The Valley of Gwangi (1969)

“Actually, I’m a paleontologist. We dig deeper.”

Since I was a young boy, I have always been torn regarding the merits of Valley of Gwangi. My Harryhausen-loving heart always told me it was a spirited effort, albeit with its fair share of flaws—but none too cataclysmic to discard it into the scrap heap of stop-motion garbage; and part of me always thought that, outside of the general premise of cowboys and dinosaurs (which is still very genius, by the way), it was out-of-place with its genre cousins—predictable, recycling clichéd plot devices, and just without that additional magical quality of a Sinbad movie (sailor, not the comedian) or Jason and the Argonauts. However, after re-watching Gwangi, I was pleasantly surprised with how well the film held up; sure it wasn’t the great Harryhausen’s seminal work and it didn’t quite conjure up iconic images that would make John Ford feel like a city slicker—but it wasn’t half bad either. In fact, Gwangi’s impact on pop culture doesn’t get its due credit—just ask Steven Spielberg or Dr. Ross Geller or Scarecrow and Mrs. King. At the end of the day, if you told me that I could see dinosaurs battling circus elephants, Pteranodon wing smashes, a former Miss World runner-up, horses leaping into pools, an Eohippus, and the world’s longest roping scene (it feels that way, at least) all in the same movie—sign me the hell up.

The origins of Valley of Gwangi started many years before its 1969 release date. Special effects pioneer, creator of the incomparable King Kong, and Harryhausen’s mentor—Willis O’Brien—considered the idea of a dino-western hybrid decades earlier in an unproduced script titled Valley of the Mists. As he progressed into his golden years, it remained a pet project. O’Brien was never able to make Mists a reality; though, some argue that 1956’s The Beast of Hollow Mountain—produced by O’Brien—fully realized his dream of pitting prehistoric beasts versus gun-slingingvaqueros. It can’t be denied that the future Valley of Gwangi script did inspire this O’Brien offering, but Mists was meant to be an entirely unique production. Six years after his death, his star pupil was able to get the project off the ground. It would be Ray Harryhausen’s last dinosaur-focused animation in his career—and it would be his most labor-intensive, needing over three hundred “Dynamation” cuts to complete (a record for Harryhausen).

Valley of Gwangi’s premise is pretty standard fare—and that tends to be its biggest critical hurdle. Director Jim O’Connolly (Horror on Snape Island, Mistress Pamela) and writer William Bast (The Man in the Iron Mask, The Legend of Lizzie Borden, The Colbys) did nothing to uncover new thematic roads when the Mesozoic world crashes into that of the Old West. Between the reprocessed archetypes of an undiscovered land in which prehistoric beasts have survived the unyielding clutches of time, the greed-fueled notion of capturing one of these relics and displaying them for the masses to marvel (and pay), and the all-too-familiar local prophecy of doom and gloom when the natural world is exploited in the name of capitalism, you are introduced to secondhand stock characters like the swindling playboy incapable of settling down (until he is confronted with the requisite tragedy to generate the necessary epiphany), the rogue orphan child that turns out to be a steady pool of wisdom to his adult counterparts, and the gypsy soothsayer that prognosticates on the consequences of the out-of-towners’ disruptions. For me, it’s not these re-treads that define the weaknesses of Gwangi’s plot and performance—it’s the amount of character pivots and tendency to have the film’s pacing denigrate key plot moments into anticlimactic, easily forgettable events.

The Valley of Gwangi is set at the turn 20th Century in Mexico; and, as we all know, the best thing about turn-of-the-century Mexico is the abundance of second-tier rodeos with beautiful stuntwomen. Lucky for us, the entire story is built around this very thing. Tuck (James Franciscus), a former rodeo entertainer—part used car (horse?) salesman, part rugged toughguy—returns to his former colleagues as a successful promoter for Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show to, you know, rub it in their faces. Nice guy. Ultimately, we discover he wants to buy them out—more specifically, the star of the act involving his former lover, the glamorous T.J. Breckenridge (former Miss World runner-up, Gila Golan). That star would be none other than Omar the Wonder Horse. After befriending a local street urchin, Lope (Curtis Arden), Tuck approaches Breckenridge—but, predictably, is denied. It turns out, Breckenridge and her rag tag rodeo outfit have a little surprise—“El Diablo”. As you could have guessed, “El Diablo” is an Eohippus. Okay, maybe I need to take back some of the anger for the plot recycling; they were first-in-market on the miniature equid ungulate front. Since it wouldn’t make too much sense from a realism standpoint to have a tiny horse be the main attraction at a wild west show since we have all seen ponies before—the fully fleshed out idea from Breckenridge and team was to have “El Diablo” dance on the back of Omar the Wonder Horse. Unfortunately, we never see this in action.

We learn that the local gypsies—led by Tia Zorina (Freda Jackson)—are pretty sure that the Eohippus is cursed and must be returned to The Forbidden Valley, from whence it came. T.J. and crew have no plans to do this since they are about to blow the minds off of the locals with horse-on-horse boogying. With the aid of crusty British paleontologist, Horace Bromley (Laurence Naismith), the gypsies decide to steal it and, unsurprisingly, Tuck is blamed for the disappearance—thanks to the assumptive testimony of former gypsy turned rodeo entertainer (and pursuer of the beautiful T.J.), Carlos (Gustavo Rojo). Tuck, Bromley—who is interested in discovering more prehistoric specimens—T.J., Carlos, and the whole gang all convene at the edge of the Forbidden Valley to track down the gypsies and “El Diablo”.

Once they enter the forsaken land, a Pteranodon swoops in and tries to steal our little orphan, Lope. Bromley refers to it as a Pteradactyl—yes, friends, the paleontologist swings and misses on a fairly common Pterosaur species. Good job, Horace. The beast has to return to the ground due to the weight of the homeless minor, and then he proceeds to smash him with his wing—which is awesome—but probably was not a naturally occurring behavior of that species (neither were the bird-like claws that were able to temporarily lift Lope into the air). Carlos jumps in and breaks the winged reptile’s neck—and there was much rejoicing.

Prehistoric playtime continues as T.J., Tuck, and the gang spot an Ornithomimus—then decide to chase it because it would be way cooler than an Eohippus. In one of the iconic moments in dino-cinema, as the Ornithomimus escapes into the valley—the all-powerful Gwangi appears in the screen and snags the stealthy biped in his jaws. If the Jurassic Park scene that features a different theropodcoming from seemingly out of nowhere to snare a Gallimimus looks familiar—it’s because our valley-dwelling Allosaurus was a direct influence. Gwangi himself is typical of dinosaur representations of that time—upright, clunky, and far less sleek as their modern depictions. He is also quite large for an Allosaurus, but maybe they just grow bigger in the Forbidden Valley. Despite the apparent lack of accuracy, Gwangi has personality, and is a tastefully rendered “monster” that fits his surroundings. After some time, meaningless plot non-developments, and a Styracosaurus cameo (also an outdated depiction), the crew encounters Gwangi face-to-face—and he’s looking for trouble. Tuck, Carlos, and the troop decide to try and capture Gwangi by roping him—because, after all, they are cowboys. What ensues could be the best sleep aid since counting sheep. Granted, it was one of Harryhausen’s most difficult scenes to shoot, however, it can only be described as outstaying its welcome. The novelty of lassoing giant dinosaurs wears off after a few minutes, and it just meanders on and on. Our multi-horned Ceratopsian friend returns and Gwangi just simply breaks free of the ropes. Why on earth did I just sit through five minutes of lassoing? Another memorable battles begins with Gwangi predictably defeating the Styracosaurus because the movie is called Valley of Gwangi—not “Valley of the Styracosaurus”. Gwangi chases the cowboys out of the valley and kills Carlos without much fanfare. The dreaded anticlimax rears its ugly head in this film again. It won’t be the last.

After a rockslide that features a motionless plastic model of Gwangi (seriously, it’s bad), the opportunistic showmen lock him up, and plan to take him back to town in an all-new star-studded extravaganza. Yes, this is just like O’Brien’s unforgettable ape movie—which is basically a re-purpose of his Lost World. O’Brien was a big believer of the “if ain’t broke, don’t fix it” mantra.

On the eve of Gwangi’s debut, Tuck finally agrees to settle down with T.J. and give up his wild ways—but the beauty of the Badlands decides that she doesn’t need him now that she is going to be a success. A very quick character pivot if you ask me. However, she pivots even more rapidly when Lope—maybe it’s Dr. Lope—tells her that she shouldn’t be such a money-grubbing witch. These people are so easily influenced. Before the first show featuring Gwangi (everyone had already forgot about poor “El Diablo”) begins, Tia Zorina’s evil dwarf sidekick manages to sneak in and open the dinosaur’s cage since she does have an ancient curse to uphold (and she needs to hedge her bet). The diminutive gypsy is eaten for his troubles, and Gwangi escapes into the rodeo arena. In the matter of a few scenes, Tia Zorina is trampled to death by patrons fleeing the stadium (anticlimactic) and our elderly paleontologist is crushed by a piece of Gwangi’s cage (anticlimactic). There is no acknowledgement of their individual demises nor even a moment to reflect—they are just killed off in a fashion befitting of a “Red Shirt”. Come to think of it, Carlos did wear red.

The most recognizable scene in Gwangi is probably the subsequent skirmish between the titular character and a circus elephant. It’s old world meets new(ish) world. A 30-feet long, two-ton Jurassic apex predator versus the 10,000-pound, tusked behemoth of the modern world. Dare I say it…anticlimactically…the elephant goes down without much of fight (but with some weird noises). Hey, the band kept playing—the show must go on, I guess. With the elephant out of the way, Gwangi then proceeds to rampage through the old Mexican town. He snags him a random from the street for fun. The cowboys that aren’t fleeing in terror try to attack the brute in, let’s just call them, “unconventional” ways. Keep in mind, this is a beast that has survived gun shots, team roping, a Styracosaurus, an Asian elephant, and shady gypsy dwarves—yet, for some reason, in the final scenes, the characters believe they will stop him by throwing a gun at him? By trying to slap him with their hat? In the last moments of the film, Tuck goes after him with a chair—yes, because chairs are way more deadly than bullets. He even upgrades to a flagpole as a potential slaying tool. In Tuck’s defense, he did yell “hi-yah”—that usually works in karate. “MacGyvers of the Military”, they are not. Tuck, T.J., and Lope manage to lock themselves in a cathedral with Gwangi and, luckily for them, discover that Gwangi hates church organ music. Maybe he’s Jewish. After a flagpole to the head and some well-timed arson, Gwangi is consumed in the collapsing cathedral and burned alive as our heroes escape. The entire town looks on as the demon-beast is consumed by the flames—and Lope begins to cry. So much death and destruction caused by the greed-fueled desire to disrupt the natural world for a quick profit—just like King Kong. Just like The Lost World. But this one had an Eohippus.

It was no surprise that Valley of Gwangi failed to achieve commercial success as it was released as part of a double feature with a biker film during a time when dinosaur and monster movies were losing their critical appeal. However, Gwangi has avoided the fate of other similar attempts—mostly due to Harryhausen’s efforts to create some lasting images like Gwangi battling the elephant, the never-ending roping scene, and the Ornithomimus being killed. Not only was the latter scene the muse to a more famous moment in Jurassic Park, but Gwangi made cameos throughout the decades. If you take a gander at any television screen seen on the 1980’s television show, The Scarecrow and Mrs. King, you might notice a certain resident of The Forbidden Valley. Even Dr. Ross Geller is a fan of Gwangi—he watches it in the hospital during the Friends episode, The One Where Joey Speaks French. Gwangi even gets a call out in 2011’s Scooby-Doo! Legend of the Phantosaur. Clearly, other folks liked Valley of Gwangi—despite its affinity for anticlimactic moments, weird choices of weaponry, flaky characters, and recycling of successful plot elements. I’m not sure if Gwangi “dug deeper” as a certain geriatric Brit paleontologist would have liked—but, then again, he was crushed by a falling circus cage in the middle of a rodeo arena in Mexico. So who knows?