WAGON TRAIN: "THE WAGON TRAIN MUTINY" (1962)

 

PHENOMENALITY: *naturalistic*
MYTHICITY: *good*
FRYEAN MYTHOS: *drama*
CAMPBELLIAN FUNCTION: *psychological*                                                                                                                                               It could be safely argued that because the teleseries WAGON TRAIN endured for eight seasons, the show must have tapped some of the audience's beliefs about the Manifest Destiny of all the settlers who traveled west by wagon trains, thus ensuring that the United States became a country "from sea to shining sea." However, of all the episodes I've seen, most are a little too rationally thought-out to allow for the imaginative flights of high mythicity. "The Wagon Train Mutiny," the first episode of the sixth season, is a rare exception.                                                                                                

On the surface of the script, the main concern seems to be one of a challenge to the masculine powers guiding the wagon train. The main representative of this power is wagonmaster Chris Hale (John McIntire), who for once finds himself at odds with some of his subordinates. In the course of a particular overland voyage, Hale's scouts find the remnants of a settlement wiped out by Comanchero raiders. A little later, the scouts receive intel as to the presence of a Comanchero camp. Hale makes the command decision to attack the camp, even though some of his aides-- and a troublemaking passenger (Dan Duryea) -- argue that this action will simply bring the wrath of other Comancheros down upon the wagons. These challenges to Hale's command occupy much of the episode's running-time, but since Hale is a main protagonist, there's no serious doubt that his decision will be proven to be the correct one. Toward the episode's end, the cavalry even shows up to announce that Hale's decision to attack the camp made it possible for the soldiers to chase down the other bandits. Thus, the sacrifice of Leland (and some non-entities) is justified as serving the Greater Good-- a message that might have resonated with American audiences in the early years of American involvement in Vietnam.                                                                           

   The episode's mythic resonance, however, gathers around the figures of two passengers and one intruder to the wagon train. The scouts find out about the hostile camp because they come across a wounded young Mexican, Renaldo (Jose de Vega). Several members of the wagon train think that Renaldo is a Judas goat who's supposed to lead them into peril. Among them is widow Hannah Barber (Jane Wyman), who's traveling with her twenty-something son Leland (Peter Helm). Despite one of the other cowboy's remarks that the Comancheros are a mixture of whites, Indians and Mexicans, Hannah immediately believes the worst of Renaldo because he's Mexican. And yet, because she's a woman and therefore a nurturing presence, she does give assistance in caring for the wounded young man. Renaldo later tells a sympathetic male that he's been a slave of the Comancheros for years after they slew his family, and that he was wounded while escaping the bandits.                                                   

 Hannah's already been through some ordeal in which she lost her husband in some unspecified violent conflict, and therefore she's overly protective of her son. Leland, of course, yearns to prove himself a man and escape Hannah's apron strings, so he volunteers to join the force attacking the Comanchero camp. Before anyone knows the outcome of the attack, Hannah seems to psychically sense her son's demise-- which is my only reason for tagging this story with the naturalistic "superlative skills" trope-- and sure enough, when the attack-party returns to the train, Leland is one of three killed in the assault. The myth-question then becomes, "will this frontier incarnation of maternality become a bloody-handed avenger? Will she kill the helpless Renaldo, whom she equates with her son's killers, as payback for her son's sacrifice?" Hannah does venture to the edge of that chasm, for she does intend to play Medea to the orphaned youth. But in the end, her mythic identity as a mother takes over, and the story ends with the implication that she will put aside her prejudices and become some sort of adoptive parent to the rootless young man. Renaldo, I'll note, played by an actor with a handsome face, which reinforces my impression that it's always easier to do nice things for put-upon people when the latter just happen to be good-looking.