​The Bagwell  (in honor of the anniversary of Bowie’s Sandbar Fight Sept 18, 1827)
 
Among Bowie knife enthusiasts, the name Bill Bagwell is uttered with a hushed reverence.  Bagwell is custom knifemaker in Texas who specializes in building large fighting bowie knives from scratch.  If one wants a bowie, especially a fighting bowie, and one wants the best money can buy, they call Bill Bagwell.
 
His most famous bowie is called the “Helles Belle,” and it’s a beauty.  Generally, it runs 11 -12” long in the blade, with a Spanish Notch, forward curved crossguard and a classic coffin-shaped handle.  If you order one from Bagwell, he will want to know a variety of things about you, including height and weight, and will ask for a tracing of your hand.  This will be your knife.
 
My Bagwell is not a custom job from The Man himself. Rather, it’s an authorized reproduction made by Camillus knives under his direction.  It’s no custom hand-forged knife by the Master, but it’s still a sweet blade.
 
This is the “Fortress” model, with a 10.5” blade.  The largest of the Camillus knives was the “Helles Belle,” named after its custom brethren, and each successive model got shorter in blade length.  Commonalities were a wooden coffin-shaped handle secured with exposed rivets and a wide crossguard that curves forward.  The shortest version, the Plainsman, sported a simple oval crossguard rather than the fighting quillions.
 
This is a single purpose fighting knife.  Upon holding this knife, one immediately feels the difference in balance - while the Cold Steel Natchez has a balance point around an inch forward of the crossguard, and the Musso’s is still further down the blade, the Fortress balances right at the crossguard - just immediately in front of it, actually.  This balance point is critical to how the blade handles in the hand, and with the point of balance this close to the user’s hand, it is lively and fast.  This is exactly the kind of quick handling knife one would want if one were to be dueling with blades.
 
The forward-curving crossguard is also built with blade-on-blade combat in mind.  The arms of the crossguard reach forward in a wide arc to enable its user to capture an opponent’s blade.  Rather than simply parrying an incoming cut, one could control the opponent’s blade and perhaps even wrest it away from him (or her). James Keating does a lot of such disarms in his bowie knife videos.  It takes a lot of practice and good timing, but it’s pretty slick when it works.
 
The Spanish notch is something of an oddity, and its purpose has been debated.  According to Bagwell and Keating, the Spanish notch is designed to catch the opponent’s blade, presumably as it slides down the edge in a parry.  Now, I confess I haven’t trained in its use, and remain a wee bit skeptical.  But I’ve got one if I need it.
 
Another feature of a true fighting bowie is the sharpened top clip.  Bagwell actually asserts that a proper bowie will have the edge run around the tip, and the sharpened tip is used combatively in a flicking back cut.  In a woods blade such a sharpened tip is a recipe for cutting oneself, but it’s just the ticket in a fighting knife.  Sadly, Camillus no longer makes these blades, so if you want one you’ll have to scour ebay.  They’re worth the hunt.

If you're interested in learning how to wield your new fighting knife, check out James Keating's video series at:    ​http://www.jamesakeating.com

​  The Natchez
 
In this third installment of Battle Blades I’ll turn my attention to something of a hybrid knife, a fairly recent production bowie from the guys at Cold Steel.  It’s the Natchez Bowie, and it’s everything a bowie ought to be - big, wide, and sharp.
 
Cold Steel named their knife the Natchez because of the history of bowie fighting in the area of Natchez, Mississippi, invoking a romantic frontier ethos for this knife.  It is styled generally like the “primitive” bowie and its overall lines echo the shape of the Musso Bowie.  Its blade is 11 ¾” long and 1 ¾ “ wide.  It’s a big blade, fully capable of swinging, chopping, slicing . . . or even paddling, if need be.
 
There are four major differences between the CS Natchez and the Musso bowie.  Firstly is the tip; the CS Natchez’ tip is not nearly as thin and vulnerable to lateral forces as the earlier Musso design.  The tip still narrows to a needle point, but it is not upswept as on the Musso, which has the dual benefit of keeping more mass in the tip for structural rigidity, and also keeping the point in line with the wrist when the blade is extended, thus making this knife a more effective point thruster than the Musso design.
 
The second difference is the hilt.  The CS version uses a simple and straightforward oval crossguard rather than the large “S” shaped crossguard of the Musso design.  It’s really six of one, and a half dozen of another, as hilt design only comes into play when one is anticipating duelling against another blade, but it’s worth noting that CS makes a big deal of marketing this knife as a “fighting bowie” and then puts a regular utilitarian hilt on it.  Things that make you go Hmmnn.
 
The third difference between the Natchez and Musso is in balance.  The Natchez’ point of balance is just about one inch forward of the crossguard; this is still a fairly weight-forward balance, but it’s a far cry from my Musso version, which balances right at three inches forward of the crossguard!  Both have a distinctly blade-heavy feel, but the Musso feels like a large, cumbersome saber, whereas the Natchez feels simply like a big knife.  The weight is forward, but not overly so, and it’s still maneuverable.  I like this balance point very much.
 
The fourth difference can’t be seen or even felt, but I know it’s there, and is the reason I called this a “hybrid” knife in my introduction.  This third difference is one of construction.  Cold Steel uses a full-tang construction on many knives, such as their Trail Master bowies, but their Laredo and Natchez bowies (both “fighters”) do not use full tangs.  These two models use a weirdly designed cable system, in which a twisted cable attaches to a stub tang and is then tightened by a screw in the base of the grip.  This provides sufficient tension to provide enough structural integrity to replace a regular tang, although its durability is not well tested so far as I know. If one listens to the legions of internet commandos, this system is a miracle of cost-cutting engineering, an overbuilt design intended to save an ounce or so of quality steel per unit.  I used to own a Laredo, and have used the Natchez and not found either wanting, so perhaps this design is suitably strong.  I’m something of a traditionalist, however, and knowing that my tang is really a wire cable under tension leaves me feeling a little suspect about its capabilities.  In all likelihood the knife is probably completely dependable for 98+% of what real users will ask of it .  . . but I’d still prefer a full tang, even if it were a lower quality steel welded onto the blade.

​So in the end, I bought this knife thinking it might easily become my favorite user, and yet I find myself hesitating to really put it through its paces due to its tang design.  Another snag with this is the grip is not ideal for me; it’s comfortable enough, but if I had my ‘druthers I would replace the grip with a wooden one of a different shape . . . however, that’s not as easy as it sounds given the complicated tang design (grrr!).  So in the end, I love this knife, but it’s not my favorite.

Okay, so this title is a bit grandiose and frankly a cheap titillation to get you to read my review.  I’m leery of superlatives like this anyway, but the upshot is that Forsaken is a damned fine western, and I will say it’s one of the best of the breed.  It helps that it has some fine actors, most notably Keifer Sutherland playing the son of real-life father Donald Sutherland.  This made news as the first film in which both men acted opposite one another, and their performances make me hope they do so again.  Also notable are Demi Moore in the role of Mary Ellen, and Micheal Wincott as Gentleman Dave.

The action opens with John Henry Clayton returning to his old home to a cold reception by his father Reverend Clayton.  His mother has passed away, and the Reverend doesn’t take pains to hide his opinion of his “gunman” son.  John Henry left for the Civil War with promises to return to his family, and to his love Mary Ellen, but has been gone for years, with nothing but dramatic tales of his violent exploits returning home on his behalf.  Here is already a classic western motif, the Civil War soldier who was so scarred by battle that by the war’s end he knows no other life than one of violence.

John Henry claims to have put his guns away, which is also a standard motif for the gunfighter in many films.  His father has doubts, as do we, because of course, a peaceful man does not a western movie make.

As you might expect, there is a greedy rancher named James McCurdy (played by Brian Cox) who is forcefully buying up all the nearby properties, offering reasonable (or less so) payments, and bullying and forcing sales through violence when necessary.

Early in the film, John Henry meets his antagonists in the saloon, where he has gone to get a soft drink.  This scene plays out very similarly to the classic western Shane, which features a soda-drinking hero.  As an aside, Eastwood reprises this to a smaller extent in Unforgiven with the shootist who has given up drinking.  Here he meets Gentleman Dave, played by Michael Wincott.  The other gun hands think John Henry is going to be a pushover, but Gentleman Dave recognizes John Henry for who he is, and is not distracted by his apparent nonviolence. The Gentleman Dave character seems to me to be modeled on a Doc Holliday mold, and I am eager to see what else Wincott has played, or may play in the future.  Gentleman Dave is a hired gun, and is not afraid to shoot people, but he also distinguishes himself as being a businessman rather than simply bloodthirsty.

Forsaken follows a fairly genre standard approach in which John Henry stands up for a homesteader who is being bullied in town by McCurdy’s men.  He is beaten, but refuses to become violent himself.   This nonviolence will be tested, of course, and when McCurdy’s mean stab Reverend Clayton John Henry straps his guns on again.  He carries a Colt (of course), but before he heads to the saloon to confront McCurdy and his men he also stops in a gunshop and buys a second weapon.  Forgive my geeking out here, but he buys a LeMat, which was a French-made revolver that was used by the Confederacy during the Civil War.  It’s an impressive piece, with a nine shot cylinder and a 20 gauge shotgun barrel underneath the primary barrel. The inclusion of this piece is something of a historical anomaly, as these pistols were fairly rare and by the time of this film it would’ve been a highly unlikely choice for a secondhand purchase - but I’ll give it to them just because seeing one on film delighted me.

The fight ensues, and it’s a top-shelf, bar-jumping, table flipping movie gun battle. I won’t spoil too much, except to say that before it’s all over, only McCurdy himself (barricaded upstairs) and Gentleman Dave remain.  Gentleman Dave and John Henry find themselves on the street in what is shaping up to be a classic “high noon” kind of showdown.  John Henry tells Dave that he has no fight with him, that he could just walk away. Gentleman Dave counters that he accepted a contract with McCurdy, and his reputation would be ruined if he abandoned a client.  John Henry notes that he’s down to his LeMat, which is heavy and gives Dave an unfair advantage; he asks leave to go fetch his Colt.  Dave assents, and John Henry goes inside to get it. While there he encounters McCurdy and kills him, leaving only Gentleman Dave standing.

Here’s where the film subverts the audience expectations - now that his boss is dead, Gentleman Dave is free to walk away from the fight, and he does exactly this.  I think this is a brilliant twist on the genre and elevates this film above many others who simply tick off genre staples in predictable ways.

Finally, there is Mary Ellen, played by Demi Moore.  She plays this nicely, with understated makeup - while she is still a beautiful woman, she very much looks the part of an older frontier woman; the film resists the impulse to make her too beautiful.  She is married, having tired of waiting for John Henry to return, and the couple dance with the romantic tension that remains between them throughout the film.  Theirs is a beautiful story of unrequited love.

So Forsaken may not be the best western ever, but it’s certainly one worth watching, and if you’re a fan of the genre, probably owning. Go to Amazon and buy it now!

amzn.to/2ppjxPH​

​Westerns are back, in full force this year, and critics can’t stop talking, not only about the individual films, but also about the cultural phenomenon of westerns making (yet another) comeback.  “Back from the dead,” they all cry, as though this is an astounding feat.
 
It gives me some pause, as though the western genre is some redheaded stepchild that no one thought would amount to much, and everyone is amazed when one makes a good showing of itself.  But there is a history to this narrative, and part of the answer to why everyone is so surprised lies in the very nature of the genre itself.
 
Way back in the mid 1970s, a literary critic named John Cawelti wrote The Six-gun Mystique (1975), and part of his work was to declare the western dead – he writes that once a genre has been spoofed, it can no longer be taken seriously, and it will no longer resonate with audiences as it had previously.  He wrote this shortly after the brilliant Mel Brooks had done Blazing Saddles (1974), and if one watches this film and considers the historical moment in which Cawelti made this prediction, it makes perfect sense. But … he was wrong.  So wrong.  In fact, he was proven wrong almost immediately with the release of The Outlaw Josie Wales (1976), a film that much of Hollywood thought would tank because everyone knew the western was dead, and yet it became an instant classic, and remains so today. Oh, great film. He was also wrong in a larger sense, because Mel Brooks went on to spoof the horror genre with Young Frankenstein (1974) as well as the sci-fi genre with Spaceballs (1987), which had zero affect on the success of the continuing Star Wars franchise.  So the lingering question is why do so many critics, critics who likely have not read what is now an obscure reference work, seem to fall in line with his thinking?
 
I believe the answer lies in the very nature of the western genre and its attitude toward, and treatment of death.  The western invites ruminations on death and the transience of our worldly existence, and is in fact largely self-reflective about such matters by the very nature that the mythologized “West” was contained inside a historical period of roughly one generation.  The heroes of our frontier were born on the cups of a created West, and lived to see it decline and be taken over by civilization – indeed; many of the frontier icons were active agents in the civilization of the west, which is perhaps one of the genre’s best ironies.  The world that made people like Buffalo Bill Cody, William “Bat” Masterson, and Wyatt Earp famous was already gone long before their own deaths.  Masterson died as a newspaperman in NYC, and Earp positioned himself as a Subject Matter Expert in early films, following the mythologizing example of Buffalo Bill Cody, who became a caricature of himself and turned his own biography into a commodity for Eastern consumption.  In some ways, one might argue that he sacrificed his own actual history for the creation of a mythic history of the western frontiersman.
 
 
The West was never meant to live on.  Its demise was always already deeply embedded within its own story, and this is seen even in some famous examples of the genre.  Movies like Tom Horn (1980) and Monte Walsh (1970, 2003) explicitly address the passing of the frontier and the necessity or resistance of characters to change with the times.  Sometimes the movies eulogize the passing of a way of life, like the cowboy culture in the aforementioned films, or the codes of the gunfighter in The Shootist (1976), or even an entire way of life, as in Dances With Wolves (1990).
 
So it makes some sense that the progressivism that superceded the frontier, and even appears in many of the western films that acknowledge it, would be embraced by critics. Surely, the story goes, our contemporary culture is far too sophisticated to bother with such horse operas.  And yet, as critics ranging from Slotkin to White  have demonstrated, the western is a highly variable genre that manages to both remain true to its benchmark traits while also reinventing itself for new audiences. So ride on, cowboy, ride on.