Dugan of the Badlands: A Peculiar Ride with Bill Cody's Big Hats

Look, if you're not already deep into the dusty corners of 1930s B-Westerns, then Dugan of the Badlands might not be your Saturday night pick. But for those of us who appreciate the quirks of early genre films, or if you've got a soft spot for Bill Cody's particular brand of cowboy charm, there's definitely something here. If you're looking for anything resembling a complex plot or high-stakes drama, well, you'll probably just wonder why you're watching.

This is one of those “Bill 'n Andy” pictures, though don't go thinking it’s a proper series with ongoing characters. It's more of a convenient pairing for Monogram, I guess.

The whole thing kicks off with young Andy Shuford's father biting the dust in the desert. Pretty stark opening for a B-Western, even if the emotional weight isn't quite there. Then Bill Cody shows up, almost by accident, and kinda just... adopts the kid. It’s not a big dramatic hug; more like, “Oh, hey, a kid. Guess he's with me now.” Simple. Efficient. Very 1930s.

Speaking of Bill Cody, you can't talk about this movie without his hats. Man, those hats! They’re not just 10-gallon, they’re like 20-gallon hats, maybe more. I swear they sometimes look bigger than his actual head. Or the horse's head, even. They’re a whole character unto themselves. 🤠

And his clothes! For a low-budget Western, Cody changes outfits a surprising amount. And they always look a size too big, like he borrowed them from a taller, wider pal. It's an odd choice for a genre known for its continuity issues and tight budgets. Like, who had time for tailoring between chasing bad guys?

Cinematic perspective: Exploring the visual vocabulary of Dugan of the Badlands (1931) through its definitive frames.

The plot itself is pretty straightforward. Bill and Andy team up with Sheriff Manning to go after his crooked deputy, Dan Kirk. Ethan Laidlaw plays Kirk, and he just has that perfect shifty look about him. You know he's bad news just by his eyebrows.

There's a lot of riding in this. A lot. And some talking about riding. Then more riding. The action sequences are pretty basic, but they get the job done. Don't expect any fancy stunts, just good old-fashioned horse chases.

One shot really sticks out. They're tracking Kirk, and the camera just *lingers* on a rock formation for a solid ten seconds. Not for plot, not for mood. Just... a rock. Maybe the director, Robert N. Bradbury, thought it was a particularly nice rock? Or maybe they were waiting for the stunt horses to get into position. Who knows?

The movie moves along at its own pace. It's not fast, not slow. Just, you know, it goes. Things happen, people ride, a few shots get fired. It’s exactly what you’d expect from a film like this.

The ending is very much what you'd predict for a Western of this era. Andy, the plucky kid, gets a junior deputy badge. It’s a sweet little touch, making you smile. And Bill, of course, gets the sheriff's daughter, June. It’s a clean wrap-up, a nod and a smile, no over-the-top romance. Which, for a film with such big hats, feels appropriate.

Is it a cinematic masterpiece? Nope. Not even close. But Dugan of the Badlands is a neat little time capsule. It shows you what early B-Westerns were all about: simple stories, recognizable heroes, and some really, really big hats. Worth a look if you're into that specific corner of film history. Otherwise, you might find it a bit... dusty.