Movie Review | Last Night at the Alamo (Pennell, 1983)

This review contains mild spoilers.

In my review of Showdown, I recounted the story of my attempt to order a pair of cowboy boots, only for them to get lost in the mail, and for the eventual refund to provide a bit of solace despite not fully numbing the melancholy of my cowboy-boot-free existence. (I should also note that I’ve been too fucking lazy to go buy a pair in person, although with masking requirements having been recently lifted where I am, I’m reluctant to go rectify that at the moment.) Now, this doesn’t have a whole lot of relevance to the story of Last Night at the Alamo, where a couple of losers converge upon their favourite bar the night before it closes down, but you could argue that it has some thematic relevance. You see, I understand that cowboy boots aren’t just practical and stylish footwear, but that they hold symbolic value and come with the weight of certain iconography and mythology. And with that, I could put myself in the shoes (or boots) of these losers who are enamored with a certain cowboy in the movie and what he represents.

The characters in this movie are sketched knowingly and arguably with some affection, but hardly flatteringly. There’s the young crybaby who drags around his long suffering girlfriend, who you spend the movie waiting to dump his ass. There’s the guy who just got kicked out of his house by his wife, who spends the movie arguing with her over the phone and insisting he isn’t drunk in between sips of beer while threatening to burn their house down. (In one of the movie’s more startling moments, this character drops a racial slur. While the movie doesn’t exactly take him to task for this, it also gives him the least flattering portrayal out of this band of losers, so it’s hard to read it as an endorsement.) There’s also a guy (played by Texas Chain Saw Massacre screenwriter Kim Henkel) who barely talks and can’t seem to remember his role in a supposedly amusing anecdote. The effect is a bit like King of the Hill, if that show were populated entirely by Bills and Boomhauers. And like that series, this is very funny in a low key, knowing way.

What these characters all have in common, aside from their presence at the titular bar, is their admiration for a cowboy nicknamed Cowboy. When the character finally arrives, he seems like everything they’re not: cool, self-assured, stylishly dressed, handsome, charismatic. But over the course of the night, that facade starts to unravel, and you can see how he tries lamely to maintain his image through small acts of self deception. Getting turned down by a girl? She was married to a doctor, and he don’t mess with that. Getting his ass kicked in a fight? Well, you should see the other guy. And that hat? It’s not hiding a receding hairline, is it? These might be little lies he’s telling his friends, but by the end when he not only proposes staging an armed defense of the bar but seems drunk enough to try it, you can see he’s bought into his own bullshit.

The characters commiserate but lack the self-awareness for it to translate to any real introspection, let alone self-loathing. The movie emerges as a critique of a certain kind of masculinity, one which mistakes cowboy iconography for character and uneasily grapples with modernity. The guy with with wife trouble seems jealous of the computer programmer who lives down the street. Cowboy pointedly plans to star in western movies, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they were a genre in decline at the time. And when he rails against the bar down the street for its Yankee influence, nobody seems to really care about the difference in whatever character he’s attributing to the different establishments, as one watering hole is as good as another. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel a tinge of sympathy. Some would argue that my city is a gentrified hellscape that’s being steadily engulfed in condos, and I can’t help but feel some nostalgia for some of the places we’ve lost over the years, if only for the memories I attach to them.

Now, while these characters are not ones I’d like to hang out with were I sober, I did enjoy spending time in this movie, with its stark black and white images, boozy rhythms and rich dialogue written with an ear for drunken inanities. This was a great little movie to stumble into and out of.