5.5/10
Senior Film Conservator

A definitive 5.5/10 rating for a film that redefined the boundaries of cult cinema. The Fighting Fool remains a cornerstone of transgressive art.
Honestly, only if you are a completionist for early thirties B-Westerns. If you enjoy the rhythm of a Saturday matinee serial, you might find something to like here. But if you have zero patience for grainy black-and-white sound issues and dialogue that sounds like it was shouted from three rooms away, you are going to be bored in five minutes. It is a very specific kind of comfort food.
Tim McCoy is basically the human equivalent of a solid wooden chair. He is not trying to give you an Oscar-level performance, and he is certainly not winking at the camera. He just stands there, stares down his enemies, and does what the script says. It is refreshing, in a way. He is not acting so much as he is occupying space.
The whole thing kicks off with a grudge. Sheriff Tim took out Crip’s brother, and Crip is—predictably—very grumpy about it. The way Crip uses Tim’s brother, Bud, as a hostage is the kind of move you see in every single western ever made. It is not subtle. It is just the lever the movie uses to get us to the next shootout.
There is this moment when Bud tries to warn Tim, and the tension is... well, it is not really there. The pacing is so fast that you barely have time to feel bad for Bud before he is off the screen. It is just: bang, dead, moving on. I wish they had let the silence breathe for just a second, but I guess 1932 had a runtime to meet.
I couldn't help but compare the straightforward, no-nonsense grit here to something like Daddy Long Legs, which came out around the same time. While that movie is all about sentiment, The Fighting Fool is just about who gets to the draw first. It is not trying to be a David Copperfield adaptation, that is for sure.
The final stand is exactly what you think it is. People running behind rocks, guns clicking, hats getting shot off. It is sloppy, it is quick, and it is weirdly satisfying. It feels like a movie made by people who had a crate of ammo and a weekend to film everything. Sometimes that is exactly what you want.
Is it a masterpiece? No. Is it a good way to kill an hour if you really like dusty boots and gravelly voices? Sure. Just don't ask me to remember the names of any of the henchmen by tomorrow. There were just too many of them, and they all wore the same tired expressions.

IMDb 6.9
1931
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