The Three Mesquiteers, Nos. 39 - 51 (1941 - 1943)

Moving on now through 1941, The Three Mesquiteers franchise has become a hotbed for actor switches so complex, the best I can do to help is direct you to a helpful graph on Wikipedia. Once again, the final “era” of the series is marked by one actor’s departure, and another’s arrival. For while Bob Steele and Rufe Davis remain, Robert Livingston’s second (or third) departure again meant Stony Brooke had to be recast. This was the start of –

THE TOM TYLER ERA


Tom Tyler did thirteen Mesquiteers, ushering the series all the way to its completion in 1943. Like most of the actors in this franchise, Tyler was a stalwart and dependable B-western star throughout the ‘30s. Like many of the best members of that august fraternity, Tyler’s image was employed to best use in John Ford’s Stagecoach – where Tyler costarred with former-Mesquiteer John Wayne. More interestingly, the man essentially invented filmed superheroes, being the first man in human history to look good in spandex tights. In 1941 he played Captain Marvel in the serial The Adventures of Captain Marvel (the first superhero movie ever), and was in 1943’s similar The Phantom. He also played one of Universal’s lesser mummies.

Still, top billing for the remainder of the Mesquiteers would go to Bob Steele, not Tyler. Tyler was a contract player, pure and simple, and used to this. If only superheroism was more prolific than cowboying back then…

And how many movies do I have to watch from the Tom Tyler and/or Bob Steel Era? None, zero, zilch, zip, nada, squat, bupkiss, belch, burp, fwoozloid. So once again I am limited to providing what little knowledge I can dredge up about the remaining entries. Enjoy!

Outlaws of Cherokee Trail (1941) – Well, all I can figure out about this one is the bad guy: generic, motiveless outlaw Lemar. He lives in the Cherokee Strip, where Rangers fear to tread, and bides his time by killing the jurors on his trial. Yeah, that’ll sway ‘em. One guesses the Mesquiteers come along in some capacity to stop this man.

Gauchos of El Dorado (1941) – This one sounds like the plot of a Johnny Cash song. The Mesquiteers rescue a man from the clutches of evil gauchos (of El Dorado), only for him to die in their collective arms anyway. His dying wish is that they take his money to his mother. Complications arise when she mistakes Tucson for her own dead son – whom I assume was named “Sue.”

West of Cimarron (1941) – We’ve thrice seen the Mesquiteer story where war veterans are kicked about by bad, bad, bad, bad men following the war, in The Three Mesquiteers and Oklahoma Renegades and Prairie Pioneers. Those concerned WWI, the Spanish-American War and the Mexican-American War. Now it’s the Civil War, perhaps because they are Time Lords. In the film’s cutesy colloquialism, it’s a conflict between carpetbaggers and bushwackers. Throw in a little late era Mesquiteer infiltration of the villainous gang, and you’ve got West of Cimarron.

(Interestingly, Cimarron is in New Mexico, while the movie takes place in Texas…decidedly not west of it. Of course, all these titles are pretty arbitrary.)

Code of the Outlaw (1942) – The Mesquiteers shoot it out with more robbers. Most of the gang escapes, but their leader is killed, and their loot remains hidden. The Mesquiteers then adopt the leader’s orphaned son, purely out of the charitable goodness of their hearts…that, and to learn where the loot is hidden. Then the gang returns to also ask the kid about the loot. But when they do it, it’s evil – as usual, an action’s lawfulness is determined by the color of your hat.

Raiders of the Range (1942) – An oil well is being constructed, and one businessman wants it built, while the other opposes it. I wonder which side of this issue the Mesquiteers will take? Well, westerns are often political allegories, and conservative allegories at that. So…Drill, baby, drill!

Westward Ho (1942) – When you rob a bank, you end up with money. But there’s a way to make even more! Simply frame some poor schmoe, then capture him for the reward money. If these villains were thinking more clearly, they’d go the Good the Bad and the Ugly route and save the guy from his own hanging, let the bounty grow larger, then turn him in again. But they do not do that. Instead, they frame Lullaby for their latest robbery, and are then surprised to find they’ve incited the wrath of the – drum roll please – Three Mesquiteers.

The Phantom Plainsmen (1942) – Things seem normal enough at first. The Mesquiteers are herding horses, and selling them to a business associate. They grow skeptical, though, when they find out he is selling the horses to the Third Freaking Reich! Pretty soon, the horse ranches of the Old West are crawling with Nazi agents, because apparently horses do not exist in Germany, and are essential to Hitler’s war machine.

That’s right, by 1942 every cinematic hero was battling Nazis! For the spies and detectives this made sense, but…westerns?

INTERMISSION – Again, for the final time, we get an actor switch. Boy, that’s something I’ve sure missed! Rufe Davis is out (contracts and all), and his replacement…? Well?...The one Mesquiteer who was also a Mouseketeer (and never a Musketeer, somehow). Of all the people in the world, they found the future MC of “The Mickey Mouse Club.”

[Strike chorus!]

Who’s the actor with the role of playing Lullaby?
J-I-M-M-I-E D-O-double-D.

Hey there, hi there, ho there! Aren’t you glad they cast this guy?
J-I-M-M-I-E D-O-double-D.

Jimmie Dodd! [Donald Duck!]
Jimmie Dodd! [Donald Duck!]
Forever let the Mesquiteers ride – ride – ride!

Of all the crazy things in the world! Here’s the guy who spearheaded the show which gave us Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears (and, er, Christina Aguilera), starring as the third-string hero of a 1940s B-western series.


Shadows on the Sage (1942) – We’ve seen this plot like three or four times already. The trio battles outlaws, whose leader looks exactly like a Mesquiteer. In the past it’s always been Stony, but now that Tucson’s actor is the lead, it’s Tucson. Really, the only difference here is it’s Bob Steele playing dual roles instead of Robert Livingston.

Valley of Hunted Men (1942) – Oh god, it’s Nazis again!

Let me get this one straight: It’s 1941 now (pretty far in the past for a 1942 movie), and the Nazis have escaped from a Canadian prison which may or may not have anything to do with Ilsa. And this time, it’s the Nazi who has the doppelganger – that man being a friend of a friend of the Mesquiteers. Can you see where this is going? The Nazi poses as a rancher, finds the Old West woefully lacking in Jews, and instead preys upon the local mad scientist who has developed a secret formula to extract rubber from rubber plants. SAY WHA’?! So…not only does every movie from 1942 – 1944 have to be about ze Germans, but they’re always, always after some scientist’s secret formula. To go by Hollywood, approximately 1,389 new chemical elements were discovered during this era.

Thundering Trails (1943) – The date is now 1871, and the Nazis are – I’m kidding, no film studio would be stupid enough to place Nazis in the 19th century…well, maybe Monogram.

Actually, it’s the Mafia, Old West-style. How that works is the old “paying for protection” gambit: Pay for police protection, otherwise the outlaws (who are also the police) will beat you up, and kill you if it’s a Wednesday.

The Mesquiteers stop this.

The Blocked Trail (1943) – The Mesquiteers are seeking a three-foot-high horse named Brilliant which can find a gold mine…I – wait – who – what – That don’t make no sense! It seems pretty clear at this point, the 49th entry, the series is running low on ideas.

Santa Fe Scouts (1943) – A squatters rights bill is about to pass, causing all the evil businessmen to come out of the woodwork to start squatting. The Mesquiteers, rather than doing squat, rally together to fight this evil scourge of – whatever bad thing is being done here. I guess the Mesquiteer people were politically opposed to squatters, or something, and could only propagandize against them by having businessmen murder random people for no reason. I hate it when this series has a message.

Riders of the Rio Grande (1943) – Bank robbery. Just…bank robbery. And the Mesquiteers have to stop the bank robbers. Yup!, the inspiration went bye-bye!

*************************************************************

With even the synopses revealing this franchise as languishing in Nazi-soaked first gear, it seems clear the thing is at an end. This was obvious to Republic, which chose to let their actors’ contracts expire – hence the last few entries were produced with the series’ conclusion already a foregone…conclusion.

On its own, this is not a very inspiring or notable franchise finishing. But The Three Mesquiteers had done what is was designed to do – it put Republic Pictures in a position of popular power, where they could produce pictures with success far in excess of the Mesquiteers. The Mesquiteers were to get Republic’s foot in the door; that done, the series could bow out. From now on, Republic could focus on their other western interests instead, with actors such as Roy Rogers and Wild Bill Elliott.

Of course, the B-western remained viable for the remainder of the B-era, through to the end of the 40s. The Three Mesquiteers were largely to thank for that. They’d help create the careers of many notable western stars, including none less than John Wayne. And multitudes of other western trio series arose from the Mesquiteers’ ashes – The Rough Riders, The Trail Blazers, The Range Busters. And at least one of these (The Range Busters) was practically a direct, semi-parallel continuation from The Three Mesquiteers. That one we’ll be visiting sooner rather than later.


Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 3 Roarin’ Lead (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (1937)
• No. 7 Come On, Cowboys! (1937)
• No. 8 Range Defenders (1937)
• No. 9 Heart of the Rockies (1937)
• No. 10 The Trigger Trio (1937)
• No. 13 Call of the Mesquiteers (1938)
• No. 14 Outlaws of Sonora (1938)
• No. 19 Santa Fe Stampede (1938)
• Nos. 29 – 38 (1940 – 1941)
• No. 35 Prairie Pioneers (1941)

The Three Mesquiteers, No. 35 - Prairie Pioneers (1941)

The Three Mesquiteers has always been a rather political series, using the “no gray area” moral authority granted to them by the B-western. And the positions it takes are often strangely specific – the sort of conclusions that would be easily contested in a logical medium. Consider the series has vilified Natives (Riders of the Whistling Skull), freaking animals (Heart of the Rockies), and godless cattlemen (too many entries to count). So when I realized that Prairie Pioneer concerned the Californian range conflict between noble American settlers and the Spanish dons, I greatly feared a staunchly anti-Spanish position. The movie does make feints in that direction, notably towards the beginning, but this is a much later Mesquiteer beast, self-aware and well-versed in the delicate political correctness of 1941. Indeed, so many actor switches after the last entry I saw, it only makes sense for things to have changed.

But first, let us consider those settlers, and follow the potentially opinion-forming, racist narrative an earlier Mesquiteer movie would have told. For not only are several Caucasian (and therefore moral) American settlers arrived in newly-stated California, but they’re even war vets – see the original Three Mesquiteers, as well as Oklahoma Renegages, and others I’ve probably forgotten. Per the Gold Rush time period, it’s the Mexican-American War they’ve returned from, and now they want land.


Never mind the land these “Americanos” choose to settle on is already owned, by the Ortega family of Spanish noblemen. These people are rightly concerned with preserving their estate, and seek diplomatic relations with the incoming settlers to discuss matters. Son Roberto Ortega (white guy Robert Kellard, future Lone Ranger – as seemingly all these late era Mesquiteer actors are) leads a band of vaqueros out to calmly address the issue with the settlers. But these Americans, backed with the unmistakable moral right Manifest Destiny has granted them, are readier to scrap than to listen, and respond to Roberto’s reasonable offers with a punch to the face.

Now, the settlers’ behavior would normally peg them as the villains – aggressive in temperament, intruding upon the existence of others. But consider the Three Mesquiteers, who are randomly here in California for ill-stated independent reasons, instantly defend the Americans, just because. Trained as I am by the means of sophistry employed by former Mesquiteers, I take this to mean the Spaniards are the bad guys – they’re ethnic, after all, and their hats are black, never mind that’s a historical accuracy.

Ah, but Prairie Pioneers is a little more complex than that. Remember, we completely skipped over the career of Duncan Reynaldo, a Hispanic performer taking the place of Ray Corrigan’s former Tucson Smith. Reynaldo is no longer around, but a likely respect towards Iberians remains. And Reynaldo’s replacement, also named Tucson Smith (but now Bob Steele) is the one here who maintains a level head re: Spain. He is pals with Roberto, and is able to talk combined sense into all other parties. So a potential film-wide conflict has been thankfully nipped in the bud, and I no longer have to worry about Stony Brooke’s potentially xenophobic opinions. (That Stony is played by Robert Livingston, the only Mesquiteer member from the older, less rational days, is appropriate. To give this film too much due, that might even be why he’s given the hateful opinions.)


To celebrate their newfound multiracial respect (California maintained hippy ideals even in 1848), the Ortegas invite the settlers to their hacienda for a fiesta. Maintaining an outdated representation of the Spanish, there is even hat dancing around the sombrero (ain’t that Mexican?) and singing “La Cucaracha” (ain’t that Mexican?), which is comically interrupted by a Chihuahua (wait, ain’t that Mexican?). Joining Roberto among the Ortegas is his father Don Miguel Ortega (white guy Guy D’Ennery – I mean, look at that name!) and sister Dolores Ortega (Esther Estrella – now she’s a Latina, meaning rowl!). So everything is going very swimmingly, Stony is starting his designated romance with Dolores, even if it is miscegenation (presumably a big 1941 Hays “No-no”), and everybody is laughing at the intentionally comic antics of Lullaby Joslin – Rufe Davis, a bland and fat man who’s at least resolved everything that was terrifying and off-putting about Max Terhune’s interpretation of the character. But where’s the conflict?

Don’t worry, for there’s a third party of characters involved (the settlers’ land disputes shall become a complete non-issue from here on out). And these are our baddies: local miners. Hydraulic miners, just as evil here as in Clint Eastwood’s Pale Rider, led by standard dastardly businessman type Fields (Ken MacDonald). But the real villain is Don Carlos Montoya (white man Davison Clark), a so-called friend of the Ortegas. However, he’s a dreaded half-breed, the sinful result of a Spaniard and American interbreeding – What, you thought this film would be completely racism-free?! Ha! Montoya even gets an “Iago speech” outlining the reasons for his villainy – basically, because he’s Spanish, he hates Americans, and because he’s American, he hates Spanish, as is apparently only natural. He spends each night throttling himself.

Fields’ miners lust after the Ortega property, and aim to obtain it through the dastardliest dartardiness a dastard ever dastardized. They dress up as vaqueros – in an effect so poor, I didn’t even realize it until 10 minutes later (the disguise is basically The Man With No Name’s serape, which none of the vaqueros where). Anyway, a henchman “looks” like a Spaniard – at least to the belittling eyes of an American – and proceeds to commit pointless acts of violence against the settlers. Several men are killed and, for contrived reasons I haven’t the energy to get into, Roberto Ortega is found responsible.


Really, Roberto has been framed – yeah, every entry sees the framing of an innocent man – and the Three Mesquiteers decide to take his case because of a pure Colbertian feeling they have about everything. Of course, they’ll have to work fast, because Roberto is due to be executed by firing squad in one day’s time – yeah, there’s also always a time limit like this.

The first suspicious fact is just how Roberto was arrested – the local Spanish cavalry (which is yet a fourth party of interests in this surprisingly complex Mesquiteer) was tipped off to Roberto’s hiding place by an anonymous source. And with Don Miguel falling sick, the vile Montoya has taken charge of the Ortega estate – which he promptly announces shall be sold to Fields’ mine. Mwah hah hah!

To root out all these doings, the Mesquiteers question the local population of padres at the mission – What, a fifth party now?! Actually, I’m not even all sure what they have to do with anything.


Tucson resolves a piece of the puzzle by trailing Fields back to the mine – with a standard Mesquiteer lack of tact, he outright accuses Fields of ill doings when he (Tucson) is in no position to do anything about it. So Tucson narrowly escapes on horseback, in one of many action scenes which make up every Three Mesquiteer entry – though I’m sad to say the quality of the action is rather listless today…which does somewhat compliment the performances of Steele and Davis, if I must be honest.

Stony and Lullaby have worked out the other side of the puzzle, connecting Montoya back to Fields. This makes them all confident that they’ve sniffed out the necessary villains, yet it does no good in their efforts to get Roberto freed. (It also puts a damper on the romancing of Dolores Stony would surely rather be involved in.) Tonally, if not in terms of content, this is the darkest hour for the Mesquiteers, enlivened only by Lullaby’s running gag where he struggles to mount a horse – How’d no one think of doing that obvious B-western gag anytime before 1941?


With crowds gathering for Roberto’s noon execution, the Mesquiteers perform one final desperate mine examination. At last they discover the so-called vaquero outfits Fields has employed – and if you wonder what the only bit of exonerating evidence is still doing in the villain’s clutches, you haven’t normalized yourself to the peculiar illogic of The Three Mesquiteers. The mines shall make for a good enough shootout setting, so let’s get that underway. Stony and Tucson are holed up in the evidence shack, goons ready to dynamite them to kingdom come, when Lullaby gets his hands on the hydraulic pressure hose for a comic comeuppance.


Collecting up both the evidence and the confession-happy Goon #1, the Mesquiteers make a mad dash on horseback back to the pueblo, just as Roberto’s last rites are being read to him. They actually make a really good show of stretching out the execution suspense to the last bearable moment, making this legitimately exiting, even though we know the Mesquiteers will come through in time. This they do at the last possible moment, horses practically stampeding through the upraised rifles, shouting out accusations of the nearby Montoya and Fields. Both elderly men try to flee, but it does them little good. Both Stony and Tucson are capable stuntmen (Lullaby’s too busy mangling the Spanish language to be of any use), and they easily run the nogoodniks down. Roberto is freed, the villains are punished capitally off screen, and racial tolerance flourishes throughout California for the rest of days.

Prairie Pioneers is interesting enough, to me at least, in how it initially appears far less tolerant than it truly is. This may be fallout of having not seen the intermediate entries, making the contrast notable and striking. This does not grant Prairie Pioneers as much interest in the pure business of being a B-western. Stunt coordinator Yakima Canutt remained all throughout the series’ lifespan, but by now his best and brightest ideas were well in use elsewhere – Stagecoach for one. That means the action here is perfectly good, but never reaches the greatest heights of the earlier, rawer Mesquiteer movies. Credit goes to director Lester Orlebeck for doing what he can with these pieces – consider the suspense of the execution.

But The Three Mesquiteers live or die by their central trio. About Robert Livingston, I can offer up nothing but praise – he has a confidence and gravity far greater than what he previously brought to the Mesquiteer table, evidence of his interim as the Lone Ranger – See, everyone is the Lone Ranger!

Sadly, his costars are a different matter. They’re perfectly acceptable in their roles, but Bob Steele and Rufe Davis are little else. Tucson was never a particularly interesting role, so all Steele can do is look good while firing a pistol and riding a horse, without getting in Livingston’s way – this he does, while never reaching the heights of Ray Corrigan as a stuntman (I’m not a huge fan of Corrigan as an actor).

As for Davis, well, he’s dropped the absolute worst things about Max Terhune’s Lullaby – the hickish attitude, general misogyny, and disgusting puppet – but he’s brought little else. He’s like the fat guy they’d hire to fill in for John Candy, assuming John Candy had just died…No, I can do even better – he the replacement for Chris Farley! Or…whomever the de rigueur fat white man of choice is nowadays. But at least he’s inoffensive, and does nothing to upset the dramatic content of the A-story – and that’s something Terhune couldn’t claim, in even the best of his entries (Range Defenders).

But if we think back to the history of the Mesquiteers, we again consider them as the central jewel in Republic Pictures’ crown. And whither Republic, whither The Three Mesquiteers. War in Europe or no, the early 40s were hearty times for this gung-ho Poverty Row studio. The budgets were luxurious (without being anywhere near an A-level), the scripts…decent, and everything done with a level of competent professionalism. And that’s what Prairie Pioneers exudes (and, I’d imagine, the other late entries I haven’t seen). It’s sort of the 40s equivalent of a really OK off-season modern studio release, but that’s something.


Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 3 Roarin’ Lead (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (1937)
• No. 7 Come On, Cowboys! (1937)
• No. 8 Range Defenders (1937)
• No. 9 Heart of the Rockies (1937)
• No. 10 The Trigger Trio (1937)
• No. 13 Call of the Mesquiteers (1938)
• No. 14 Outlaws of Sonora (1938)
• No. 19 Santa Fe Stampede (1938)
• Nos. 29 – 38 (1940 – 1941)
• Nos. 39 – 51 (1941 – 1943)

The Three Mesquiteers, Nos. 29 - 38 (1939 - 1941)

Max Terhune did not appear in the final two Mesquiteer movies of the John Wayne era (Wyoming Outlaw and New Frontier). His contract was up, and he was pissed with Republic Pictures over wage disputes. Thus Max and his terrifying dummy Elmer made their terrifying way over to Monogram Pictures – That’s called “out of the frying pan, into the fire.”

As his replacement, for the following nine movies, Raymond Hatton was cast as Terhune’s replacement. Despite Wayne’s having taken the role of Stony Brooke in Robert Livingston’s absence, Republic apparently felt it would be “confusing” for another man to essay the Lullaby Joslin role Terhune in fact stole from another actor before him. Hence Hatton plays Lullaby’s brother, Rusty Joslin, for what little difference it makes. Having not seen any of Hatton’s performances, I can only assume it means a reduction of ventriloquism terror. That can only be a good thing.

Terhune’s departure was but the first sign of a major shakeup in the Mesquiteers. Ray Corrigan, the sole remaining Mesquiteer since the very start of the franchise, left twenty-four films in. His reasoning was cash, same as Terhune’s. They’d become bosom chums in their time together, Corrigan presumably under Elmer’s evil, puppet-like control the same as Terhune. What they went on to do together is a story for another time, but here’s the short of it – They started another franchise, The Range Busters. (We’ll get to that one someday.)

Corrigan had to be replaced as well. This was done by Duncan Renaldo, who would only earn real fame in the 50s when he played the Cisco Kid in, well, “The Cisco Kid.” That’s a TV show, preceded by a like-named franchise for Monogram. (We’ll get to that one someday.)

For now, though, Renaldo plays Rico Renaldo (ooh, reeeaaal creative), because they weren’t confident enough in having someone else take on the Tucson Smith mantel Corrigan had worn. I have nothing to say about Renaldo’s input either, as I’ve seen nothing he did.

Meanwhile…John Wayne also left. Yup, all the Mesquiteers left Republic over a very short two movie (and two month) period. Wayne’s departure was to greener pastures – Stagecoach, The Searchers, an airport named after him in Orange County. Godspeed, Duke.

So his role of Stony Brooke needed to be recast as well. And who do you now get for the role originated by Robert Livingston? Well, how about Robert Livingston? Indeed, Livingston makes his triumphant return to the Mesquiteers, the series’ worth having risen in Republic’s estimation under Wayne’s guidance. Thus Livingston, a brighter star in Republic’s firmament now than when he started with the Mesquiteers (he’s credited as “Robert” now, rather than “Bob”), was again a welcome addition to the fold. This is the creation of –

THE SECOND ROBERT LIVINGSTON ERA

This era lasted for another fourteen pictures, from 1939 to 1941. Yeah, it took ‘em three years to make as many movies as it might make the Saw guys fourteen years to make – and I’m being generous there. It only ended when Livingston left for other B-picture studios. Having already played the Lone Ranger (in between Mesquiteer stints), it only made sense that producers would wish to confuse us more by having Livingston play someone called the Lone Rider in another franchise, The Lone Rider. (We’ll get to that one someday.)

Even under this new Livingston situation, the franchise was not without actor shakeups. Hatton and Reynaldo jumped The Trigger Trio at the same time, part of a simultaneous contract expiration. Renaldo went off to be useless for half a decade, while Hatton went on to join two other cowboy actors (Buck Jones and Tim McCoy) to start his own western trio franchise, The Rough Riders. (We’ll get to that one someday.)

This means, six films into Livingston’s new reign, he needed two new partners in Mesquiteerism. While it would be two entirely new actors, they would assume the titles previously held by the other original Mesquiteers – that is, it’s the glorious in-name-only return of Lullaby Joslin and Tucson Smith.


“Starring Rufe Davis as Lullaby Joslin.” He doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page.


“Starring Bob Steel as Tucson Smith.” Steel was a B-western star on a par with Wayne for most of the 30s, and like Wayne he starred in a John Ford 1939 masterpiece – this one being The Grapes of Wrath (though its one-year release delay allowed Ford to win the Best Director for both). Apart from his newfound fame as a Mesquiteer, Steele was best known for his Billy the Kid franchise with PRC. (We’ll get to that one someday.)

So that is the history surrounding the Second Robert Livingston Era (SRLE), a history of actor changes. While there is some critical opinion that this is the superior era of Mesquiteer production, as a result of increased Republic resources and a more professional cast, it remains profoundly unavailable. I cannot find a single entry in the remaining 31 Mesquiteer movies…except for Prairie Pioneers. So we’ll get to that one tomorrow, but for now, let us consider what little can be gleaned about the remaining SRLE entries:

The Kansas Terrors (1939) – What’s first after our change of pace in casting? A change of pace in setting. So it’s off to the Caribbean, of all places (not Kansas?), where Stony and Rusty meet Renaldo for the first time. Here they aid him in a peasant revolt, and he permanently joins the Mesquiteers (for 7 entries).

Cowboys From Texas (1939) – A title like that is equivalent to saying Aliens From Outer Space. Homesteaders! Cattlemen! Range wars! I think we’ve seen all this…at least once before.

Heroes of the Saddle (1940) – Once again the series goes the cheap route, and vilifies the Rod Blagojeviches of the world who would murder men for the opportunity to use orphans as child labor. I’m serious. Not that the plot is that focused.

- First: The Mesquiteers’ friend dies in a rodeo accident.
- Second: The trio becomes his daughter’s guardian, but yet is legally required to put her in an orphanage until they can afford to get her out of it. The reasoning for this is beyond me.
- Third: They visit the orphanage, which seems to be in cahoots with the old folks home in Happy Gilmore – the girl’s foot is mysteriously injured.
- Fourth: The Mesquiteers decide to raise the money to repair her foot – forgetting about the other reason they’re raising money. To do this, Stony becomes a boxer. Are you still with me?
- Fifth: The orphanage has already fixed the girl’s foot, entirely to deflect suspicions away from them. Naturally, this makes the Mesquiteers suspicious.
- Sixth: Child sweatshops are found! The villain has ties to Kathy Lee Gifford!

(For some reason, this movie’s IMDb page has a picture of Willie Nelson on it.)

Pioneers of the West (1940) – It’s the “crooked real estate developers” plot again, with baddies selling worthless land to innocent settlers, then trying to get the same land back the instant it becomes useless. Methinks their schemes would work better if they just avoided the whole “victim” middleman. No matter, the Mesquiteers aim to raise the needed money for the settlers, because damned if anyone is to defend for themselves in these movies. The Mesquiteers sell cattle, the bad guys rob their cattle, the bad guys frame the Mesquiteers for robbing their own cattle – okay. The Mesquiteers then lash out with violent force, as is their peaceful wont, as Stony becomes a Masked Rider.

(The Masked Rider conceit is a fallout of Livingston’s Lone Rider role, because this allowed them to reuse footage he produced for The Lone Ranger Rides Again. Ah, show business laziness.)

Covered Wagon Days (1940) – Smuggling into Mexico was the concern of Pals of the Saddle, so this one concerns smuggling from Mexico – silver smuggling. Renaldo’s uncle Don Diego runs a mine, and is murdered, Renaldo’s brother found guilty. The Mesquiteers set off to stop those responsible, and clear Renaldo’s brother. (Framing a guy – the easiest thing in the world to do, according to 30s and 40s movies.)

Rocky Mountain Rangers (1940) – Title aside, this takes place in Texas, specifically in the Panhandle. Apparently, this is lawless Obama-run federal land that is never visited by Texas Rangers (even Chuck Norris). The Mesquiteers, though, will go there, where they find a wounded boy and nurse him back to help. Then the bad guy outlaws simply kill the lad anyway, because these later Mesquiteers seem a bit less squeamish about plot-mandated child murder.

These later Mesquiteers are also heavy with Stony’s exact duplicates existing everywhere. It seems in every other entry, Stony has a doppelganger, suggesting some sort of steam-punk meta plot about cloning conspiracies (like a contemporary TV show would do). In the context of 1940, though, it simply means Stony can infiltrate the baddies’ gang, and bring them to justice.

Oklahoma Renegades (1940) – In a franchise that can never settle down on a historical era, with a century-wide margin of error, it is now the waning days of the Spanish-American War. The actual plot is the same as always – victimized homesteaders terrorized by needlessly violent landlords and/or cattlemen – only the historical context allows those victims to specifically be war veterans. So…it’s the exact same plot as The Three Mesquiteers, which was the very first entry. These guys are lucky the Internet didn’t exist in 1940 to call them out on such shenanigans.

Under Texas Skies (1940) – This is the entry where Bob Steele and Rufe Davis came aboard. That means it’s Tucson and Lullaby again. And the heavens rejoiced.

The filmmakers’ celebration involves killing off Stony’s father. The man thought guilty is none other than Stony’s former friend, Tucson Smith. Stony helps Tucson until his father’s deputy (who is the real villain), convinces him otherwise. It is now friend against friend, as Tucson goes on the lamb from the deputized Stony. He is only permanently convinced of his friend’s innocence when Lullaby Joslin, now the local barber, overhears the villain’s confession mid-shave. You know, this sounds like an actual story, not just a context-free reunion. I would’ve liked to have seen this.

The Trail Blazers (1940) – A telegraph has been erected between two Old West forts, meant to stop a band of local outlaws. But the outlaws retaliate – by killing everybody. And I mean everybody – well, except for the outlaws themselves, naturally…and the Mesquiteers. Everyone else – the love interest, the spunky comic relief children, whomever Yakima Canutt certainly plays – all dead! Holy underwear, Batman, these movies are getting dark! Damn that WWII!

Lone Star Raiders (1940) – The Mesquiteers’ ranch (now named for once – it’s the Circle H) is going under, due to drought, dust storm, rivers of blood and locusts. Or…just the first two. To remain financially solvent, the trio aims to sell their horses for an Army contract. But the bad guy also wants that Army horse contract – so our heroes go to war to ensure their horses can go to war.

Prairie Pioneers (1941) – TBD.

Pals of the Pecos (1941) – Apparently it’s the same old Mesquiteer plot as always, but this time with everyone fighting over the U.S. Post Office. The Post Office! I understand mail delivery was more exciting in the 19th century, but still…

Saddlemates (1941) – In the ninth (of ten) entries to sound like it could be pornography, the franchise goes back to vilifying Native Americans, which was still OK in 1941. Due to the magic of bureaucracy, part of Texas along the Red River is declared Indian Territory – this means the Army is well within its jurisdiction to come in and heroically slaughter whole families of natives. Ever the defenders of the common man, the Mesquiteers nobly serve as the Army’s guides and strategists in their murder campaigns. The villain proves to be a villainous Indian chief, Wanachee, who will stoop as low as self defense to protecting his people against the righteousness of Manifest Destiny. I’m glad I didn’t see this one.

Gangs of Sonora (1941) – Wyoming’s statehood. The villains are involved. The villains opposing it, that is. And someone named Kansas Kate, whose alliterative name invokes the wrong state, is caught up in the middle. Also, Mesquiteers. Meh.

Next up – the only movie from the SRLE made available to civilians: Prairie Pioneers


Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 3 Roarin’ Lead (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (1937)
• No. 7 Come On, Cowboys! (1937)
• No. 8 Range Defenders (1937)
• No. 9 Heart of the Rockies (1937)
• No. 10 The Trigger Trio (1937)
• No. 13 Call of the Mesquiteers (1938)
• No. 14 Outlaws of Sonora (1938)
• Nos. 29 – 38 (1940 – 1941)
• No. 35 Prairie Pioneers (1941)
• Nos. 39 – 51 (1941 – 1943)

The Three Mesquiteers, No. 19 - Santa Fe Stampede (1938)

The Three Mesquiteers were created, let us not forget, as a box office draw to help the fledgling Republic Pictures off the ground. It was stocked with popular actors for that reason, men like Robert Livingston who could independently draw a crowd. But now, four years into Republic’s existence, they were experiencing unprecedented success, putting out more and better movies than their Three Mesquiteers series.

As the most popular, first-billed member of the Mesquiteers, Robert Livingston could be better used elsewhere in Republic’s arsenal. Thus in 1938, he was taken off of the Mesquiteer roster, to become a solo star as the Lone Ranger in The Lone Ranger Rides Again – a serial, but not a series. His Mesquiteer character of Stony Brooke would remain, but be recast in an advertizing blitz that anticipates what the James Bond movies would someday do. The key in publically recasting a popular role is picking an actor who will maintain the character’s central facets, but bring his own unique spin to the table. Given Stony’s traits, just about any western actor of the 30s could be chosen. Republic went with the best possible choice.

They went with Marion Morrison.

I guess I should use the actor’s stage name instead…

They went with JOHN WAYNE.


The Duke is one of the greatest icons in film history, representing the western notions of masculinity and heroism and oversized man-chests in the same way that Clint Eastwood would later come to symbolize things we still care about. He was not always a huge name, and the whole of the 30s saw John Wayne floundering in the same B-western morass the Mesquiteers were arguably at the top of. He served for Poverty Row studios such as Mascot and Monogram, a real snake pit of aesthetic doom. Around 1936, Wayne joined up with Republic to make some non-Mesquiteer westerns. Then he left briefly to try actual Acting over at Universal, which just seems silly. Realizing the Western was Wayne’s home, he returned to Republic in ’38, leading to his casting in The Three Mesquiteers, and thus the creation of –

THE JOHN WAYNE ERA

Mesquiteer movies were generally made in 8-picture cycles – hence the average 8 movies a year. John Wayne stuck around for one of these cycles, his name prominently huger than continuing costars Ray Corrigan and Max Terhune. This prominence indicates Wayne’s importance as a star. Consider his next movie following his Mesquiteering was Stagecoach – the film which raised the western as an entire genre to the A-level, making Johns Wayne and Ford the greatest name in the classical Hollywood western. This is nothing to sneeze at.

With the dissolution of the favored Mesquiteer menagerie of Livingston, Corrigan and Terhune, present day access to these movies dries up considerably. Without waiting for TCM to play some of these later entries at 3 A.M. every other year, I am forced to present what little I can for the next eight films:

Pals of the Saddle (1938) – The Mesquiteers take on the spy genre, presumably in some contemporary setting, as Stony (Wayne) takes the place of a dead spy to aid, what else?, a beautiful girl. Then it’s a simple matter of besting a smuggling ring which is transporting monium (which sounds like another Poverty Row studio) down to Mexico. As in practically every entry, Stony is framed for murder.

Overland Stage Riders (1938) – With renegades robbing stagecoach gold shipments in the Old West, the Mesquiteers make an astounding realization – Hey, it’s nearly the middle of the 20th century! Thus they decide to replace stagecoach with modern aircraft, just like Afghanistan. But the renegades simply rob the airplane instead, I imagine in a stunt sequence where they leap onto it from horseback. The plane crashes, the gold is strewn, and we have something resembling Broken Arrow (the John Woo movie, not the western).

Red River Range (1938) – The Mesquiteers battle cattle rustlers…again. This time, they (the rustlers) are using portable freezers and slaughterhouses (!). Stony poses as an outlaw to infiltrate the rustling gang, while simultaneously an outlaw poses as a lawman. Yeah, it’s The Departed, only with John Wayne. Actually, that sounds sorta awesome!

The Night Riders (1939) – It seems the baddie’s a land owner this time, ‘cause there’s only so many villain types the Mesquiteers face. And their solution this time is...to become the Night Riders. I dunno, it sounds a little KKK to me!

Three Texas Steers (1939) – No, it’s not a gay porno, it’s another invocation of the circus (after Come On, Cowboys!, which also sounds like a gay porno). Some swindlers want a ranch, but a pretty woman also wants the ranch. Therefore, Stony helps the pretty woman. Also, she owns the circus.

Wyoming Outlaw (1939) – It’s Mesquiteers versus – sigh! – cattle rustlers. The only synopsis I can find suggests there is some kind of moral grey area in this film – that must be a mistake.

New Frontier (1939) – Ranchers are forced off of their land by the construction of yet another of FDR’s damn dams, so the Mesquiteers direct them to new ranch land. It turns out this land is worthless – whoopsie! What’d they do, simply rework the script from Gunsmoke Ranch?!

Then there’s Santa Fe Stampede, which was actually the third Mesquiteer movie John Wayne appeared in. It is also the only one from his era which I have access to. It’ll hafta stand for all eight movies, so here’s hopin’ it’s a good one…


The most interesting thing about Santa Fe Stampede is, of course, the Duke, John Wayne. He looks incredibly young and thin here, and shows only an inkling of the A-lister charisma he would one day exude. Really, seeing this without knowing his future career, one cannot see extreme talent, merely a competency at the B-western schtick required of him. Bless John Ford for seeing otherwise. For those who are familiar with what would come, though, Wayne’s cadence seems familiar, that distinctive, almost Shatnerian halting diction best suited to the word “pilgrim.” There is a certain gravitas and heroism nascent in Wayne, a silent strength that greatly increases the moral power of the tale.

It is clear the strong elements of Wayne’s performance as Stony Brooke are entirely Wayne’s doing; as written, Stony is as blandly romantic and do-goody as ever – it took until the 50s for western heroes to gain ambivalence. All in all, this is a tried-and-true, tiresome Three Mesquiteers entry, of little interest to a series fan in-and-of itself. Let us see how that is…

First up, who is the victimized, spineless twerp the Mesquiteers shall be defending today? Why, it’s Dave Carson (William Farnum), a miner who’s just happened upon the gold load that shall make his fortune. The only problem is, he never bothered to stake his claim legally, as he was too busy simply mining it. Uh-oh, Spaghetti-Os! We’re meant to sympathize with the man over this foolishness, which has shades of the current housing crisis – You mean I had to pay for my own house?! Good thing the Mesquiteers are here to “help.”


Rather than simply go on down to Capital City (they actually call it that), the Mesquiteers decide the way to protect Carson’s claim is to get a petition signed – a petition basically saying…damned if I know, actually. It has something to do with protecting Carson against the predictable bad men hovering o’er his ore: Evil Mayor Byron (LeRoy Mason) and his hench-goon Sheriff Tom (Dick Rush – tee hee!). The Mayor, meanwhile, isn’t simply using his mayorly power to just swoop in and snatch up Carson’s claim whilst he can…nah, he’s gone the roundabout route routing some gold out, to test in some “labs” first to determine its value. As in roughly 100% of the Mesquiteer plots, the courses of action taken (by both the heroes and villains) make about 0% sense almost immediately.


As it happens, though, Carson’s petition is prepared, and he sets out with Stony to deliver it to Placerburg – petitions go to Placerburg, claims to Capitol City. Off they ride on Carson’s stagecoach with Carson’s young daughter Julie, while the other Mesquiteers (Tucson and Lullaby) just diddle around the mine in order to “guard it.”

Oh right, Carson has kids! Gotta work through that! So there’s the aforementioned Julie, who is rather the odd duck out. See, per formula, the old man victim usually has two kids: a young boy so the film’s juvenile target audience can have an identification figure, and an older daughter so Stony can have someone to break age of consent laws with (romance). Today, those roles are filled by Billy and Nancy (Martin Spellman and June Martel). So what’s little Julie’s purpose in this movie anyway?

To die!

Yup, we need our sacrificial lambs to mark out the Mayor and cronies as villains – especially since the old black hat/white hat dichotomy is failing us today. So Stony, acting as protection to Dave and Julie on their stagecoach, randomly decides to ride off on his own to go stake that claim at Capitol City anyway. This silly, spur-of-the-moment decision allows the Mayor’s foot soldiers to close in and murder Dave and Julie. Nice one, Mesquiteers! Had you not interfered, Dave would simply be out a potential fortune. Instead, he’s dead, and his beloved daughter! You kinda messed things up here, I have to say.

Stony is arrested for murder. The only reason the Mayor doesn’t have him immediately executed, Texas style, is because Stony’s pal Marshal Jim Wood (Tom London) has come in from Placerburg to ensure Stony gets one of them there fair trials. There is a little suspenseful horse riding which takes place here, because Santa Fe Stampede has been somewhat lacking for usual western action – sadly, this affords us plentiful views of Palmdale’s new power lines. But in the end, Stony is safely squared away in Wood’s hands.


Learning his father and sister have been killed, Billy angrily confronts Stony in the center of town. Stony kneels beside Billy, giving him his word as to his innocence. John Wayne’ own gravitas makes this work – a mere look in his eyes is enough to convince Billy. Wayne-wise, this is the strongest moment of Santa Fe Stampede.

The time has come for Wood to take action. Wait, why not Tucson and Lullaby?! Who knows, they’re mostly just following Wood’s orders now. And those orders are to find two men, Cary and Frank, who can act as witnesses on Stony’s behalf. (They signed Stony’s dinky little petition in such a context they can vouch for him – a whole 5 minutes I didn’t recap that seems mightily contrived and obvious.) The only problem is that the Mayor also knows about Cary and Frank, and sends his minions off to “take care” of them. That’s right, these guys are killed too, because the Mayor’s little scheme to legally seize Carson’s gold is growing wildly out of hand. (Mesquiteer villains cannot do anything without murder – Going on a grocery run? Murder someone! Giving alms to the poor? Murder someone!)


Hedging his mayoral bet, the Mayor spreads anti-Stony gossip throughout town. Thus a Simpsoniam lynch mob forms, the closest we come to a titular stampede. The townsfolk amass before the prison, dead set to stone Stony dead, while Wood stonewalls this mass of massacre-minded maniacs. It would almost be worth producing a screen cab of the mob, only John Wayne doesn’t appear in it.

This means Tucson and Lullaby alone reach the shack of Carl and Frank. In a very uncharacteristic moment, the two nameless goons awaiting them easily ambush our heroes. And while Carl and Frank somehow merited instant death (apropos of nothing), such treatment is never even considered for the marquee stars. So they’re just tied up instead.

Billy grows worried, witnessing the Tea Party-esque assembly of torch-wielding peasants. Using his magical plot-sensing powers, he races on his horse to go rescue Tucson and Lullaby. Ride, Billy, ride! So he unties the heroes, they punch some mook faces, and…that’s really the end of their involvement.

Nancy (Billy’s still-living sister) goes along to free Stony, only…she’s knocked unconscious by an errant rock, because far be it from a 1938 movie to let a woman save the day. Instead, the prison catches on fire, and it’s up to Stony to pry the keys from Nancy’s hands, and carry her to safety from the burning building. (Hilariously, the Mayor et al gleefully cackle as their own town burns to the ground, because at least “that’ll be an end to that drasted Stony” whom they didn’t even care about one day earlier…Gold? What gold?)


John Wayne is now set loose for pretty much the first time in this movie. That’s it for the villains, because no one stands a chance against the Duke’s mighty authority. Our hero Stony simply has to hold a single pistol at the ten or so baddies, which prompts them all to right out confess to their misdeeds. That was easy, but really, would YOU remain stone-faced against the mighty Wayne?

As a Mesquiteers movie, Santa Fe Stampede is pretty generic, and not even a particularly good source of the awesome stunt work one can sometimes find. So while the film may disappoint through mediocrity, John Wayne fares quite well. I’ll maintain that his powers are not wholly evident here, but there’s enough of a sparkle of the Wayne to come to make it all worthwhile – especially in his scene with Billy. It’s mostly of historical interest, but that’s something.

Happy trails, John Wayne…


Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 3 Roarin’ Lead (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (1937)
• No. 7 Come On, Cowboys! (1937)
• No. 8 Range Defenders (1937)
• No. 9 Heart of the Rockies (1937)
• No. 10 The Trigger Trio (1937)
• No. 13 Call of the Mesquiteers (1938)
• No. 14 Outlaws of Sonora (1938)
• Nos. 29 – 38 (1940 – 1941)
• No. 35 Prairie Pioneers (1941)
• Nos. 39 – 51 (1941 – 1943)

The Three Mesquiteers, No. 14 - Outlaws of Sonora (1938)

While The Three Mesquiteers may have been conceived and marketed as a cowboy trio series, when one looks at the marquee posters over time, something becomes clear: there was really only one star. Robert Livingston. His Stony Brooke has always been the heart of the series, with Ray Corrigan and Max Terhune simply serving as support.

Outlaws of Sonora is undoubtedly Livingston’s starring vehicle, where his talents (as an actor and stunt man) are brought ever more into the forefront. But there is only so much one can do with a necessarily limited role such as Stony. What’s Livingston to do? Go the Peter Sellers (or Eddie Murphy) route, basically, and perform a dual role. And not just any. The villain! This is not the first time this has happened, oh no, not by 1938 (I’ve seen many a silent comedy short with the same plot), but Outlaws of Sonora marks an occasional new direction for the B-western.

It doesn’t take long for Stony to run into his dastardly doppelganger, in the form of Dude Brannen. In a case of “incompetence necessitated by the opening act,” Stony is captured by Dude’s lawless band of outlaws in a cross-country delivery of “$” sacks. Stony’s life is only saved when Dude notices their uncanny, and highly coincidental, similarities. See for yourself:


Hold up, that isn’t right. But it really works on the same principles. Mustache = evil. Darker outfit = evil. Such easy visual shorthand rather frees Livingston from that pesky need to differentiate his characters through acting. (He’s no Alec Guinness, circa Kind Hearts and Coronets.) See for yourself:


“You look just like him, Dude,” one of Dude’s goons opines, in the first of many lines which recall The Big Lebowski. And Dude (it sure feels odd without the preceding “the”) has precisely the brainstorm the screenwriters were wishing for. He shall shave off his mustache, wear good guy clothes, and pin all his misdeeds on Stony. Then where’s a bounty on Stony’s head, they collect. Mwa hah hah hah HAH!

You’d think this setup would be enough to fill out the scant hour these Mesquiteer masterpieces run, but you woefully underestimate this series’ need for purposeless padding. So get ready for 5 minutes of billiards, with an unnamed pool player who is actually credited fifth (Otis Harlan). He’s not even a professional pool player, or someone who could lend this scene interest. He’s just the guy who voiced Happy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs – that’s his big claim to fame. What is this scene doing here?!

Okay, now [the] Dude can enact his reign of quasi-terror. With unerring plotdar, he goes to the same bank which has been entrusting Stony with their “$” sacks. So Dude is handed an “$” sack. So he shoots the bank manager dead. Just like that. It’s like the inhumane executions in Fargo, NOT a kids’ 30s matinee serial! Dude escapes town, but makes damn sure he is seen by all, and predictably mistaken for Stony. Mesquiteers Tucson and Lullaby do not know how to take this news, and simply deduce that “He is loco.’


In a movie that absolutely cannot settle down on telling a rounded story with complete scenes full of non-filler material, Outlaws of Sonora reveals its other ace – the Montage. Around 35% of the movie is montage, while another 35% is time-wasting – that means under a third is actual movie. So Dude’s reign of Stony terror is conveyed through the usual 30s means: stock footage, spinning newspaper headlines (oh yeah), and Robert Livingston performing context-free variations on all his favorite stunts while attempting an “evil” persona. His maniacal laugh peppers the film, which is to its detriment since Livingston cannot conjure up a single genuinely evil iota. It’s like trying to be a Justice League villain on helium.

Oh, and even the freaking montages need filler content! So they don’t just show us assembled clips. They fade ever soooo sloooowly between clips, creating massive pockets of unwatchability throughout. (The image above partly suffers from that.)

Nothing’s progressing on the Tucson/Lullaby side of things, and Dude is engaged off in Montage Land, so let’s look in on Stony. Film well over half over, he manages to get the better of the least competent guard I’ve ever seen in a genre full of incompetent guards. He then knocks out Dude’s dukes, taking Dude’s place as Stony pretending to be Dude pretending to be Stony. Thank Jeebus, this movie is finally starting to take advantage of its “mistaken identity” premise!

For…all of half a minute. That’s how long it takes Dude to recover, and holler out Stony’s deceit. The various nearby goons instantly know who the real Dude is – ‘cause far be it from a B-western to present the tiniest amount of hero/villain confusion, even when it’s purely appearance-based (not moral). But this at least leads us to something expected, which we’ve been mostly denied – a horse chase. With gunplay. (Oh, and it’s largely expressed in montage, naturally.) And I’m not even counting this stuff as “time wasting,” even though it surely is, because by Mesquiteer standards this is content.


No, here’s what I would call “time wasting” – A 10 minute scene set in an Old West saloon, with zero connection back to the “story.” This is Rosita (Stelita Peluffo), who sings a saucy Spanish number, but it’s been dulled and slowed enough to be palatable to a 1930s white audience. In other words, it’s completely stultifying. And guys, it’s a little late to attempt the “sexy Latina” thing (nine entries after failing to do so with freaking Rita Hayworth!) when your leading lady is as strangely odd in appearance as this. (At least we’re not saddled with a love interest this time, as Outlaws of Sonora can barely get its act together long enough to tell an A-plot.)

With the film entering its final 10 minutes, and the conflict between Stony and Dude seemingly forgotten about, what do they do? They load up the highest quotient of Elmer Horror in any Mesquiteer film so far. That is, long, loving shots abound of Lullaby’s Satanic ventriloquist doll, and I can say without exaggeration that these images could never be charming. I’m surprised 30s audiences could stand for such mortal terror, seeing as these are the same people who thought the original Dracula was “scary.” I no longer have any new ways to warn readers about Elmer’s soul-sucking appearance, so let us just say Elmer is suddenly on screen for way too long, and it literally made me shiver.

Here he is, in the middle of mentally undressing Rosita:


And here he is – AH GAHGGHH! – I don’t even know what the hell beast is doing here!


And so, finally, in comes Dude (or maybe it’s Stony…nah!, it’s clearly Dude – confusion is never even attempted), He’s finally realized the problem with his plan to frame Stony – he looks exactly like the man! Since this is what inspired Dude in the first place, I’m surprised it skipped his mind. And his solution is to seek out the town doctor, and demand some plastic surgery…Uh…WHAT?! Plastic surgery, in the Old West?! Oh sure, my insistence on questioning Mesquiteer logic is a fool’s errand. Remember, the late 30s practically invented plastic surgery as a “cure all” plot device – see roughly 13 different Charlie Chan movies…

Stony arrives and – A fistfight resolves everything. For the good guys. I have lost the energy to over-elaborate upon this.

Only…Stony dukes it out with Dude. One actor, remember, done five decades before the CGI era, trying to play two guys fighting each other. Needless to say, it isn’t a hugely successful effect. Nor does Stony’s ultimate victory ease my “concern” that random riding posses still won’t try to kill him for the bounty – which the movie conveniently forgot all about half an hour ago.

Before I sign off, let me consider the rest of The Three Mesquiteers’ first cycle – the final two films made while this most famous trio remained. (Livingston left.) These movies don’t exist on DVD, or online, or really anyplace other than rotting in some basement in Los Angeles, so there’s not much I can respond to. Here goes…

Riders of the Black Hills (1938) – The Black Knight, being a horse and not a Middle Ages warrior or a cheap Batman knockoff, has been horse-napped. The Mesquiteers are framed and arrested for this job, seeing as they (in)conveniently have a horse which looks exactly like Black Knight. (If it was good enough for Stony...) It seems as though everything climaxes with lookalike steeds racing in each other’s steads at the big derby. If it’s anything like Charlie Chan at the Race Track, I would hate it. (Interestingly, it’s starting to seem as though all 1930s franchises visit the same settings. If the Mesquiteers go to the opera, I’ll know something’s up.)

Heroes of the Hills (1938) – The Mesquiteers, being kind and loving friends to all humanity, decide to do the charitable thing in light of prison overcrowding and start their own chain gang. Did I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang teach no one in the 30s that this was an asshole thing to do? Conflict arises when the Mesquiteers face off against an evil developer (is there any other kind?) who wishes their chain gang to fail so her can profit from building a new prison – Never mind the fact that this chain gang was started in the first place because there wasn’t enough money for a new prison. Plot holes, in a Mesquiteers movie? No!

This is not the end of the franchise, not by a long shot (16 down out of 51), but it is the end of an era – the Original Era. There is nothing new under the film series sun, and the 30s were just as open to recasting major parts as any film period since then. And even with Robert Livingston (temporarily) bowing out, that means we haven’t seen the end of Stony Brooke. What joy!


Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 3 Roarin’ Lead (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (1937)
• No. 7 Come On, Cowboys! (1937)
• No. 8 Range Defenders (1937)
• No. 9 Heart of the Rockies (1937)
• No. 10 The Trigger Trio (1937)
• No. 13 Call of the Mesquiteers (1938)
• No. 19 Santa Fe Stampede (1938)
• Nos. 29 – 38 (1940 – 1941)
• No. 35 Prairie Pioneers (1941)
• Nos. 39 – 51 (1941 – 1943)

The Three Mesquiteers, No. 13 - Call of the Mesquiteers (1938)

These ancient public domain franchises have been largely discarded, and it is understandable. Outside of niche enthusiasts and crazy completists like myself, there’s no market for these things, not even enough to justify whatever scant public domain website bandwidth they’d need. As it is, there are plenty of Three Mesquiteer movies which are unavailable (in fact, the vast percentage of the series). Let us consider the two I’ve been forced to pass over…

Wild Horse Rodeo (1937) – The Mesquiteers face off against some evil horse-owning rodeo racketeer: Colonel Nye, the rodeo guy. Their conflict concerns an unrideable horse named Cyclone. There is no more plot summary given, probably because these Mesquiteer plots are never any more complex.

The Purple Vigilantes (1938) – The good people of whatever town the Mesquiteers live in do the noble, good and heroic thing, and form a lawless vigilante to run out outlaw vigilantes. Never mind the hooded robes and general sense of white entitlement, the series seems in favor of such cross-burnin’ shenanigans. But yet another set of evil vigilantes rises up to imitate the good vigilantes, mostly so the filmmakers can have their cake and eat it too: Paint vigilantism as a virtue, in pure Death Wish mode, even while the Mesquiteers can battle vigilantes. Honestly, what is with this series and siding with absolutely abhorrent political concepts? (See Riders of the Whistling Skull, Heart of the Rockies…Rather, don’t see ‘em.)

And now, without further ado (or is it adieu?), we come to Call of the Mesquiteers, which I did see (or shall).

[Time spent watching Call of the Mesquiteers, barely believing what I see…]

…Well?

…How was it?

…

That was horrible!

Thirteen entries in (and nine of ‘em seen), I can confidently declare now that The Three Mesquiteers’ formula isn’t working. (Indeed, any franchise that can churn out 8 feature length films per year must rely on a formula.) Compare the Mesquiteers to Charlie Chan. While I grew most hatefully resentful towards the later entries, its formula worked. Why? It was a narrative formula. New elements could be added, changing the flavor, resulting in playful variations on a central notion throughout the series’ history.

The Three Mesquiteers is not a narrative formula; it is a filming formula. That is, they had a set-in-stone production schedule, with the following things always appearing: Plenty of footage of horse riding, shooting, shooting while horse riding, and fistfights. And always in the same setting, ridding whatever momentary excitement these sequences might have. What this doesn’t determine is story. And while the scripts do occasionally utilize classic western tales, they are mostly slipshod, scattershot and fundamentally random.

Call of the Mesquiteers (or simply Call the Mesquiteers, in the onscreen title greatly wanting for an “of”) is at the height of Mesquiteer randomness. There is a central premise, though the story at all times feels as though it’s the improvised ramblings of the producer’s sugar-happy youth – this problem seeps into unrelated elements of the film, such as the editing and performances.

Added to that, they can’t even keep the setting consistent between entries. I mean, usually these Three Mesquiteer movies take place in the Old West – being westerns and all. This one, though, takes place in 1938, for as much as I can tell, full of trucks and motorcycles and ticker tape telegrams. At least, most of the movie is this way; at times, they still seem to think it takes place in the 19th century. It’s remarkably difficult to take seriously, or even enjoy, with all this.

It’s becoming increasingly clear this series was made with kids in mind, and that the filmmakers didn’t even respect kids all that much. The issues with logic, tone and comprehensibility are part of that. The portrayal of children, in the omnipresence of Sammy McKim playing yet a different young boy named Tim, is equally contemptible. So is how Call [of] the Mesquiteers handles dogs. But we’ll get to that…

Things start out with a daring train robbery. Far be it from me to suggest a more efficient means of robbing the caboose, but…I will anyway. Why not simply unhook it, rather than systematically hurl bales full of ultra-precious raw silk (!) out the moving boxcar? This necessitates a convoy of trucks parked along choice turnouts near the railroad. It also necessitates the murder of a brakeman, and act that is equal parts cold-blooded and shortsighted.

Even once all our baddies are on the Silk Road, moving out in their trucks, they cannot help but to bracingly stupid things. That is, the rear truck crashes, purely because they hired a guy to drive who cannot drive! (I fear my Mesquiteer commentaries as a whole shall mostly consist of outthinking the villains.) So one third of the silk-thieving dastards are ditched in a pig hole, forced to make a proverbial silk purse out of this sow’s ear.


Enter the Three Mesquiteers, themselves partaking in the truck-based rodeo circuit. (I’m no longer listing out the same cast as always; just check previous write-ups.) The murder-happy baddies flag them down, for the use of their truck. Had they simply been three more brakemen, or the upcoming police officers, our villains would’ve simply shot ‘em dead due to moronic viciousness. But they’re the stars, and thus simply taken hostage. The raw silk is loaded up in the rear with the horses, the Mesquiteers’ truck disguised to not appear suspicious.

Little good it does, for those upcoming police officers have come up, and are actively chasing down the Mesquiteers’ truck (we’re led to believe, if we’re at all logical beings, this would’ve happened, bad guys or no). Rather than attempt the clever disguise ruse they’ve just now devised, the baddies start an immediate shootout with the cops! Nitwits! All this in the context of a chase sequence, Mesquiteers ahead in their truck, cops on their motorcycles. And for absolutely no reason (even by Mesquiteer standards), a duo of hillbilly jalopies joins in, firing aimlessly at both the cops and robbers for the sheer hell of it. “What the f*#% is going on?!” I actually uttered at this moment.


The chase only ends once the cops have shot the three villains dead. Way to get out of your own scrape, Mesquiteers! Ah, but all this was just the lengthy setup. Now the Mesquiteers are wanted men! They affect their escape from the law, as the cops are distracted by the posse of rednecks (ah, so that’s why this non sequitur exists). Forced into a run from justice, the Mesquiteers debate clearing their names by tracking down and arresting the real gang (that is, the other six of ‘em who didn’t get shot through the skulls).

Doings remain somewhat sane for a while, progressing as you’d expect. The Mesquiteers stop off at a gas station (for gas). Several good citizen stuntmen recognize them as the supposed Silken Bandits, which is the chance for a fistfight in a garage. You gotta have one of these per entry! The Mesquiteers continue their flawless fisticuffs record, and race back to the truck.


There’s no plot here, which means we get another action sequence straightaway. Ah, movies fundamentally never change. (One thing I love about watching old movies is they prove Sturgeon’s Law for an era most people sum up as nothing but classics.) Now we’re in a familiar desert, as the truck even passes by Kirk’s Rock (you know, where Shatner fought the Gorn)! After the sequence progresses for a while…the Mesquiteers are in the clear. No reason given. They’ve simply evaded their pursuers. Really, no action beats in this franchise are ever comprehensibly resolved.

Here’s where the director (actually named Johnny English, meaning his IMDb page actually links to this) runs out of water-treading 30s-style action sequences, and must demur to plot. Here’s also where Call [of] the Mesquiteers falls apart completely. The Mesquiteers, now on horseback (their truck having been…whatever), observe a sign announcing a nearby town: Cosmopolis. Wow! This is seriously one cool generic town name! If I ever invent a superhero, I’m basing him in Cosmopolis!

Anyway, Stony has a similar reaction, wanting to immediately go to this place, screw whatever the movie’s been about up ‘til now. Basically, his reasoning is that Cosmopolis might have females in it – “Horny” being Stony’s one character trait, which is still one more than Tucson has. (Lullaby has too many character traits, as he’s basically a backwoods, good ol’ boy version of Jame Gumb in Silence of the Lambs).

Anyway anyway, this sign leads the Mesquiteers to rambling detours almost as egregious as the one I just allowed myself. And along comes Dr. Algernon Irving (Earle Hogins), a traveling tonic salesman, with his two children. One is ostensibly of-age daughter Madge (Lynne Roberts, as decidedly underage as she was in Heart of the Rockies), whose romance with Stony is nearly as sickening as it was in that other movie. The other is son Tim, spouter of obscene 30s “gee whizisms” and a tie back to the target audience – the snotty, precocious little brothers of future WWII soldiers. Dr. Irving has been seeking a singin’ cowboy trio to help his flailing business and – Hey, guys! Over halfway through is a little too late to be introducing entire new plotlines on us.

Things now become random and unclear. Yes, again. Cosmopolis is a post-apocalyptic ghost town. Its lone resident is a hobo named Hardy (Eddie Waller), who invites the Mesquiteers and Irving’s family to his restaurant out of left field.

There, a cat is seen, and the hobo restaurateur claims it is his chef. Lullaby’s evil ventriloquist dummy tries to eat it.

Suddenly, and I mean suddenly, it’s the 19th century, apparently, and the Mesquiteers are in their regular Old West town instead of Cosmopolis. They see a “Wanted” poster (sans images). I have taken a screenshot of it, not because the poster is at all noteworthy, but simply because this is what’s up on screen for a full, generous 30 seconds. Methinks English (the director) doubts his audience’s capacity with English (the language).


Apparently, this is a description of Lullaby (see what I mean by “too many characteristics?”).

One more “suddenly” later, and the movie is populated by cartoonish western stereotypes Mel Brooks wouldn’t’ve allowed in Blazing Saddles, like something out of the “Scruffy Smith” comic strip. I don’t know what all that was about.

A posse spots the Mesquiteers, so it’s…time for a chase. Another chase? Yeesh! Now we’ve already had truck vs. motorcycle and even horse vs. truck (which I neglected to mention), now it’s simply horse vs. horse. Which we see every time. The Mesquiteers escape, by the same “run out the available footage” method we’re familiar with. “That was a close shave” quips Tucson, not understanding such comments only constitute “puns” when shaving is somehow involved.

Back in Cosmopolis circa 1938, Dr. Irving is mad about the trio’s editing-based disappearance. Now, all of a sudden (yeah, yeah, again), Tim has a pet dog we’ve never seen before. This hound (played by master thespian Flash the Wonder Dog) is now the main character.

We now follow the nameless dog (!) as it sniffs its way into hobo Hardy’s eatery. Driven by an innate sixth sense I call the “script,” the dog discovers a trap door. Tim enters and opens the door.

Down below (all of a sudden) is the silk gang’s hideout. What?! Well that was convenient. So Tim goes on down, presumably intending to murder all six ruffians singlehandedly without a weapon, when the dog, again sensing the script’s needs, slams the door shut. Hence Tim is discovered and taken hostage – by the same gang so eager to shoot unnamed characters dead.

The baddies pull out in their three trucks, despite having been reduced to two trucks back in the opening sequence. Continuity errors! And with trucks now puttering through the (sudden) desert, it’s time for…a chase! Of course! But who shall chase them? Why, the dog! Anything can chase anything! (Oy.) Further, this franchise as a whole postulates that the slower an animal or vehicle is, the better a chance it has of catching something.


What’s become of our Mesquiteers, who were at one point our heroes, a long time ago? Well, come climax, they’re literally just sitting on their butts in some bushes. The trio sees the ensuing chase, and comments on it in the driest, most monotone way possible:

“Hey, there’s a truck.”

“…There’s another truck.”

“…There’s another truck again.”

“There’s a dog chasing it.”

I don’t think this is meant to be absurdist, but whatever. And it’s that dog which seals it. The Mesquiteers themselves give chase on horseback, because that’s what you do when you see a dog chasing a truck…apparently.


Then the dog, our hero, leaps into the moving truck’s rear bed and mauls its occupant to death! Danger now taken care of, the Mesquiteers can board via horse and continue chasing the two lead trucks. Only…

They ditch their automobile so they can chase those trucks on horseback! I think they understand this franchise’s bizarre chase-based algorithm. If only one of them could’ve ridden the dog.

…Actually, we only see Stony and Tucson doing this. It seems whenever it’s time for action, Lullaby is strangely absent, perhaps since stunt work is one of Max Terhune’s failings.

Shots are fired, the trucks’ tires are hit, the trucks stop. All five remaining baddies together declare they shall go into one truck bed individually to “check on the silk.” (God this movie is stupid!) Here in the bed, Lullaby lies in wait, having made it here through some means which invalidate the space-time continuum (he was behind Stony and Tucson, who still haven’t caught up to the trucks).

So, one baddie enters. Lullaby lays him out with a combination log-to-the-shin and head-clonk. He passes out.

A second baddie enters. Lullaby lays him out with a combination log-to-the-shin and head-clonk. He passes out.

A third baddie enters. Lullaby lays him out w- Okay, you can see where this nonsense is going. How none of the five villains see the mass of unconsciousness awaiting them ahead of time is an answer for the gods to answer. And the instant Lullaby delivers his fifth tedious head-clonk, it’s “The End.” Yeah, just like that!

That leaves, well, a few unanswered questions…Like: Did the Mesquiteers ever clear themselves of silk-rustlin’? Did Dr. Irving ever see success? What of the hobo? And what sort of cosmological event is causing historical setting and the laws of physics to suspend so regularly?

I said it at the start, and I’ll say it at the end: That was horrible!


Related posts:
• No. 1 The Three Mesquiteers (1936)
• No. 3 Roarin’ Lead (1936)
• No. 4 Riders of the Whistling Skull (1937)
• No. 5 Hit the Saddle (1937)
• No. 6 Gunsmoke Ranch (1937)
• No. 7 Come On, Cowboys! (1937)
• No. 8 Range Defenders (1937)
• No. 9 Heart of the Rockies (1937)
• No. 10 The Trigger Trio (1937)
• No. 14 Outlaws of Sonora (1938)
• No. 19 Santa Fe Stampede (1938)
• Nos. 29 – 38 (1940 – 1941)
• No. 35 Prairie Pioneers (1941)
• Nos. 39 – 51 (1941 – 1943)