There Was a Crooked Man... (1970)

There Was a Crooked Man... is the kind of Western that sidles up with a grin and then surprises you with how sharp its teeth are: a blackly funny, slyly modern riff on the genre where the dust, the bars, and the moral compromises all feel equally gritty. Kirk Douglas plays his charming scoundrel like a virtuoso, all swagger and calculation, while Henry Fonda brings a cool, watchful gravity that makes every exchange crackle with tension and wit. The dialogue has a cynical snap to it, and the movie’s pleasure comes less from gun-smoke heroics than from watching human nature misbehave under pressure. If you want a traditional, noble Western, this might feel a little mean-spirited—but if you’re in the mood for something entertaining, well-acted, and delightfully crooked, it’s a treat.

There Was a Crooked Man... wants to be a cheeky, offbeat Western caper—part prison-break comedy, part gritty morality tale—and you can see the appeal in its rogue’s-gallery setup and the promise of a clever escape. The problem is it rarely settles on a tone, lurching from broad humor to darker beats in a way that feels more accidental than daring, and the direction and visuals can come off oddly misjudged rather than stylish. The script also plays clumsily with its themes, including a subplot that may strike modern viewers as uncomfortable, and it doesn’t land a clear point beyond the chaos. If you like messy, cynical Westerns with big personalities and don’t mind inconsistency, you might enjoy the ride; if you want tight storytelling and a steady mood, this will test your patience.