Messing With Texas: 'The Whole Shootin' Match'
THE MOST FAMOUS story about “The Whole Shootin’ Match,” Eagle Pennell‘s 1978 black-and-white about two Texas ne’er-do-wells, is that it inspired Robert Redford to launch the Sundance Film Festival to highlight regional independent American movies.
The film is, however, much more than simply a footnote in cinema history. Three decades later, “The Whole Shootin’ Match” remains a deeply observed, resourcefully shot, insightfully acted, charmingly tragicomic work whose influence can be seen in the films of Richard Linklater and Wes Anderson.
Much like its troubled director, “The Whole Shootin’ Match” is, deep in its heart, very Texan. Main characters Frank and Lloyd jump from one get-rich-quick scheme to another with a mix of desperation and bumbling affability, and a memorable early scene recounts their exploits — a frog farm, chinchillas, flying squirrels, a polyurethane business.
There is freedom in their entrepreneurial aimlessness, but also carelessness: Frank neglects his patient wife, and Lloyd fails to get a patent for an invention that will secure their fortunes.
Eagle (whose real name was Glenn Pinnell) shared his characters’ dream-big gumption, but found more success. He discovered inventive ways to stretch his limited resources, often shooting single takes to preserve film.
He was cocky and confident, but also reckless: He alienated friends and collaborators before alcoholism finally overtook his talent. Eagle made four more movies before he died broke and homeless in 2002, but only one, 1984′s “Last Night at the Alamo,” shows the same narrative and visual wit.
For years, “The Whole Shootin’ Match” was discussed more often than it was viewed, mainly because no one could find a suitable print.
Fortunately, Watchmaker Films has digitally restored a print to its originally grainy glory and released a handsome, exhaustive DVD set, which includes a feature-length documentary directed by Eagle’s nephew, newspaper articles about the film, testimonials from his crew, a restored print of his first short film and even a CD with his brother Chuck Pinnell’s soundtrack.
The set is not a monument to a forgotten filmmaker, as such DVDs often are, but something more interesting and honest: a conflicted document of the first spark of life from a promising but unfulfilled talent.
Written by Express contributor Stephen M. Deusner
Photo courtesy Watchmaker
