Review: Winds of the Wasteland (1936)

So, I watched *Winds of the Wasteland* again last Thursday night, right after the cat knocked over my popcorn bowl – perfect mood setter really. We’re talkin’ classic Western here, black-and-white, horses, dust, and a very young John Wayne wearing his most honest face, looking like he’s still figuring out what to do with all that charisma.

The film was directed by Mack V. Wright, not exactly a household name in Sweden, but the guy knew how to shoot a clean, solid Western. I mean, this is pure 30s Americana – frontier optimism, sideburns and all. And Wayne? Man, the guy had that thing already, even before *Stagecoach* made him a full-blown icon.

The story – two former Pony Express riders buying a stagecoach business in the middle of friggin’ nowhere – is more straightforward than a långtradare down E4:an. But I liked that! Sometimes it’s just nice to watch something where you know the good guys are good and the bad guys get punched in the face.

One memory, more personal than proud:

I first saw this film in ’92, på en VHS borrowed from an uncle who recorded over Midsommarfirandet in Dalarna with it. I was 14, supposed to be helping with the potato harvest, but instead I snuck into the living room and watched Wayne punch out the bad guy while birds screamed outside and grandma muttered about “din lata pojke”. Still worth it.

Was it a deep film? Nah. But there’s this odd comfort in its simplicity. The dusty towns, the predictable saloon fights, the gruff buddy-banter—it reminds me of a time when films didn’t try so bloody hard to say something profound in every frame.

Would I recommend it? Ja, to anyone who enjoys a no-frills western and wants to see where the Duke got cookin’. Just don’t expect subtlety… or female characters with dialogue.

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