Borrowing from The Untouchables, this nearly anthological western marginalized its law enforcement heroes to focus on a colorful villain every week. In this one, roguish Judge Adams (Ray Walston) plots the heist of an allegedly impregnable casino, enlisting as accomplices a couple of cowhands (Vic Morrow and Dean Jones) who have been cheated by a sadistic pit boss. Walter Doniger directs the ensuing caper with such precision that we can’t help but root for it to come off, at least until Adams, shockingly, sticks a knife into the supplicant casino owner. Nothing is as it seems: Adams is a pure sociopath whose charm masks a vicious itch to kill, and the femme fatale (Anne Helm, pulling a neat trick with an awful accent that’s supposed to sound phony) is no Creole chanteuse, just a gold-digging Kansas farm girl looking for a score. Jack Curtis, one of the finest western writers, crafts a script with a Shakespearean sense of inexorable doom, one that pivots on the uncertain moral compass of its protagonists. The Cannon brothers are essentially honest, but not immune to vice, temptation, or revenge if they feel wronged. Indeed, they seem to be figuring out who they are before our eyes, which makes them atypical, almost unique, on television, where characters might run good or bad but must always be fully formed, sketched in easy shorthand for the least discerning viewer.
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