Duel at Diablo

Based on a short story by Marvin H. Albert called “Apache Rising,” Duel at Diablo throws a lot of big ideas and big stars at the screen hoping something will stick. Not a lot does as it feels both overwhelmed and underthought. As beautiful as the backdrops are, as thrilling as the two major set pieces are, they cannot save the slapdash feeling of the overall film.

There’s James Garner, Sidney Poitier, Bibi Andersson as the three main pillars of the plot, but I struggle to tell you their character names or major motivations. Andersson’s a woman who married an Apache and constantly tries to run back to the tribe causing racial and cultural conflict, but that’s buried beneath a film trying to add in numerous calvary members and a truckload of cowboys vs Indians clichés. There is no clear protagonist as everyone is undercooked and we don’t develop much sympathy or understanding for anybody.

A more nuanced take of the Old West and the duality some of its inhabitants discovered themselves occupying is rich and fertile territory, but Duel at Diablo is a case of blue balls. For all the flirtation with these themes it coyly titillates at it then goes about throwing a bucket of ice-cold water upon. An emotionally complex depiction of the Apache tribe in 1966? Perish the thought. We need simplistic white hats vs black hats here along with dehumanizing depictions of indigenous peoples.

Ambition isn’t Duel at Diablo’s problem – censorship is. 1967 would be the final deadly blows to the Hays Code, but plenty of films did exhibited these relic-like images and mindsets right through that year. For all of the valiant efforts on the part of the actors to bring some oomph, the screenplay routinely undercuts such attempts at forward-thinking and sophisticated representation. This renders Duel at Diablo a curio in the work of all the major players involved.