CHATO’S LAND (1972)
Intrada Special Collection Vol. 58 / TT: 47:32 / Stereo / 1500 Limited

CHATO’S LAND (1972) marks the first time tough-guy Charles Bronson acted for British film director Michael Winner, an association that led to five additional features, including the hit-man classic THE MECHANIC and the controversial revenge drama DEATH WISH. A compact, violent Western (not to mention a neat allegory on the Vietnam War), it tells the simple story of a posse (Jack Palance, Richard Basehart, Simon Oakland and others) bent on lynching an Apache half-breed for killing a white man. No matter that Chato (Bronson) was acting in self defense, racial hatred is more than enough to spur our arrogant vigilantes into a long trek into the scorching desert; however, they’re completely unprepared to survive against both the harsh environment and the mestizo’s cunning tactics. With cold, ruthless precision, Chato hunts and kills the white men one by one.

Music for CHATO’S LAND was supplied by Jerry Fielding, an intense and prolific composer for films and television who was favored by not only Winner, but Sam Peckinpah (STRAW DOGS, BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA) and Clint Eastwood (THE ENFORCER, THE OUTLAW JOSEY WALES). Fielding’s music can be a tough nut to crack: his dramatic underscoring is complex and often atonal, forsaking the “big” themes that most film composers strive for in their hopes of selling record albums. Following specific screen action is not foremost in Fielding’s mind; instead, he seems more interested in penetrating the minds of film characters and musically depicting their thought processes—which, during the Watergate years, was often confused, disturbed, disillusioned. Not surprisingly, the resulting melodies were not always of the hummable kind, even when romantic. He took the art of film scoring very seriously and, in fact, worked so hard at it that his health eventually suffered, leading to an early death at age 58.

CHATO’S LAND is among Fielding’s strongest, most fascinating works, and it comes to us in complete form from Intrada, a soundtrack specialty label that gave us the equally masterful THE MECHANIC just six months ago.

The early part of the score is dominated by music associated with Palance and his men, a march of sorts. Quiet tension is supplied by a single snare drum that repeats a short, militaristic pattern (the snare drum is a common device in Fielding’s openings, also prominent in THE WILD BUNCH and THE MECHANIC). Soon, a melody of strutting tones erupts, mimicking the impetus of that percussive pattern. Strident trumpets bring a sense of bravado, a feeling of masculine determination as the men embark on their quest, and yet something is wrong: the music is bereft of any warmth or sentiment. Striving for heroism but falling considerably short, it’s like a cold antithesis to the jubilant anthems we usually associate with cowboys riding over hills and into blazing sunsets.

As the journey progresses, a new leitmotif sneaks its way in, a short, questioning series of notes that suggests the eternal stillness and indifference of the desert landscape. At times, a spare harp sounds the desert motif, punctuated with short spurts from a snake-like rattle to paint a bleak picture of parched terrain.

Chato is characterized by familiar tones that instantly conjure images of noble savages. Fielding’s Indian music may be melodically similar to that found in many Hollywood Westerns, but it’s played in such an introspective manner that one hardly notices the cliché.

When the posse comes upon Chato’s camp, they capture his wife whom they rape and string up as bait. With this vile act, Chato’s noble motif is ended, never to return. Frenetic, brassy music heralds Chato as he launches an attack under cover of charging horses.

As the conflict heats up, so does the score—at times it’s like a war of percussion. While the posse forges ahead to the sound of its snare drum, Chato stalks to the pulsating beats of a tom-tom. Action material comes in the form of downwardly darting strings—a vortex-like effect that recalls the final, harrowing moments of the second movement in Bartok’s Music for Strings, Percussion and Celesta.

In the score’s final minutes, a heavy use of the desert motif suggests that Chato and his land have become one in the same—indivisible. The tom-tom continues to stalk over tense strings; the vortex returns, dashing any hopes of escape. Trilling winds and a grotesque rattle sound as a rattlesnake claims a victim. For a brief moment, the posse’s motif returns in an upward movement of hope, only to be crushingly defeated by a percussion roll. The snare and tom-tom continue to talk to one another as the final, expiring member of the posse wanders into the open desert, with Chato watching from afar like a patient vulture. A new, dissonant melody sounds on the strings, cold and merciless, only to be killed suddenly by two violent tympani hits… Cut to Black—The End!

If the coda of Mahler’s Sixth Symphony is likened to grave dirt being tossed in one’s face, then the finale of CHATO’S LAND—surely the bleakest ending of any film score—is like the slamming of the coffin lid.

Back in the early nineties, CHATO’S LAND was released to CD on the Bay Cities label in the form of two lengthy suites, but this limited edition was hard to come by and quickly disappeared. Intrada’s new edition (also limited) is complete and comes from the first-generation master tapes, offering much improved stereo sound where the clarity of individual instruments is absolutely stunning. As producer Nick Redman observes in the liner notes, this kind of attention to detail in soundtrack recordings sadly rarely happens anymore.

Hardcore film music lovers are urged to check out the sound samples of CHATO’S LAND at the label’s website: www.intrada.com.

– Bill Cooke