While there are certain talents and attributes one can hone through quiet, devoted study and repetition, some young artists seem born with a special endowment to shape a story within the medium of film. Eagle Pennell is not likely a name you remember, but he possessed the gift. He died not so long ago in 2002, a victim of relentless alcoholism. He left behind a small cache of films that I imagine do not find their way onto most people’s Netflix queues. However, even if you’re just a casual buff — someone who dares to chance the library of lesser known artists for no other reason than that you love film and surrender to its mighty draw — you may have heard of Eagle, and the little film that put him on the map: The Whole Shootin’ Match.
Meet Loyd and Frank (Lou Perryman and Sonny Carl Davis). Loyd’s a dreamer, whittling away at the junk pile of gears and hoses that litter his property, hoping to create something that might make him rich. Frank… well, he’s just along for the ride, weary from the weight of so much wounded pride and a desire to rise above his plight that he’ll follow Loyd anywhere, even if it means peddling polyurethane.
Filmed on old black and white film stock with a cast comprised mostly of volunteers, The Whole Shootin’ Match introduces us to this bumbling pair of blue-collar Texans on the verge of an idea that just might take them over the hump. Though the film is dated, the narrative takes on a timeless tenor, making its debut release on DVD an appropriate occasion.
Frank earns money taking odd jobs, which keeps him and his wife Paulette (Doris Hargrave) just above the poverty level. He’s a man-child with very little restraint, and the perfect partner for Loyd, just as careless and uninhibited, even if he is more creative and less bound by the responsibilities of a family.
If anything, The Whole Shootin’ Match creates a nightmare scenario of glut, temptation, and witless pursuits. What keeps it level is the charm and breadth of Pennell’s characters, brought to life through astute scriptwriting that possesses a firm grip on its universe. Perry and Davis embody their characters with enough natural charm and clueless tomfoolery that you start to wonder where the actors end and the characters begin. Davis in particular eschews a deep, entrenched insecurity that makes him at once believable, if somewhat loathsome.
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