tom Jeffords, a mail superintendent in Tucson, Arizona. The opening of the film shows Jeffords treating a wounded Apache teenager, and then eventually building a friendship with Cochise (Jeff Chandler), a leader of the Chiricahua Apache. Not only does Jeffords negotiate safe passage of the mail through Cochise’s territory, but also falls in love and marries an Apache girl, Sonseeahray (Debra Paget). This was Paget’s first major role, and despite being only 16 years old, she held her own with the much older Stewart (42 at the time). The relationship was invented for the film, as historians believe Jeffords to have been a lifelong bachelor, but it certainly adds to the narrative of Jeffords as an “Indian lover” as he is often called derisively in the film. 

Unlike the other examples of this trope, I think Broken Arrow’s intentions come across clearly, even if the execution still stumbles. While Cochise and Sonseeahray are played by white actors, Geronimo was played by Jay Silverheels, a Canadian Mohawk actor, and the rest of the Apache were played by actual members of the tribe from the Fort Apache Indian Reservation. That makes it a lot more progressive than Hollywood westerns that would be released even decades later. The Apache rituals seen in the film are at least based on specific tribal customs, rather than be imagined by white filmmakers. The portrayal still comes off as clumsy and awkward at times through a current day lens, but I think the good intentions are clear. 

The second thing that matters is the attitude of the whites, specifically Jeffords and General Oliver Howard (Basil Ruysdael). Known as the “Christian General,” the real life Howard is portrayed well here. Prior to the events in this film, he was appointed to head up the Freedmen's Bureau, which was tasked with integrating free Blacks into Southern society and politics. He was an advocate for Black education in particular, and founded Howard University in 1867. Andrew Johnson once called him an extremist, which is an endorsement in my book. In Broken Arrow, Howard is shown to be just as sympathetic to the Apache, referring to the Bible as the foundation for his belief in equality. This gives Broken Arrow a strong humanist streak, and its tragic ending underscores a sense of regret by the filmmakers for the way that the indigenous people of this continent were treated. Broken Arrow feels like a blending of classic and revisionist western, and stands alongside other entries in the genre around this time for trying to adapt to the societal attitudes coming out of World War II. 

Run of the Arrow, from 1957, takes a different direction. Like Dances With Wolves (critics in 1991 noted the similarities between the two films) and The Outlaw Josey Wales, aligns “former” Confederates with indigenous resistance. When I covered Wales here last August, I wrote about the Lost Cause and its ties to Watergate. Here, Rod Steiger plays O’Meara, the Confederate who fired the last bullet of the Civil War (he considers assassinating General Grant at Appomattox before being talked out of it). Disaffected by Reconstruction, he heads west and befriends Walking Coyote (Jay C. Flippen), from the Lakota tribe (a huge mark in this film’s favor is explaining where the term Sioux comes from). 

But this is a white man’s story through and through. No matter how much O’Meara ingratiates himself with the Lakota, his hatred of the United States Army is because of the Civil War, and not because he seems to particularly care about the indigenous people. It’s an “enemy of my enemy” situation more than it is a real belief that they are being wronged. There’s really not much here in the way to recommend politically. 

Which is a shame, because Samuel Fuller (Pickup on South Street, Forty Guns) is a fantastic director. The titular sequence–in which O’Meara and Walking Coyote earn their freedom by running away from Lakota warriors while arrows are fired in their path–is a standout sequence visually. Fuller focuses on the characters’ feet during the chase (a practical choice because supposedly Steiger twisted his ankle on an early take and a stunt double was needed), which makes it stand out from the genre, especially in this decade. Broken Arrow is a flawed movie, but the direction is not lacking at all.

Seeing Hollywood wrestle with the historical reality inherent in the genre is one of the drives behind this project. These films–released seven years apart–demonstrate how it comes down to a movie-by-move basis for how indigenous peoples are treated on screen.These issues are still being reckoned with today, of course. Seeing more stories being told by indigenous creators is helping to move things in a better direction, limited by the speed of studios willing to fund them.