Upon its release, “Missouri Breaks” was probably one of the biggest critical bombs of its time in terms of the prestige of those involved in its creation. Think “Heaven’s Gate,” circa 1976. Admittedly, it was an easy target. Starring two of the biggest actors of the time, Jack Nicholson and Marlon Brando, and directed by the critically acclaimed Arthur Penn, the project had an air of egotistical pomp surrounding it. That it was a western in a time when that genre had long since fallen off to the wayside didn’t help matters.
What is often overlooked is what is actually going on in the film: an examination of the relationship
between law and criminality. This is less of a subtext than a blatant theme the filmmakers seem to
go out of their way to point out — so much so that it amazes me that the original critics of the film
didn’t notice it.
The film concerns a group of horse thieves, lead by Nicholson and Harry Dean Stanton, who end up in a silent battle with a wealthy rancher played by John McLiam. After hanging a member of the gang, the thieves retaliate by hanging the rancher’s foreman. This leads to the rancher hiring Robert E. Lee Clayton (Brando), a professional regulator, to hunt down the horse thieves. For the first half hour the film starts off as a darkly comic western, with the law-criminality theme sitting in the background. Braxton, the rancher, expounds the virtues of law and order while having men hanged without trial simply for stealing horses. But slowly the film descends into more gothic territory.
Brando’s appearance on the screen is the film’s turning point. His character is highly eccentric, often speaking in a thick Irish brogue (for no discernible reason), dressing in dandy-ish clothing and speaking to his horse with more affection than would generally be deemed appropriate in polite society. It’s pure ham
acting, but with a purpose. Underneath the bizarre behavior lies a cold blooded killer with the ability to pick off a man with a single shot from 500 yards out.
The appearance of Brando’s character is also a turning point in the law/criminality theme. Braxton soon realizes he has taken on more than he can handle with Clayton, who watches everything that goes on around the ranch and will use any means to get what he requires. Braxton doesn’t dare call him off, especially after finding out that his own daughter has fallen in love with Nicholson, who is posing as a small-time rancher in order to run a way station for stolen horses.
The irony of an impassioned defender of law and order using any means necessary to keep said law and order is relevant even today, for what is the purpose of law if everyone is not beholden to it? Defending the law by breaking it makes the keepers of the law just as criminal as those who break it out of necessity or rebellion.
After one of their numbers is drowned in the Missouri River by Clayton, the thieves strike back and rob Braxton’s entire stock of horses. Clayton heads out and methodically hunts them down, assassinating them one by one, working his way up to Nicholson. Often he uses a rifle, but for Stanton’s character he uses a wooden cross he has
fashioned into a projectile weapon, which he flings like a throwing
ax. If that’s not some sick symbolism biting you in the ass, I don’t know what is. The final confrontation between Nicholson and Brando is one of the films best scenes
and, with its pure simplicity and suddenness, one of the best showdowns in any western.
As a whole the film comes off as a mildly rambling but effectively gothic western, one which acts more as a muddy morality tale than a simple depiction of good versus evil. But any film which will reference the book “Tristam Shandy” can hardly be accused of rambling for no reason, and matters of morality and justice are rarely ever black and white.

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