Budd boetticher biography of albert
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The Westerns of Budd Boetticher
Western maestro
Prompted by reader Barry’s comment on The Tall T, I thought it might be time to re-examine that series of seven Westerns that Randolph Scott and Budd Boetticher made between and for Warners and Columbia. They were superb, and a credit to the genre.
As an intro to that, though, maybe some musings on Boetticher, then Scott, would be in order. Today, Budd.
Oscar Boetticher Jr (/ˈbɛtɪkə/), known as Budd ( – ), did not direct great sweeping panoramic Westerns like John Ford or Howard Hawks, and he did not make complex psychological ones like Delmer Daves or Anthony Mann. Nor did he create fastest-gun-in-the-West action pictures like John Sturges or elegiac bloodbaths like Sam Peckinpah. But he made real Westerns nonetheless, and he was one of the greats.
Beginnings
Boetticher was born in Chicago, never knew his birth parents, was adopted and raised in Illinois, and beca
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“They can lick you (which they cant) or they can fire you, and once you know that youre not afraid of anybody.” Budd Boetticher on producers, interview
Budd Boetticher stumbled into the movies in the fluky way so many of the two-fisted directors of the silent days landed in the directors chair, but with a high samhälle twist only Hollywood could have written. The 20 year old kid from a wealthy family decided he wanted to learn how to bullfight and wound up teaching Tyrone Power how to look good in the fingerprydnad for a Hollywood bio. Thats the short version.
“I grew up rich, spoiled, and arrogant,” he joked in a interview. “It was bad enough being rich, but to be a rik athlete, inom must have really been obnoxious.” This sports-mad son of a successful Illinois hardware magnate had planed for han själv a career in friidrott and threw himself into boxing, track, and football. At Ohio State, a kn
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Tall in the Director’s Chair : Budd Boetticher made some of the best-remembered Westerns of ‘50s and ‘60s; they don’t make ‘em like that (or him) anymore
“They’re all gone now except for me and Sammy Fuller,” Budd Boetticher says quietly.
The last roundup, perhaps? Oscar (Budd) Boetticher Jr. is talking about the major directors of the Hollywood Western’s Golden Age. And the colleagues he’s recalling--the Howard Hawkses, Raoul Walshes, Anthony Manns, Don Siegels and William Wellmans-- are mostly gone. So is the Western’s grandmaster: the man born Sean Aloysius O’Feeney, who, though he won more Oscars than any other American director (six), liked to introduce himself, almost defiantly, with the terse credential: “My name’s John Ford. I make Westerns.”
“Jack Ford was a great actor,” Boetticher says now, sitting in the immaculately colorful living room of his San Diego Estates condominium, south of Ramona. “A demon. And a very good man. . . . “
His voice is both wry and nost