Honestly, most Westerns from the 1950s follow a pretty predictable rhythm. You’ve got the white hat, the black hat, a dusty saloon, and a shootout that cleanses the soul of the frontier. But then there’s They Came to Cordura. Released in 1959 and starring Gary Cooper at his most haggard, this movie is a total gut-punch. It doesn't just subvert the genre; it basically takes the idea of "The American Hero" and drags it through a hundred miles of Mexican desert until there's nothing left but bone and bitterness.
It’s a strange, sweaty, and deeply uncomfortable film. Directed by Robert Rossen, who was already dealing with the fallout of the Hollywood blacklist, the movie feels like it was filmed in a pressure cooker.
The Setup: Heroism as a Bureaucratic Mistake
The plot kicks off during the 1916 Pancho Villa Expedition. Gary Cooper plays Major Thomas Thorn. He's a man tasked with a job that sounds noble but is actually a penance: he’s the "Awards Officer." Basically, his commanding officer thinks Thorn is a coward because he hid in a ditch during an earlier skirmish. As a "favor" or perhaps a cruel joke, Thorn is sent to find five men who have performed acts of incredible bravery so they can be awarded the Medal of Honor.
He finds them. They are played by Van Heflin, Richard Conte, Michael Callan, and Dick York (long before his Bewitched days). Along the way, they pick up a "traitorous" American woman played by Rita Hayworth, who is being sent back to Cordura to face charges of aiding the enemy.
Here’s the kicker: Thorn is obsessed with bravery because he thinks he lacks it. He treats these five heroes like they are holy relics. He carries a little notebook and constantly asks them, "What were you thinking? How did you feel?" He wants to bottle their courage. He wants to know if it’s a genetic trait or a momentary lapse in sanity.
But as the group treks across the blistering landscape toward the military base at Cordura, the "heroes" start to unravel. It turns out that being brave in a fifteen-minute firefight doesn't actually mean you’re a good person. In fact, most of these guys are absolute monsters.
Why They Came to Cordura Was Way Ahead of Its Time
The movie was a massive flop when it came out. People hated it. Critics thought it was too long, too talky, and too depressing. But if you watch it today, it feels incredibly modern. It’s an anti-Western. It predates the gritty, deconstructionist Westerns of the 1960s like The Wild Bunch or McCabe & Mrs. Miller.
One major reason it sticks in the throat is Gary Cooper. By 1959, Cooper was dying. He had cancer, and he looked every bit of his age. His face is a roadmap of pain. Watching the man who played Will Kane in High Noon—the ultimate symbol of moral rectitude—get bullied and beaten by a bunch of younger, "braver" soldiers is jarring.
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The movie asks a question that few films dared to ask in 1959: Can a coward be a hero, and can a hero be a coward?
As the journey progresses, the five "heroes" realize that receiving the Medal of Honor means they’ll be sent back to the states to sell war bonds. They don’t want that. They want to stay in the fight, or they want money, or they just want to be left alone. When they realize Thorn is the only thing standing between them and a life of ease, they turn on him. They mock his perceived cowardice. They try to rape Hayworth’s character. They plan to kill Thorn.
It’s ugly. Truly ugly.
The Rita Hayworth Factor
Rita Hayworth is often remembered for her glamour, but in They Came to Cordura, she is stripped of all that. She looks exhausted. Her character, Adelaide Geary, is the only person who sees Thorn for who he really is. She’s the moral compass in a story where everyone else’s needle is spinning wildly.
Her performance is subtle, which was rare for her. She plays a woman who has survived by being hard, yet she’s the only one moved by Thorn’s pathetic, dogged insistence on getting these "heroes" to Cordura so their names can be etched in history. She realizes that Thorn’s endurance—his willingness to be spat on and beaten while still dragging his cargo toward the finish line—is a much rarer form of courage than a sudden burst of adrenaline on a battlefield.
Production Nightmares and Real-World Grit
The filming was famously difficult. They shot on location in Utah, and the heat was brutal. Dick York actually suffered a permanent back injury during the filming of a scene involving a handcar on a railroad track. This injury eventually led to his addiction to painkillers and his eventual departure from Bewitched.
You can see that physical toll on screen. The sweat isn't fake. The dust is real.
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Director Robert Rossen was fascinated by the idea of the "flawed man." Having named names to the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) to save his career, Rossen was a man haunted by his own choices regarding "bravery" and "betrayal." You can feel that personal angst bleeding into the script. He’s asking the audience: What would you do to survive?
The cinematography by Burnett Guffey is stark. He uses the CinemaScope frame not to show off beautiful vistas, but to show how small and isolated these people are in a wasteland. There is no help coming. There is no cavalry. There is only the long, slow walk to Cordura.
The Psychological Breakdown of the "Hero"
One by one, the five soldiers reveal their true colors.
- Van Heflin’s character, Sergeant Chawk, is a straight-up sociopath. He’s a killer who happened to kill the right people at the right time.
- Richard Conte’s character is a cynical opportunist.
- Dick York’s character is a frantic, scared kid hiding behind a uniform.
Thorn keeps writing in his book. He keeps trying to justify their behavior. He tells himself that their "essence" is still heroic, even as they starve him and threaten his life. It’s almost a form of religious delusion. Thorn needs them to be heroes so that he can believe heroism exists. If they are just thugs, then his own "cowardice" isn't a singular failing—it's just the human condition.
It is a fascinating study of cognitive dissonance. Thorn is essentially a fanboy of a myth that is dying right in front of him.
Technical Limitations and the 1950s Lens
While the film is brilliant, it’s not perfect. It’s definitely too long. There are sequences in the middle of the desert that feel repetitive. You get the point that they are hot and tired about 20 minutes before the movie moves on.
Also, the score by Elie Siegmeister is a bit "golden age Hollywood." It sometimes swells in places where a more modern film would use silence. The dissonance between the lush orchestral music and the sight of Gary Cooper being kicked in the ribs is a bit weird.
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But these are minor gripes. The core of the film—the script by Ivan Moffat and Rossen, based on Glendon Swarthout’s novel—is razor-sharp. It deconstructs the military-industrial complex's need for icons. It suggests that medals are often given to the worst people for the most random reasons.
How to Watch It Today
If you’re going to watch They Came to Cordura, don’t expect a fun Saturday afternoon Western. This isn't The Magnificent Seven.
It’s currently available on various streaming platforms (usually for rent on Amazon or Apple) and occasionally pops up on TCM. If you’re a fan of "psychological Westerns" like The Searchers or The Naked Spur, this is required viewing.
Key Takeaways for the Modern Viewer
- Watch Gary Cooper’s eyes. This was one of his final roles, and the weariness is authentic. He died less than two years after this was released.
- Look for the Dick York injury scene. It’s the scene with the handcar. Knowing what happened to him adds a layer of tragic reality to the physical labor shown on screen.
- Pay attention to the ending. Without spoiling it, the arrival at Cordura isn't the triumphant moment you’d expect. It’s quiet, hollow, and deeply ironic.
They Came to Cordura remains a fascinatng artifact because it refuses to give the audience what they want. It refuses to make heroism simple. In a world that loves to put people on pedestals, this movie is a reminder that the pedestal is usually built on top of a very messy, very human reality.
If you want to understand the shift from the "classic" Western to the "revisionist" Western, you have to start here. It’s the bridge between the era of myths and the era of truth.
To get the most out of your viewing experience, try to find the restored version. The colors of the Utah desert are essential to feeling the "heat" of the characters' psychological breakdowns. After watching, compare it to High Noon—it’s the perfect double feature to see the two sides of Gary Cooper’s legendary persona: the man who stands alone for what's right, and the man who realizes "right" might not even exist.