There is a type of character in American film that has the power to inspire its audience to great heights…only to alienate them three frames later. This character defies conventional laws of society and can sidestep rules of morality at anytime, living by their own code. This is the character that reshaped American cinema and represented the rebellion that was happening within America itself. This is the role of the anti-hero.

According to Encyclopedia Britannica Online, an anti-hero is “a protagonist of a drama or narrative who is notably lacking in heroic qualities” (http://search.eb.com/eb/article-9124776).

Wikipedia goes even further stating that, “An anti-hero in today's books and films will perform acts generally deemed 'heroic', but will do so with methods, manners, or intentions that may not be heroic” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/anti-hero).

The Gallery of Antiheroes and Villains states that, “The spice of a story, the element that makes it more than simple heroes and villains lies within the character of the Antihero” (www.flowerstorm.net).

Post-World War II American cinema changed the role of the traditional hero dramatically, and between 1945 and 1980 there was a golden age of the American anti-hero. This was an age where the anti-hero became the quintessential character in American film. The hero of earlier American film was replaced in this golden age by a more human hero that made certain Hollywood leading men uber-popular. The anti-hero is not a character solely belonging to the male, as there are many important female anti-heroes throughout the history of film, but the character was popularized by the male movie star. As it concerns this paper, we will only be exploring the effects of male anti-heroes, and omit the female anti-hero for another day and or another paper.

Why did heroes change in American film after World War II? This is a very important question and is the very basis for this paper. There are four main reasons why this change occurred in post-World War II American film. The first reason was that America wanted new kinds of heroes because, in effect, America was a new country after the war. The second reason was that Americans wanted their heroes to rebel against the status quo like they, the American public, were rebelling. The third reason was that America wanted human heroes, who were true representations of life, who were faulty and vulnerable, like America's real life heroes. And finally, America wanted its heroes t0 reflect the true American spirit, whether that was good or bad or ugly. American culture is not really influenced by its cinema. American cinema though, in some ways, is a reflection of the culture.

From 1945 to 1980 there was an abundant amount of anti-heroes in American movies. That being said, the antihero has been with us from the beginning. From the Egyptians to the Greeks to the Romans, the character of the anti-hero has been an important part of storytelling.

“Within the American cinematic gestalt, we are continually offered portrayals of the individual redemptive journey. Filmmakers repeatedly portray versions of the hero and anti-hero. These figures have their roots in age-old mythological and religious characters…” (Fitch 1). Thus, the anti-hero can be seen in earlier American cinema as well, but was in no way as popular as it became after World War II.

These new kinds of heroes would be portrayed by some of the most enigmatic and popular stars of their time. From John Garfield to Steve McQueen to Jack Nicholson…these are some of the biggest names in Hollywood and every one of them made a name for themselves and their compatriots by portraying anti-heroes. They reveled in the very image they portrayed and were admired for it. The era of the Sergeant York's and Mr. Smith's was washed away by the bloody surf at Normandy and the shockwave of the bomb dropped on Hiroshima. America had lost its innocence for good and needed new kinds of heroes to lead the way.

New Kinds of Heroes

“Now something else enters the picture. We may call it the sensibility of the antihero. Success will elude most of the principal male characters put on screen from 1945 until 1970-in the home as a companion and as a provider, and outside the home, too” (Holland and Trice 76).

After World War II, as much as movies looked and felt the same, there was a growing revolution happening under the surface that was about to explode. This was in response to both the horrors of World War II and the paranoia of the Cold War. In fact, most of the films of the 1950s were not concerned with the beliefs or thoughts of the individual and in some ways demonized self-interest as criminal (LaSalle www.sfgate.com). So how did the anti-hero gain in popularity if the majority of society was deeming them criminals and deviants?

“The anti-hero gained popularity in the 1940s and 1950s, probably due to the cynicism during and following World War II. People were relating to the hip non-hero who was not involved in world problems but devoting his time to overcoming his own personal problems” (Epstein and Morella 5). The 1950s would see a growth in characters that stressed individuality and identity.

In 1946, films such as Duel in the Sun and The Best Years of Our Lives were showing that post-war America was not always a nice place to live, and happy endings were not that common. Both films were very popular, but were not formulaic films that the studio assembly lines were used to producing.

John Garfield made a name for himself in the 1940s and was type cast as the tough, shady character that everyone loved to hate… or hated to love. His characters were anti-heroes before the war, and one could say he is the grandfather of the modern anti-hero we see today. Garfield pushed the envelope in every scene, sometimes not caring whether he lost his audience or not. Being true to the character was more important to him. And if the character was sadistic or morally ambiguous…so be it! This cavalier attitude was a far cry from the traditional heroes American cinema had been churning out for decades. FilmNoir had been producing shady characters and versions of anti-heroes, but nothing was as cutting edge as what Garfield was portraying. His characters were visceral and palpable individuals who were for the most part, only concerned about what they could gain or lose. This may sound deplorable and absolutely selfish, but this was also true to human nature and much more realistic than the hokey traditional hero who always did the right thing…not to mention more interesting. Audiences throughout the 1930s and 40s were enthralled by the darker side of human nature, as Film Noir was truly a guilty pleasure, but when the likes of Garfield and Brando and Clift began to rock the boat, they absolutely ate it up.

As much as Garfield's characters were complex and sophisticated individuals they were also just variations of the same character (Epstein and Morella 5). The fact of the matter is that it didn't matter to the audience. They knew when they went to one of Garfield's movies they were about to stray over to the dark side, where danger, sexual ambiguity, and violence were prevalent. Garfield's classic anti-hero in The Postman Always Rings Twice (1946) murders a man so he can have the man's wife all to himself…the wife just happens to be Lana Turner. There had been earlier characters that had been this calculating and evil, but they were always the “heavy”, that is the villain, not the leading man. Who in the audience could relate or even want to relate to such a sadistic individual? The answer is everyone.

The anti-hero was daring the audience to relate to doing wrong or being wrong even for the wrong reasons. People in general do wrong, but understanding how someone we like can do wrong reflects our own misgivings and failures to do the right thing. Thus, a lesson is learned. These were characters that gave back to the audience a sense of something tangible lost or gained. World War II had made America powerful, but at a very lofty price. The American public wasn't going to forget that fact so easily, no matter how hard the sensible 1950s tried to convince them nothing was lost and everything was alright. The anti-hero would come to represent America's growing uneasiness and skepticism about true courage and heroism.

Marlon Brando, like John Garfield before him, used his acting chops and good looks to seduce the audience into liking him, no matter who he was playing. “While men could be heroes in the films of the 1940s, even in recreating those times in the films of the 1950s, the film directors filled the landscape with moody actors like James Dean, Montgomery Clift, Paul Newman, and Marlon Brando, actors whose 'method' acting style was designed to register internal conflict, actors who were trained to feel. Brando and Newman might sometimes fit Jeffords' classifications of physical hard bodies, but Clift and Dean certainly would not - these were antiheroes, liberals, life-sized (or smaller) men” (Holland and Trice 110). Anti-heroes were characters that embodied masculinity, while still allowing themselves to be vulnerable. Brando's characters, unlike those of any previous actor, combined both masculinity and vulnerability, thus being much more diverse and complicated than Garfield's (Epstein and Morella 51).

Brando's Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) exudes raw, male sexuality while still emitting child-like vulnerability. This can be seen in the scene in which Brando's Kowalski screams for “Stella”, played by Kim Hunter, to come down home so that she can take care of him. Kowalski is a rude, ignorant, bullish character with little if no redeeming qualities, but Brando's good looks, charm, and acting ability make him likable. Even after Stanley as much as rapes Blanche, played by the marvelous Vivien Leigh, the audience still somewhat likes Kowalski. John Garfield had said that the role of Blanche would overshadow if not steal the movie from the lead playing the Stanley Kowalski role (Epstein and Morella 55). In retrospect, it is Brando's portrayal of Stanley Kowalski that is more memorable today (Epstein and Morella 55).

Still, Brando's most important anti-hero would come later. Even his motorcycling rebel Johnny in The Wild One (1953) was not as influential as his Terry Malloy of 1954's On the Waterfront. On the Waterfront would get Brando his first Academy Award and was both a critical and financial hit. His character is a punchy, ex-boxer who's connected to the syndicate (mob) in which his brother is a high member. In Brando's first scene he helps lure a fellow dock worker, who's going to “squeal” to the waterfront commission about corruption on the docks, to his death. Even though Brando's Terry isn't privy to a lot of the evil going on around him and the motives for it, he still has culpability. And when he eventually tries to do the right thing, he is cast as a “squealer”, much like the man he lured out earlier. Brando's Terry is a gritty character who may be simple in speech and thought, but still very complex and intelligent in other ways. Terry's street smarts and toughness are what make him a survivor. The raw reality of the character and the situation reflect America. America in the 1950s was a country full of Terry Malloys. Men and women who had been through tough times, who had been knocked down a time or two but still got back up, who did what they had to for their family, who may have done wrong, but could still do right.

The 1950s would see the paranoia of the Cold War take hold of the country and create in the people a sense of fear and hate. Nothing was what it seemed to be in this paranoid world. Thus characters started to embrace the duality in the nature of man. That is the ability for the same person to be both good and evil. A Place in the Sun (1951) introduces a character that is a prime example of this dichotomy. As the lead, Montgomery Clift's character is torn between the woman he loves and the woman he's with (and with his child). He must choose between the two. But in fact, he cannot, and unknowingly, or at least not consciously, kills or lets drown his pregnant girlfriend. This is an absolutely cowardice character, who enrages the viewer. Yet, Clift's innocent look and demeanor create for him a sense of pity in the audience. This character is neither heroic nor demonic, yet he is the protagonist. True anti-heroes are never obviously seen for what they are and unlike the traditional hero, where there is no reason to think about what or who they are after the movie is over, here there is plenty to think about and weigh in one's head long after the projector has been turned off.

This new kind of hero would be both admirable and admonishable. The balance between the two, the struggle to do good even when and where bad is needed, is the very essence of the anti-hero. Movies such as Shane (1953) and The Searchers (1956) would go on to use the traditional western to showcase antiheroes, disguised as traditional heroes. Both films would keep archetypical heroes, but show an ambiguous side to them. Why else would Shane ride off and leave an honest life and a little boy behind, if he thought he was actually a good role model? Why also would a vengeful Ethan, played by John Wayne in The Searchers, be consumed with killing his own niece because she had been raised by Indians? These heroes were blurring the lines between what was considered to be heroic and villainous. America was blurring the lines as well, as the once “sleeping giant” was now an awakened crusader, hell bent on destroying its enemies no matter what the cost.

“In large part because of the Cold War, the United States reversed its pre-World War II policy of isolationism, entered into several military alliances, sent its soldiers to fight in Korea and Vietnam, and went to great lengths to promote a spirit of patriotism and sense of conformity at home” (Bender 250). These new heroes were reactionary characters in the conservative 1950s, but something else would take the hero to yet another level in the 60s. If these new kinds of heroes could reach the vaunted American western, where else would they take the viewer?

Rebelling

“The anti-hero is rarely happy in situations that please other men. He prefers conflict and struggle rather than comfort and certainty. His sense of self-actualization or righteousness is achieved through war or strife. In Homer's story of Odysseus, as in so many contemporary films, the goal of the warrior/hero is not long life, but glorious life followed by glorious death” (Fitch www.usask.ca).

The quintessential element or ingredient of the anti-hero is the need to rebel. In the early 1950s America was concerned with fighting and conquering Communism (Bender 265). As America was scrutinizing its fellow citizens and lives were being shattered, its youth began to become disenchanted and cynical with the very idea of being good, especially when faced with overbearing authority figures. This all leads to a revolution of the father figure, thus altering heroic concepts all together.

George Stevens, the director of Shane and Giant, masterfully depicted the role of the father figure in both films in different ways (Holland and Trice 127). In the earlier Shane, Stevens gives us a father figure that is trite and true, a hard working farmer, trying to make a life for his family, and willing to sacrifice all for them (Holland and Trice 128). Where as in Giant (1956), the role of the father figure and head of the family, played by Rock Hudson, is a strong-willed dictator who rules his home with an iron fist and expects respect and obedience from all under his purview (Holland and Trice 128). The two are extreme contrasts of one another and the latter, played wonderfully by Hudson, runs into problem after problem because of his overbearing authority and lack of understanding. He is not as likable as the father figure in Shane, but he is more realistic and true to form. He is also a more interesting character, as the audience witnesses his growth from a bigoted chauvinist to an accepting, loving father. In a way, Stevens was exploring the costs of misused authority or power and showing how America was changing in response to it. If America is a father figure to its people, a direct correlation or connection can easily be seen. The 1950s would see many misuses of authority and further injustice. From McCarthy's witch hunts to racial inequality to the Korean War, the youth of 1950s America, who would be the fire behind the cultural revolution of the 1960s, were rebelling. Ironically, it would be one of Giant's rising young stars who would become the poster boy for teenage rebellion and youthful angst.

He would only make three films in his career, but James Dean would change how Americans looked at authority or at least how they reacted to it. James Dean won over his audience with a misunderstood innocence. Of all the rebel characters born in the 1950s and redefined in the 1960s, Dean's were the most passionate and sympathetic. His child-like innocence and youthful exuberance made him instantly likable, but it was his raw emotional responses and inner struggle that made him a great anti-hero.

Dean's short career would end up kick-starting all the rebel heroes that would follow. “Most mainstream 1950s films didn't bother acknowledging a possible difference between individual and collective concerns. Self-interest was the domain of criminals, and the social critique was rare. Yet, perhaps in reaction, the 1950s saw the birth of the anti-hero, with films by actors such as Montgomery Clift, James Dean, and Marlon Brando. The anti-hero became a movie staple for the next 25 years and defined the careers of many actors of the 1960s and 1970s” (LaSalle www.sfgate.com).

1955's Rebel Without a Cause would reflect how youth across America were rebelling against authority and fighting the conformity of the 1950s. Dean's character of Jim is a “misguided” youth who gets drunk, fights, and gets in trouble. Jim, unlike Brando's rebel in The Wild One, isn't fighting authority just to fight authority, but seems to have some underlying reasons. His overbearing mother and his pacifist father (which are exact opposites of the stereotypical characters of old) drive Jim to act out and rebel against any and all. Jim himself isn't sure why he's rebelling. This film does a wonderful job of expressing how dealing with issues of family and problems in general in the conformity and self-righteousness of the 1950s could be absolutely tragic. Dean is paired with the equally stunning Natalie Wood and the character driven Sal Mineo. All are misfits, who only feel connected when they find each other. The three characters are bonded together to create a pseudo-nuclear family that works for them (Rosenbaum 129). The movie's end questions the climate of fear and paranoia in 1950's America, and ultimately reveals it tragic flaws. Dean's own death, just before the film's release, would be a dramatic precursor to a volatile time in American history.

Rebels are anti-heroes who fight authority figures no matter what the cost. America was a similar creature after World War II, even if no one knew it. America would fight battles of futility, from Korea to Vietnam; while nothing much was gained almost everything was lost. The rebel anti-hero was just as stubborn and just as tragic.

The 1960s would be the most profound period in the golden age of the anti-hero. The radical climate and the call for revolution allowed the anti-hero to take center stage and become everyone's hero. Rebellion was no longer a subversive act, but a righteous one. It was no longer popular to conform, but to reform. And as much as the rebel anti-hero was rebelling against the American standard, America itself was born through rebellion and revolution. Rebelling was and still is an American characteristic. It states in the Declaration of Independence if, “any form of government becomes destructive of those ends, it is the right of the people to alter or abolish it” (Bender 109). The 1960s would see true, rebel heroes, such as John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King Jr., Robert Kennedy, and Malcolm X , forever change life in America. They would fight the good fight, all in different ways, all for different reasons, and all would end up making the ultimate sacrifice. The anti-heroes of the 1960s would be almost identical in nature.

Whether it was Paul Newman or Steve McQueen, the 60s anti-hero was a very likable rebel who was almost always the underdog. They would use injustice as their fuel to fight authority in any way they could. Their popularity would reach iconic status and earn the stars unprecedented fame and fortune. These unlikely heroes would inspire generations of fans to fight the fight to the end, no matter what the cost. It is no coincidence that the anti-heroes of the 60s and 70s would all be rebels in some way or another. It is in their very nature to challenge authority at some point. What would separate the 60s anti-heroes from all others was their uncanny ability to inspire and move their audience even through failure. Their humanity would be their most powerful weapon.

Human Heroes

“In America, 1968 was merely the most apocalyptic year of a momentous decade. During that period the myths underlying the foreign policy of containment, the belief that domestic affluence ensured social peace, and the basic optimism that dominated American life and spirit since the Second World War were buried forever. For many Americans their image of themselves, their society, and their place in the world underwent a painful transformation. Despite the fact that it ultimately ushered in a period of intense social and political conservatism (whose force and grip on power has still clearly not abated) it left hope that this was no permanent state of things-that some form of social and cultural rebellion could rise again” (Auster and Quart 67-8).

For all the change that came with the 1960s, things were still the same. Whether it was political ideologies or social problems, the revolution seemed to bare little if no real results. Great leaders were gunned down in assassination after assassination, while the war in Vietnam went on and on. Heroes seemed to be all too human during the 60s. This could be seen in the anti-heroes of this period. They all had rebel hearts, but few, if any, ever reached their goal or were successful. They would continue to fight worthwhile battles, but in the end nothing, if anything, would be gained. A few would strike a chord with their audiences and win out, but most would leave the audience feeling lost and empty.

Films such as The Graduate (1968) and In the Heat of the Night (1967) conveyed the freedoms that the 60s anti-heroes were fighting for, from sexuality to racial intolerance (Holland 100).

Sidney Poitier was an anti-hero because of what he represented and how he did it. As a strong, African-American leading man he was automatically a rebel. He was not unanimously liked in the racially heated climate of 1960s America. Poitier started his career playing powerful supporting characters, which always had an axe to grind, due to racial bigotry. From No Way Out (1950) to Blackboard Jungle (1955)Poitier worked his way to the top.

Poitier's most important anti-hero was that of Virgil Tibbs in In the Heat of the Night. Tibbs is not an anti-hero because of his personality or his character, which are very much like traditional heroes, no but rather because of what he is (a black man with authority) and what he stands for (racial equality). These are admirable characteristics, but put into context with the period, they are somewhat controversial and risqué, which also makes them all the more important.

Poitier's Tibbs bends for no man and vindicates himself through his ability and credibility as a detective. The same could be said for either Martin Luther King Jr. or Malcolm X. Both had to rattle some cages and be radical to get results, and may not have been popular because of that. They are now considered Civil Rights pioneers and American icons. Poitier's performance isn't magnificent or even his best role, but it does have a credibility and reality to it which allows the audience into a world seldom seen…the racially bigoted South (Auster and Quart 80). He isn't playing a clichéd caricature, but a person who could exist.

Paul Newman, much like Brando before him, used his masculinity and good looks to shoot himself towards stardom. Also like Brando, he used this opportunity to showcase his acting ability. Newman would gain popularity playing edgy roles. His scamming, pool shark, Fast Eddie in The Hustler (1961) showed how Newman could twist the anti-hero and really revealed the vulnerability in human nature.

“The Hustler proved that American audiences of the sixties were ready to accept an American leading man as a hero with the characteristics of a heel who did not have to die or be reformed at the film's end. The Hustler paved the way for the rebel anti-heroes of the decade” (Epstein and Morella 116).

Newman's Fast Eddie was a breakthrough performance. Eddie is a self-absorbed character who loves only what he can win at the pool table, forsaking all else, and in the end loses all he really cares about because of it. It is truly a study in the flaws of human nature. Newman would go even deeper in his title performance of Hud (1963).

Hud is an arrogant, womanizing, ingrate who admittedly, “doesn't give a damn about anyone” (Epstein and Morella 126). In this role Newman takes Dean's previous misguided youth and shows us what happens when the rebel never finds a connection or cause. Hud is obsessed with selling off the family farm owned by his aging father, played by Melvyn Douglas. He tries repeatedly to seduce the housekeeper, portrayed by Patricia Neal, who constantly shoots him down not because of his looks, but because of his personality. Then there's Hud's nephew, played by Brandon de Wilde, the same actor who portrayed the boy in Shane. The nephew is Hud's closest thing to a friend. Hud has little if any redeeming qualities. The only reason anyone likes him is because of his ability to charm most of those around him into believing he has some good inside of him. Hud eventually sells the farm after his father dies, attempts to rape the housekeeper, and alienates his nephew, who leaves him all alone at the end. Still, Hud is likable. His charm oozes out onto the audience as well, and even at the end, the viewer wants to see Hud again. Newman has said that the character was a statement about how people can grow up at the “tragic expense” of those around them (Epstein and Morella 125-26).

Paul Newman would create a character that was one of the signature anti-heroes of the 1960s…Luke Jackson. Cool Hand Luke (1967) would represent the accumulation of Newman's previous anti-heroes. Luke is the typical loner, who arbitrarily ends up on a chain gang. Luke is a born loser who comes from nothing and has nothing, society's victim, yet proud and strong (Epstein and Morella 162). Newman's Luke becomes the leader of his fellow inmates, through his tough demeanor and rebellious heart he wins their loyalty, even though he doesn't really care if he gets it. That's the essence of what makes Luke so attractive to the audience; he is a character who lives by his own code, and won't compromise it, even if it is to his advantage. It's only when Luke is broken by the warden and the guards that both the inmates and the audience see that even heroes are human. Luke is no longer accepted and is considered less of a man because of his ever-so-human-weakness (Epstein and Morella 168).

In the end Luke redeems himself by rebelling and escaping. His escape is short-lived as he is eventually shot in cold blood by the ominous, nameless guard with mirrored sunglasses. Right before Luke is shot he mocks the warden, played by Strother Martin, by saying, “Now, what we have here is a failure to communicate.” This line seemed to be the motto of 60s America, as division was more common than cooperation. Luke's body is driven off brandishing his trademark smile. He's the perfect anti-hero, faulty, tough, vulnerable, lost, but not beaten, and all too human.

Anti-heroes became these altruistic characters that were supposed to be representations of real people…or real Americans. Even if they were being played by some of the most chiseled and good looking people in the world, the anti-hero got past that by getting dirty and wearing the clothes of the common man. No one struck a chord with the common man more than Steve McQueen.

Steve McQueen wasn't your typical Hollywood star in that he didn't get famous until he was in his thirties, he didn't have the range others like Brando had, and he was notably hard to work with. What made McQueen great was his ability to be believable. His attention to detail and his reaction and lack of over action made him absolutely stunning on film.

If John Garfield is the grandfather of the modern anti-hero, Steve McQueen is the father. In the golden age of the anti-hero McQueen was king. His ability to steal a movie with a quick glance or facial expression, made it that much more important when he did say something. His passion for realism gave him credibility and made the audience feel as if they were not watching a movie, but witnessing an event. Throughout the 1960s and 1970s no one actor would be as popular, have as many blockbusters, or make as much money as Steve McQueen, even though he never won an Oscar (Haygood 4). He may have been typecast somewhat, much like Garfield before him, but his characters were still more believable than those of studio manufacturing.

McQueen's characters have been criticized over the years for lacking depth and dialog. This is may be true, but it is also a big mistake to think film acting isn't a visual medium. “The images often becoming a substitute for reality for the audiences” (Auster and Quart 2). Films use images to convince the audience to believe. If the audience can't believe what they are seeing, then all is lost.

The Magnificent Seven (1960), The Great Escape (1963), and The Cincinnati Kid (1965) made McQueen a super-star. He perpetuated his super-cool tough guy image by sharing with people about his tough childhood; he was abandoned by his father, his mother came and went, and McQueen spent time in The Boys Republic (a reform school) and the U.S. Marines (Haygood 4). McQueen always thought he would be found out to be a fraud, which always drove him to prove himself to the world and gave him his edge (Haygood 4).

With his credibility McQueen could pull off roles that no other actor could. His performance in Hell Is for Heroes (1962) brought a brutal reality to the typical war movie. The New York Times wrote, “An arresting performance by Steve McQueen, a young actor with presence and a keen sense of timing, is the outstanding feature of Hell Is for Heroes” (Epstein and Morella 133). They went on to point out, “McQueen sharply outlines a provocative modern military type. Surly and unpredictable, a dangerous misfit among the normal soldiers in his platoon, he is the kind of antisocial citizen unable to function in a civilized society” (Epstein and Morella 133). McQueen, along with Bobby Darren and James Colburn, gives the audience a glimpse into what real war might look like. He plays a character, Reese, who is far from the John Wayne war heroes of old. McQueen uses all his instincts and focus to create a pure animal on the battlefield. Reese is a survivor, who is a great warrior, but a bad soldier, at least when it comes to authority…go figure.

The end, like most McQueen movies, is tragic for his character. He is shot trying to toss a satchel charge into a German pillbox, which the platoon has been trying to blow up since the beginning. After he is shot, clutching his wound, Reese watches as the German machine gunners roll the charge back out. Reese, being the true, born-to-lose anti-hero he is staggers toward the pillbox, falls on the charge and rolls towards the Germans, blowing up the pillbox to spite himself. This character would inspire later actors and directors to bring a sense of truth to war and the men, not heroes, who fight and die in them.

The role that gave Steve McQueen the title of “The King of Cool” was Bullitt (1968). This character would be remodeled, remade, reshaped, and copied by all the cop/crime movies that followed. During the 60s being a police officer wasn't exactly the most popular occupation. This is probably why McQueen balked at first when offered the role. But, given carte blanche to make the role his, McQueen accepted, insisting that he have less lines and that there be a car chase. And was there ever a car chase. It would end up being the car chase to end all car chases, as McQueen would do all of his own driving, making the fifteen plus minute chase that much more intense and credible.

The role of Frank Bullitt was simple from the outside, but far more complex upon further inspection. McQueen created an anti-hero cop, who worked the system to gain justice and vindication. He is a rebel, who doesn't have to obey, because he gets results. He sees through the hogwash and lies of the politicians and gets the job down. Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry (1971) would echo this credo and persona and even roam the same city…San Francisco.

The greatest anti-hero McQueen would play, and maybe his greatest role, was that of Jake Holman, in 1966's The Sand Pebbles. McQueen plays an American sailor in 1926 China, just before the Communist Revolution. He is an engineer, who knows and cares for machinery more than people. He excels at doing his job and takes pride in it. McQueen actually ran the engine during shooting, again bringing realism to the film. His insistence that it look real pays off. Jake is a very human character, who has some faults; his sense of apathy and his prejudice towards the Chinese bilge coolies he works with makes him more complicated.

Jake lives in a world that is about to blow up, as revolution is the underlying theme of the film. Robert Wise, the director, does an absolutely brilliant job depicting the period, while drawing certain conclusions toward the present situation that was happening in 1966 America…in juxtaposition, the war in Vietnam. In 1966, this film must have put the audience on the edge of their seats right from the start. Jerry Goldsmith's haunting score doesn't help, as it creeps into the viewer's ears and foreshadows the power of the beauty and the brutality they are about to witness.

There are two watershed moments for McQueen's character in the film. The first is almost halfway through the film when he must make his first heroic act. After training a Chinese bilge coolie to run the engine, so he (Jake) can fight (Captain's orders), he befriends the coolie. The coolie, Po-han, is captured and tortured as all on board watch helplessly from the ship. The revolting Chinese Communists hang him up for all to see and slash his chest repeatedly. The horror and graphic scene is powerful, but McQueen's reactions and what follows are even more dramatic. The Captain, played wonderfully by Richard Crenna, offers money, but the revolutionaries cannot be bought. Jake, obviously upset the ship is not doing more for one of their own, abandons his post and confronts the Captain. Both soon turn back toward the screams of Po-han. Po-han eventually begs for someone to shoot him. Jake, with little hesitation, grabs a rifle from a nearby sailor, adjusts the sight, and takes aim. The Captain orders him to stand down, fearing an international incident; Jake pauses and then fires. Po-han dies instantly. Everything gets quiet and Jake tosses the rifle into the water, before giving the Captain a disgusted look. With that shot, everyone in the audience has lost their innocence.

The power of doing what is unthinkable, but what is right is visceral and poignant. Jake, a true anti-hero, is changed forever by this moment, but knows too well that the unfairness of the world is ever constant. Still, killing Po-han was a heroic act, because it was not done for ideological reasons, but for human ones.

The final heroic act comes at the very end, as Jake finds himself and the girl he loves, Shirley, played by a young Candice Bergen, surrounded by revolutionaries. Jake must stay and fight them off, so that Shirley can escape with a couple of his shipmates. Jake knows his chances are slim to none of making it out alive, but still stays so that she may live. This self-sacrifice is qualified later as Jake kills off several Chinese before finally making a run for it. He is shot and tossed to the ground. With his last breath he asks the question, “I was home. What happened? What the hell happened!?” This is a question an entire generation would ask towards the end of the 1960s. One wonders if Jake would have really stayed, if he knew he would not make it out alive. Thus, his question at movie's end creates an ambiguous dilemma. Does the audience want Jake to die a hero or to survive to live a normal man's life? Jake's question leaves the audience thinking that even he himself did not know that answer. This anti-hero might have been symbolic of what the soldiers in the jungles of Vietnam were going through; they would have to balance morality and ideology while trying to survive. Jake is a man who “bristles at the many petty indignities of life” (www.brotherjudd.com).

McQueen's influence on American cinema is undeniable, as anti-heroic, action roles are commonplace still today. Still, McQueen's anti-heroes were much like the everyday men of America. He used his tough childhood to bring out that frailty and strength in his characters. Audiences could relate, and to some degree, sympathize with his characters.

Theses human heroes bore little resemblance to their successful forefathers, who seemed to all live happily ever after. The anti-heroes of 60s saw life for what it really was. Life in America, both home and away was just as fatalistic and bleak. “After a fairly quiet post-war decade, the sixties were years in which change was the only constant. People were forced to examine their most cherished beliefs, their most comfortable traditions, and make choices that would take them to a better social union-or tear society apart” (Holland 5).

Anti-heroes still convinced the audience they could be the heroes of old and win out or at least survive. This hope drove the audience to invest something in these characters, knowing deep down that they were doomed from the start. This hope turned into something else as the self-destruction of America seemed to be a foregone conclusion. The anti-hero would evolve once more and push the envelope cinematically, morally and politically.

The True American Spirit

From the mid 50s to the mid 60s Hollywood had fallen behind the times, as European filmmakers became more and more aesthetically and commercially successful (Cook 919). These cutting edge filmmakers inspired American filmmakers to take more risks and be more daring. Just as the Europeans had young gun directors, so did America. Directors such as Arthur Penn, Sam Peckinpah, John Frankenheimer, and Stanley Kubrick restored some pride back in American filmmaking.

Towards the end of the 60s and into the 70s filmmakers began to tweak the anti-hero, giving the role a darker or even non-heroic quality. Films such as Bonnie and Clyde (1967), Midnight Cowboy (1969), M.A.S.H. (1970), and A Clockwork Orange (1971) presented non-heroes and/or villainous lead character,s that were unscrupulous and downright evil. America during this period was just as morally ambiguous. Whether it was sexual liberation or drug use or politics, audiences yearned to see the true American spirit. What exactly that was, is probably still unknown, but the plethora of talent and art that was produced was unprecedented.

“As these new filmmakers, working with ever-increasing creative freedom and mobility, assimilated the French and Italian innovations, a new kind of American cinema was born for a new American audience” (Cook 922).

The anti-hero became a darker, edgier character, who was just as confused as the average American. Those rebels of the 50s had grown up, disenchanted and disillusioned by war, civil unrest, and intolerance, they no longer knew what to rebel against or if it was worth it. The country went askew from what was once a politically and dogmatically ironclad identity. The identity of heroes was also being questioned. People began to wonder if heroes, in general, were real or even needed. Even Steve McQueen, at the height of his career, said, “I really don't think hero-worship of movie stars is coming back. The movie audience of today is much too sophisticated to adopt any heroes. They might have favorites, but certainly not heroes” (Epstein and Morella 172).

In the film, Easy Rider (1969), directed and co-starring Dennis Hopper, the anti-heroes of the movie are closer to being nobodies, than being heroic. Their lone, redeeming heroic quality is being individuals. They are not afraid to be who they are…hippies. They openly express themselves without remorse or regret. This is also the very reason they are murdered. Still, they are as American as their hillbilly murderers. In fact, one of the two main characters is called Captain America, played by Peter Fonda. He rides a chopper and wears a leather jacket and helmet that all have an American flag on them. He is donning them all when he is shot-gunned down by southern intolerants. Americans killing America, in effect…or at least symbolically. For this reason alone both leads are anti-heroes. They are heroic for embracing the true American spirit of individuality and freedom.

“Easy Rider shrewdly exploited the paranoia of a generation that felt itself at war with a hostile and increasingly belligerent establishment, and it became the box-office phenomenon of the decade” (Cook 931). The film's success would convince Hollywood that there was a huge untapped market starving for something new (Cook 931).

In the 1970s the Newmans and McQueens continued to be standard anti-heroes, but others also started to gain momentum. Robert Redford, Warren Beatty, and Clint Eastwood also became edgier and more dynamic than they had been in previous films. In particular, Eastwood, who had made a career playing in “spaghetti” westerns (Italian-made westerns). Eastwood's aforementioned Dirty Harry made him a legitimate American star. He would go on to make successful sequels to Dirty Harry but it was how he reinvented the western, making it an all together more complex and dark vehicle for cinema, that made him a great anti-hero.

“He did a few more westerns for other directors in the early 1970s, but with High Plains Drifter (1973), Eastwood began to take more control of his image, investing the ambiguity of the Man with No Name with a sense of eerie dread. The Outlaw Josey Wales (1976) presents an equally alienated antihero, a former Confederate soldier on the run after refusing to surrender to the Union troops that murdered his family” (Hogan 108).

In both films Eastwood explored a darker western hero who would, in fact, hold a grudge. Vengeance, and a sense of outlaw justice, dominated such films. Eastwood would turn the western into fertile ground for anti-heroes to grow. He would later reinvent the genre again with his Oscar-winning film, The Unforgiven (1992), which demythologized the western's sense of black and white as good and evil (Ketzner 39.1).

The most graphic and brutal example of western anti-heroes was seen in 1969's The Wild Bunch. This Sam Peckinpah film gives us familiar heroic faces, William Holden, Ernest Borgnine, Ben Johnson, and Warren Oates, but with darker and more violent tendencies. These are a ruthless bunch of outlaws, who rob and kill any and all for profit, yet they are as American and iconic as any western hero of old. Their morality undoubtedly questionable, they have a code amongst themselves that works. When they take a job for a Mexican dictator, who breaks that code, they stay true to it and the massacre ensues. Peckinpah paints a bloody masterpiece that is disturbing, yet irresistible. That being said, the anti-heroes are some of the darkest put on screen, but for good reason. In their brutal world, violence is a necessity.

David A. Cook writes about the film's bloody finish, “Furthermore, the victims of this 'heroic' violence are principally civilians caught in the crossfire. But a year before the revelation of the My Lai massacre, the outraged critics could not know that they were watching a mythic allegory of American intervention in Vietnam” (929).

The Wild Bunch was not the first or even the last film to use violence to explore American “heroism”. The Godfather (1972) used violence to show how family takes care of family and still remains virtuous, even becoming more honorable. Al Pacino's character of Michael Corleone shoots point blank and in cold blood the men who attempted to kill his father, played by Marlon Brando, and is praised for doing so. The audience even feels proud of Michael. The anti-heroes of the 70s were more violent than their earlier predecessors and free to do what they had to…in order to get justice in an unjust world.

No one character would be a more important anti-hero in the 1970s than Travis Bickle in Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver (1976). Travis, played brilliantly by Robert DeNiro, is a Vietnam vet and country boy, making his living driving a cab in the mean streets of New York. Travis is a character, who violently deals with being “dislocated” (Kolker 181). New York is a substitute for the wild west of earlier cinema, and Travis is a combination of the two main characters from John Ford's western, The Searchers. Scorsese actually creates his own version of The Searchers and Hitchcock's Psycho with this film (Kolker 167). Travis is both the good-natured youth played by Jefferey Hunter and the vengeful ex-Confederate, played John Wayne. He is constantly at odds with these two sides of his own personality. This also slightly opens the door for the examination of the shell-shocked Vietnam vets returning home at the time. More importantly Scorsese is creating the urban western, whereby the hero roams in a cab or car, instead of on a horse. He still packs his traditional sidearm, but instead of saving captured young girls from Indians…he rescues them from pimps and a life of ill-repute.

The film, like The Wild Bunch, ends with a graphically violent shootout, whereby Travis saves a young Jodie Foster from her controlling pimp, played by Harvey Keitel. Travis is hailed as a hero and rightfully so. But, just hours before he shot it out with gangsters and pimps, he was trying to assassinate a Presidential candidate. Scorsese is symbolically saying that the difference between hero and villain is fractional at best. Travis's loneliness and lack of connection with the world around him drive him to grope for meaning, and for a person coming from a violent world of war, this is an invitation to strike out in anger or desperation (Tuska 238).

One of the great anti-heroes of the golden age, R.P. McMurphy, was played by one of Hollywood's most dynamic and enigmatic stars…Jack Nicholson. Nicholson had been a character actor or “working” actor throughout the 60s. His portrayal of a drunken, southern lawyer in Easy Rider introduced the world to this charismatic actor and made him an instant anti-hero. His moments in the film are scene stealers, and the audience forgets his character's flaws and immediately likes him. Nicholson continued to play anti-heroes with films such as Five Easy Pieces (1970), Carnal Knowledge (1971), and The Last Detail (1973), but it wouldn't be until One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975) that film audiences would see just how far he could go.

Nicholson's R.P. McMurphy from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest is truly a wild, rough, and tough anti-heroic character, but positioned next to the Nazi-like, robot Nurse Ratched, played by Louise Fletcher, McMurphy is relatively benign and somewhat amusing. Nicholson brings his usual flair and style to the character, but has moments of real revelation and discovery that are very poignant.

McMurphy is a felon, dodging work duty so he can finish his time in a cozy mental hospital. He has basically conned his way into the “nut-house”. While inside, he sees that the very thing keeping most of the men in the hospital are not their problems, but the system and its guardian, Nurse Ratched. Ratched is a pretty, smiling villain, who uses the rules and regulations to manipulate her patients and get her way. McMurphy is the only one who sees through her façade and fights her insistence on strict regulations and rules with all his rebel might. While she rules the inmates, he relates to them and eventually gains their undying faith and respect.

We witness this battle when Nurse Ratched uses the precise letter of the law to enforce the rules and prevent McMurphy and the rest of the patients from watching the World Series. Her lack of understanding and total control force McMurphy to act out crazily, actually pretending to watch the baseball game on a turned off TV to spite her. This is an act of pure rebellion to an uncompromising power figure, much like the anti-heroes of an earlier age. McMurphy's attitude, love of drinking, smoking, poker, baseball, and sex make him a somewhat stereotypical American every-man.

“McMurphy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest brings to life another character trying to balance two communities-this time it's patients and nurses; he makes the mistake of being 'different' in a rigid world and pays for it with his life” (Higgins 26).

Nicholson's character has his most revealing moment at the end when he has the chance to escape, but does not because a friend and fellow patient, Billy, kills himself. McMurphy immediately sees the boy's dead body and knows, just as the audience does, that this is Nurse Ratched's handy work. Her manipulation and power trip have shamed the boy into killing himself. McMurphy reacts the only way he knows how…violently. As McMurphy clamps his hands around Ratched's neck and starts to strangle her, the audience at this point, agrees with his methods and his madness. In some deeply primitive way the audience cheers on McMurphy's violent reaction. It is his heartfelt grief and sense of humanity that forces such a purely violent reaction to Ratched…and in a way condones it. This action leads to his demise, and yet another anti-hero is killed in the battle for humanity. The film was a huge hit, and swept the Oscars, earning Nicholson his first Academy Award.

Anti-heroes of the late 60s and 70s embodied the idea of the American spirit. They, for all their differences, explored what life in America was and what it meant to be an American, even if just in spirit. The

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