Review of Little Big Man (1970) by Nick O — 06 Aug 2013

Is "Little Big Man" post-modern because it wants to reinvent the wheel (in the wise words of the late, great Roger Ebert: "to spin an epic in the form of a yarn"), because it takes place at the tail end of when the Wild West was won? Or because it wants to have its cake and eat it too?

Gah. This movie is so frustrating. I want to love it for Arthur Penn's peerless staging and ambition, but for some reason I just ended up really liking it. Don't get me wrong, please-- "LBG" is a damn fine flick, even flat-out terrific, the sort of epic on which Hollywood would sooner wipe its ass with millions of dollars as opposed to billions than take a leap of artistic and cultural faith. Dustin Hoffman is perfectly cast as the opaque faux-Indian white man Jack Crabb, a showcase Hoffman at every corner delivers with wry humor and neurotic, fish-out-of-water empathy. And Faye Dunaway, as Hoffman's unhappily Christian foster mom, will take your breath away, both in terms of beauty and the Southern-belle devastation with which she plays her character.

"Little Big Man" kind of goes on too long, starts to repeat itself, and just loses steam in general with narrative inconsistencies and a sour final beat that left me more puzzled than emotionally winded. But the masterful Penn tells it all with such deep wonder. He so finely entrances us with Crabb's bravado because he, too, we feel, isn't quite sure what to make of it himself.