While his feet were yet a yard from the bottom he released his hands and dropped down. He crawled out of the hole and went down the hill to his camp. It was raised in a sort of chant and became distinct with nearness, so that the words could be heard: “Turn around an’ tu’n yo’ face Untoe them sweet hills of grace    (D’ pow’rs of sin yo’ am scornin’!). Figure #19: Buster’s wanted poster labels him, “The Misanthrope”. Unlike Gene Autry, Buster’s guns sing just as forcefully as his vocal cords, regardless of the morality of his position. By late afternoon the worth of the pans had grown to three and four dollars. There was little opportunity for the spirit of the place to return with its quietude and repose, for the man’s voice, raised in ragtime song, still dominated the canyon with possession. The muzzle was thrown up and the bullet thudded into the dirt of the side of the hole. The miner was sobbing and struggling for breath. Slow an’ certain’s the only hand you can play; so go to it, an’ keep to it, too.”. Each pan proved empty of gold, and the fact, instead of discouraging him, seemed to give him satisfaction. Then he set to work gathering up his gold. Talk about your attar o’ roses an’ cologne factories! All rights reserved. Bill! His was the feeling as when a cloud passes over the sun. Against such a color-background he could defy the tiniest yellow speck to elude him. Unlike science fiction, which is based on fact, fantasy presents an impossible reality-a universe where dragons breathe fire, angels battle demons, and magicians weave spells. A chunk, where the pick had laid open the heart of the gold, glittered like ahandful of yellow jewels, and he cocked his head at it and slowly turned it around and over to observe the rich play of the light upon it. He rubbed the dirt away from fragment after fragment, tossing them into the gold-pan. And far beyond, like clouds upon the border of the slay, towered minarets of white, where the Sierra’s eternal snows flashed austerely the blazes of the sun. With a quick flirt he sent the water sluicing across the bottom, turning the grains of black sand over and over. But the increasing richness of the pans began to worry him. And from all about rose the low and sleepy hum of mountain bees—feasting Sybarites that jostled one another good-naturedly at the board, nor found time for rough discourtesy. “It’s goin’ to be stiffer’n hell,” he said. Mr. Pocket!” he cried out, as though to an auditor hidden somewhere above him beneath the surface of the slope. “Never laid eyes on him before,” the miner concluded his scrutiny. “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs,” a remarkable comic, musical Western begins with an image of a card game gone awry: a man points a gun at another man holding a poker hand. I have salted in humor and sympathy for colorful characters such as canny Indian guides and "greenhorn" campers who carried too much gear. Down through the perfume-weighted air fluttered the snowy fluffs of the cottonwoods. Angry at the death of his kin, Surly Joe’s brother calls Buster out onto the street to exact revenge in a gunfight. He dug deep, and he dug shallow, filling and washing a dozen pans, and was unrewarded even by the tiniest golden speck. Joel and Ethan Coen's The Ballad of Buster Scruggs is a movie of six Western stories. Yet the familiar Coen Brothers dark comedy of violence continues. Perhaps some day he will meet The Kid, and that will be another story-different, yet the same.”. Six shorts comprise one film. His legs twitched convulsively several times. Flapjacks and bacon and warmed-over beans constituted his supper. What’d I tell you?”. Unmarked screenplay, undated. “Why, this diggin’ ’d make it look like thirty cents. In die zin is 'The Mortal Remains' een perfect slotsegment. An’ right here an’ now I name this yere canyon ‘All Gold Canyon,’ b’ gosh!”. In each, our common destination is approached by a different road. Figure #15: Opening text of the short story, “Meal Ticket” within The Ballad of Buster Scruggs. His lines of crosscutting holes were growing very short. Once, far down his own canyon, he thought he saw in the air a faint hint of smoke. He straightened up, and, while he reached for matches in the pocket of his overalls, his eyes travelled across the pool to the side-hill. The opening of “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” delivers the most aggressive aesthetic maneuver in any of the six short films. I’ll do it!” he would threaten still later. And you'll never see this message again. So it’s up to you to go an’ get it.”. Cinematic Settlers discusses different cinematic genres, national traditions, and specific movies in order to expose related threads, shared circulations of knowledge, and paralleled representations. I could scoff iron-filings an’ horseshoe nails an’ thank you kindly, ma’am, for a second helpin’.”. He shot me in the back!”. white hat. We get no sense that the film we are about to see is a comedy, directly referencing the singing cowboy films of Gene Autry. Then the voice of the man was raised in song:—, “Tu’n around an’ tu’n yo’ face Untoe them sweet hills of grace      (D’ pow’rs of sin yo’ am scornin’!). “Tastes good to me,” he murmured, lifting his head and gazing across the pool at the side-hill, while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

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