The Littlest Outlaw

In the long history of the Walt Disney Company, 1955 will forever be known as the year that Disneyland threw open it’s gates to an unsuspecting public. However, the studio also released a handful of well-remembered films that year. Among these are animated classic Lady and The Tramp, the first of their edited-from-television Davy Crockett features, respected "True-Life Adventure" The African Lion - and, three days before Christmas, The Littlest Outlaw. A forgotten little film following the exploits of a young Mexican boy and his fugitive horse, the film is a surprisingly well-made piece of cinema that still holds up today - with a few caveats ...

The film tells the story of a boy named Pablito (played by first-time actor Andrés Velázquez,) the son of a horse trainer named Chato (Rodolfo Acosta) who works for the respected General Torres (the great Pedro Armendáriz.) After betting money he doesn’t have on the general’s newest horse, Conquistador, in a show jumping competition, Chato resorts to cruel training techniques in order to force the poor creature into jumping taller and taller obstacles. This soon backfires, however, causing Conquistador to become afraid of jumping. When the horse’s fear causes an accident involving the general’s equestrian-loving daughter, Celita (Laila Maley,) the general orders the animal killed. Pablito, who knows the truth but fears further violence against himself and Conquistador at Chato’s hand, runs away with the horse. The pair of fugitives take flight across Mexico, running into banditos with hearts of gold (Gilberto González and José Torvay) and a kindly priest (Joseph Calleia) while evading both the general’s troops and a vengeful and desperate Chato.

I can't talk, señor - I'm a little horse today.

Unusually for a Walt Disney Productions film, The Littlest Outlaw was a Mexican-American co-production. Directed by prolific Mexican filmmaker Roberto Gavaldón, the film features an entirely bilingual cast. This led to the convenient practice of shooting each scene twice - once in English, once in Spanish - so that the film needed no re-dubbing for release in Spanish-speaking countries. The film was also shot entirely on location south of the border, lending the film a dusty authenticity that couldn’t be achieved filming in the California desert (or on a Burbank soundstage.) This also affords Gavaldón and cinematographer Alex Phillips the opportunity to shoot many evocative scenes of Pabilto and his horse making their way through desert vistas, including a number of well-thought out day-for-night shots. Of particular note is a group of shots early into the pair’s journey, in which the boy and the horse are carefully framed with a sun-bleached cross atop a hill as they stare out upon the looming desert ahead of them.

He's got shoes and a coat - why no service?

I really must applaud the young Andrés Velázquez, who brings effortless believability to the mistreated Pablito. Starting off as a cheerful (but not precocious) child, the reality of his father’s cruelty dawns upon him following Chato’s treatment of Conquistador. There is a noteworthy moment early in the film, where Pablito lies on his sleeping mat in the darkened servant’s quarters, quietly crying his eyes out. One immediately gets the heartbreaking sense of the child’s world being turned upside down, the realization of his own situation dawning on him only now. His decisive flight from the general’s estate and increasingly courageous actions through his journey stem logically from this awakening, and therefore feel natural as the film unfolds.

Pablito trains Conquistador to gallop when he whistles...

The rest of the cast is quite good as well. Pedro Armendáriz, playing General Torres, may be familiar to audiences today from his role as Kerim Bey in the 1963 James Bond film From Russia With Love (which was his last role before escaping terminal cancer with a self-inflicted gunshot to the chest.) By the time of The Littlest Outlaw, the actor already had a distinguished career spanning 20 years in Mexican, American and Italian cinema (and even had a pair of French films under his belt.) Even at the general’s most blustering, every line Armendáriz delivers is portrayed with such heart and spirit that one never feels any antagonism toward the big lug. Likewise, well-known Malta-born actor Joseph Calleia turns in a warm and sincere performance as the kind padre who helps Pablito and Conquistador during the latter part of the film. Famously remembered for his role as Pete Menzies, partner of Orson Welles’ iconic Hank Quinlan in 1958’s Touch of Evil, Calleia’s career on stage, screen and radio spanned an impressive 45 years.

Yes, Pablito, one day you may be blessed with a magnificent moustache, too...

While watching The Littlest Outlaw, I must say I was pretty impressed with the film as it went along. Besides the deft direction and strong acting, the screenplay - expanded by Bill Walsh from a story pitched by studio veteran Larry Lansburgh (who’d been a director of shorts at the studio for a decade) - is vibrant and well-structured. Unfortunately my opinion began to sour toward the end of the film.

While there is some mild animal cruelty early in the film establishing Conquistador’s suffering at the hands of the inhumane Chato (that one hopes, given the age of the film, is entirely faked,) the film is otherwise a gentle and lightly exciting tale that would be potentially great viewing for families with not-too-young children. However, once it became clear that all signs were pointing toward a climax set inside a bullfighting ring, my heart began to sink. Now, I don’t really want to get myself drawn into a discussion about cultural insensitivity or the place that bullfighting plays in Latin American tradition (otherwise we’ll be here all day - as readers of my Dumbo post will understand) - nor about the ritualistic particulars of the “sport” itself. Currently banned in many (but by no means all) countries, bullfighting remains one of the touchstones of Spanish and Latin American culture. It’s also one that springs to the gringo mind as a representative image of Latin culture ... much like wide sombrero-clad Frito banditos, Taco Bell-loving chihuahuas or the Dos Equis guy. That’s sarcasm, por supuesto.

For your viewing pleasure: a velvet bullfighting painting. Classy AF.

Though the appearance of a traditionally-garbed matador and his entourage of toreros could potentially be seen as troubling in a film that had, up to this point, largely avoided stereotypical portrayals of Mexican culture, the bigger issue that I had was having to watch the actual bullfight. Most likely a real bullfight that the film crew shot and edited, travelogue-like, into the movie, perhaps in 1955 the whole thing was thought of as local color thrown into the film - or maybe even an honest display of a proud Latin tradition. I realize that the case can be made for excusing the bullfight's inclusion by taking the time period in context, which is usually something I support when evaluating older works of art. However, watching the film now, the public display - in which bulls are taunted, stabbed with lances and barbed spears and more often than not killed in the ring (at least in the traditional Spanish style) - is not something that personally sat well with me. Call it a gut reaction, but in this case my sense of distaste overrode objectivity.

Can't sleep - too much bullshit...

While the film thankfully cuts away before the worst of the bull’s treatment is shown, we are shown one of the matadors getting bloodlessly clipped by the bull’s horn (in an uncommented upon moment of shock) before the picador stabs a pair of lances into the back of the poor creature’s neck. As the climax played out during and immediately after these displays, I found myself caring less and less about Pablito and Conquistador’s leap to freedom to escape the bullfighting ring. As the film rapidly drew to it’s predictable (though earned) happy ending, I just couldn’t get the slight sense of nausea out of my mind.

This horse is my horse - of course, of course...

The Littlest Outlaw, for most of it’s running time, is a delightful film with a number of positives going for it. However, much like last week’s Westward Ho the Wagons! (with it’s troubling, if typical, portrayal of American Indians,) there is a strongly dated element that prevents me from giving the film a recommendation - as family viewing or otherwise. This is unfortunate, as compared to that bland western, this movie is actually a well-crafted, thoughtfully-scripted and admirably directed piece of cinema. Though your own tolerance for images of animal cruelty may vary from mine, for me the whole troubling display tainted the rest of the film, a superior production when taking all other factors into consideration. For this reason alone, I have to say that I haven’t been so disappointed with a Walt Disney production ever before.