Throughout history, the brandishing of “worst film director of all time” has been bandied about so often that it has lost value. One of the more notorious examples is Edward D. Wood, Jr., the powerhouse schlockmeister behind such turgid affairs as Plan 9 from Outer Space and Bride of the Monster. Wood’s films are a tour de force of poor editing, direction, acting and special effects. However, Wood at least gave the impression that he genuinely wanted to produce a quality product.
From the other side of the tracks and a much different time was the little known, but nevertheless intriguing director of “B” western dramas, Robert J. Horner. Horner was a producer and director of cheap horse operas who operated on Hollywood’s “Poverty Row,” a group of independent producers and studios whose primary source of income was made from cheap westerns, horror pictures and mystery films from the silent era until the collapse of the studio system in the mid-1950’s.
Robert J. Horner was among the lowest of the low-level producers and his films are maligned by aficionados of “B” westerns and unfairly so. Many casual audiences as well as film historians in their assessments of Horner’s films have noted their inept production values and overall mediocre to poor qualities, however many of these individuals are neglectful of the challenges and risks of being an independent producer during this period. While Horner’s output during the sound era does prove challenging for the modern viewer, due mainly to the limitations of early sound filmmaking, his silent westerns are quite impressive and far more entertaining and competent than contemporary film snobs give them credit for. Horner, when he wasn’t bogged down in overzealous taxes, fees and unionization could produce entertaining and capable films.
Horner’s early life proved difficult given the many hardships he faced. At the tender age of six years old, Horner lost both of his legs while playing on the tracks of the Rocky Island Railroad in his hometown of Spring Valley, Illinois. Further compounding matters, Horner’s father deserted the family (and pilfered over $680 for his trouble), leaving Horner and his brother to live at the Jesse Spaulding School for Crippled Children. While there, young Robert Horner was mercilessly abused by staff at the school, to the point where his already stumpy legs were even further devoured by cruelty. It was reported that Horner incurred no less than four operations which took his stumps.
Given this tragic and dreadful series of events, it is a miracle that Horner was able to eke out an existence in the film industry at all. Horner was a resilient and fiercely independent force of nature who possessed a charm and charisma that often compensated for his physical limitations. For example, Horner impressed upon star Jack Perrin that, even though the financial returns of the previous picture were less than expected that the next project would be produced on a grander scale and would earn the star a considerable sum. Perrin, and other stars would take Horner at his word, even if Horner knew that he wouldn’t be able to deliver on all his promises. Horner was just that charming. Additionally, the films Horner managed to produce in the silent era with Perrin and others are quite entertaining and prove what a capable director he was.
One of the more interesting westerns Horner produced and directed was the 1926 film The Walloping Kid. This was an entry in Horner’s “Rocky Mountain Knockabouts” series which he produced for Nathan Hirsh’s Aywon Film Corporation. The film features genuine performances and impressive riding by the lead star Elia Bulakh, who is billed as the famous American frontiersman Kit Carson. Bulakh was originally a Cossack soldier in Russia during the regime of Tsar Nicholas II. Bulakh and his comrades were captured by the Bolsheviks and all, but Bulakh were executed. Bulakh himself, was next to be killed. He sat in a pit surrounded by the corpses of his comrades. A guard threw down a can of beef stew for Bulakh’s last meal, which gave Bulakh his grand scheme. He produced a flight of stairs using the bodies of his fallen brother and once he arrived at the top, slit the guard’s throat with the can’s lid and left for China then to the United States where Horner made him a star in these low-budget western adventures.
In The Walloping Kid, Bulakh is in top form as a prize-fighter who is forced to leave his pugilistic lifestyle so that he may work on his father’s ranch. He assumes the identity of an outlaw to investigate the cattle rustling occurring on the ranch, while also assisting an impoverished woman and her father find food and shelter. There is a great, continuous duel between Bulakh and villainous Jack Richardson that eventually winds up on a pair of railroad tracks, the speeding vessel approaches the two men just for the two to escape relatively unharmed. This sequence is quite suspenseful, well-shot and choreographed, overall, a fine action set piece. Horner produced a finely made western drama on the cheap, with a hero who is not only adept at riding scenes but also fight choreography. Of course, fight choreography would improve in the following decades thanks to John Wayne and stuntman Yakima Canutt, but this must be taken in proper context. What may look dated by today’s standards was the standard for the time.
Horner also acquired the talents of many stars who were either on their way up or on their way down the food chain of popularity. One of those stars whose popularity was in decline was one-time Universal Pictures cowboy hero Art Acord. Acord had come from a background in rodeos and Wild West shows, even riding notorious bucking broncho “Steamboat,” who later served as inspiration for the horse on the Wyoming license plate. Acord had been a major western movie star for Universal Pictures from 1920 until 1928 when his alcoholism caused him to no longer be in vogue. In 1928, he signed a contract for eight microbudget oaters with Ralph M. Like of Exhibitors Film Corporation, which Horner directed.
One of the films was 1929’s The White Outlaw, a film in which Acord portrays an outlaw who decides to reform after receiving word of his mother’s ailing condition. He escapes pursuit by the sheriff’s posse and ultimately finds work as a ranch-hand under an assumed name. Acord’s friend and fellow ranch-hand Ted Williams is framed for holding up the bank and it is up to Acord to save his friend and return the missing money.
The White Outlaw is Horner’s best film, featuring impressive stunt work and emoting by Acord, plus some biting dialog. The film’s greatest stunt is when Acord is pursued by the posse, he rides his horse clear off an embankment into a massive body of water, a stunt that likely caused injury to both rider and horse. It also contains a spectacular fight scene atop a cliff between Acord and former comrade Lew Meehan which sees the latter take a considerable plunge off the mountain. The White Outlaw is not only Horner’s best film, but it was also his last “good” movie. It was all downhill from there.
Something to be considered is the fact that westerns were inexpensive to produce during the silent era. Film historian Ed Hulse in an interview with the author states “You didn’t have a lot of elaborate sets, so you didn’t have to rent big, expensive soundstages. Even in the 20s, when Horner was really ramping up, there were already several of the studios, like the Fine Arts Studio and the Talisman Studio and some of the others that already had standing western sets that could be rented very cheaply.” This became more difficult when talking pictures became popular. In addition to the expensive sound equipment and technicians, the independent producer also had to contend with unionization which became omnipresent during the sound era. Hulse states “A lot of [independent producers] got wiped out just by the unions, by 1935 and 1936 you’ve got the Screen Actors Guild that insists on certain minimums for actors, and you’ve got, the Writers Guild, the Screen Directors Guild. The trade unions which governed everything from the cameramen to the grips. All of those guys achieved more power in the late 30s and that’s why all the independents died when they did.”
To his credit, when Horner entered sound, he did so quite early. The Apache Kid’s Escape, released in November 1930, was among the first “B” westerns in sound and was a remake of the previous year’s The White Outlaw. However, the film is marred by a variety of complications including poor sound, editing mistakes and wooden performances. Horner even pilfers footage from the earlier film, the impressive cliff-jumping stunt from the earlier film is inserted here, now attributed to Jack Perrin and his horse Starlight. Perrin, for his trouble, was forced to take Horner to court to receive all his intended earnings on this and other pictures he produced for Horner during this period. Independent producers like Horner could no longer afford to film extravagant stunts or action sequences and often resorted to utilizing old footage.
Hulse states, “The problem was, when sound came in, that bottom end [the level at which Horner was working in the industry] became so much more treacherous because, there was the rental of sound equipment, and you’d have the addition of the sound technicians and you needed a minimum of two, you needed a recordist to work the board and mix the sound that was being recorded and you’d need a guy to hold the microphone,” Hulse continues, “That’s [the unions] what really killed off guys like Horner. The fact that the Depression cut into the market, everybody was paying less, the state righters [the method of distribution Horner and other independent producers utilized] were paying less for pictures because there was so much competition, they could afford to be choosy, so they would go with the guys [producers] who would give them the best terms. It was a race to the bottom. With guys on the really low-end like Robert Horner, it became a matter of who could deliver the best pictures for the cheapest money.” The unionization and requirement of more crew members on set, added an expense to Horner’s productions that he could barely afford, and this affected his overall film production and the quality of the finished product.
The ultimate indignity to Robert J. Horner’s career came in the mid-1930s with a trio of films for western star Bill Cody (The Border Menace, released in 1934, is widely considered the worst “B” western ever made) as well as two oaters for second-echelon cowboy actor Ted Wells, whom Horner had worked with during the silent era under the name “Pawnee Bill, Jr.” The only film from the Wells series that survives is 1935’s The Phantom Cowboy, which sees Wells and his obnoxious sidekick Ptomaine Pete (portrayed horrendously by silent film comedian Jimmy Aubrey) foil a bank robbery. This disjointed effort relied on antiquated humor and the wooden Ted Wells portrayed a dual role of hero and the masked villain of the title. The disgraceful sequence of Wells and Aubrey frolicking hillside in their underwear for a total of five minutes is enough to elicit disgust from anyone in the audience.
After producing another film with Wells (the lost Defying the Law) Horner and his ilk left the industry. The quality of his pictures having suffered greatly, the climbing costs of production and the industry’s rising mandates, placed a heavy burden on Horner.
Given Horner’s silent output is relatively good in terms of the production values and stunt work and that his sound films are yawn-inducing eyesores that border on the mesmeric, it is easy to demolish the reputation of a man who had the cards stacked against him. Hulse responds, “Talkies changed the whole game, and I don’t think we’ll ever really know how much talent, how much creativity he really had, because working at his end of the business, there was no way to gauge. It’s all about putting the picture together for the cheapest amount of money, so when you have those kinds of pressures, then as now, time is money. They were shooting these five-reel pictures in three or four days, simply because they couldn’t pay more in daily wages. They couldn’t take two weeks to film a western like the [bigger productions of the era]. We may never know what Horner was capable of, because his financial situation didn’t allow him to do it.”
There have been tales throughout the history of Hollywood of actors and actresses who weren’t able to make the successful transition to talking films after working in comfortable silence for decades, however what is not generally discussed is the heartbreaking stories of those behind the camera who faced multiple and massive hurdles to produce a product for an ever evolving and changing market. A market that forced the independent producer into financial ruin due to the implementations of unions, additional crew members and the Depression did not help matters either.
Robert J. Horner was not simply a “bad director,” so much as he was one of those poor, unfortunate souls who couldn’t hang on during the difficult transition to sound filmmaking. His silent films stand as a truer testament to his directorial prowess as he had more freedom and could take more liberties than he could when talkies came in. Don’t judge a book by its middle and end, the beginning may just surprise you. Robert J. Horner, given his background, the challenges which he faced both physically in life and financially in the industry later on, his work in the silent era is nothing short of impressive.