Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

Remember those miniature license plates for your bicycle? The personalized ones with your name on them? Cute, right?

Yeah, I hated those damned things because they never had one with the name “Kurt”. I also hated Romper Room because at the end when Miss Nancy took out her magic mirror and searched to see who was out there in televisionland, she never saw me. No Kurts in televisionland. Not once. Not ever.

So, when I learned that my kid-universe included an actor named Kurt Russell, he immediately earned a soft spot in my heart.

Which explains why I have a copy of Tombstone in my video armoire.

It does not explain why I have also have a copy of Wyatt Earp.

Nor does it explain why, this past weekend, I watched them both, back to back.

Tombstone (1993) tells the story of 19th century lawman Wyatt Earp and his brothers who moved to Tombstone, Arizona and had a…contretemps…with some locals down at the O.K. Corral. It has a strong cast of B-list actors–like Kurt Russell himself–including Sam Elliot, Bill Paxton, Powers Booth, and Michael Biehn. I didn’t watch the movie for them, though. I watched it to see Val Kilmer’s version of Doc Holliday.

In a fluke of Hollywood kismet, the year after Tombstone came out, a competing studio released a different rendition of the same story, Wyatt Earp (1994). This version pumps up a strong B-list cast with a few A-list names like Kevin Costner and Gene Hackman, but again, I didn’t watch this movie for them. I watched it to see Dennis Quaid’s portrayal of the same character, Doc Holliday.

If you’ve never heard of John Henry “Doc” Holliday, the irascible, consumptive, hedonistic, bitter, utterly vengeful, and thoroughly loyal Georgian dentist turned gambler who teamed up with the Earps in a partnership that was, to be blunt, morally ambiguous at best, then I suggest you go read a book…jeez.

But I’m sure you have heard of him and therefore, like me, find Doc to be a fascinating character–both historically and as interpreted by popular media–in that he is a mass of contradictions. He is by turns kind and cruel, reasonable and irrational. His ongoing battle with tuberculosis makes him a tragic figure, but it is his actions that elevate him to both the heroic and the demonic. Doc Holliday was, without question, a cold-blooded killer, but he sometimes murdered in support of a worthy cause.

These two interpretations of Doc Holliday–Kilmer’s and Quaid’s–are in my opinion the best ever, and yet they are very different from one another.

Kilmer’s version of Holliday is one of genteel dissipation infused with the cultured manners of the Old South. His wit, though caustic, is always delivered with a spoonful of charm, even when he’s slipping a shiv between your ribs. Historically speaking, too, Kilmer’s Holliday is the closest to the reports we have of the original, which lends a verisimilitude that others usually lack.

Quaid, by contrast, gives us a wizened, desiccated Doc Holliday, a man in whom every emotion and humour is intensified by his illness. As he wastes away, he becomes more concentrated, distilled to his very essence. There is no affability here, no dissolute nobility. This Doc, with the cruelty of each passing day, becomes ever more convinced of the depravity of human nature, embracing the same within himself.

At their core, these two renditions are the same man, but seen back-to-back, they are so very different. Kilmer’s version is a man who seems to be evaporating before our eyes. As the story progresses, his gaze drifts out toward the horizon and his sallow skin becomes translucent. He knows death is coming–has known it for a long time–but he does not fear it. On the other hand, Quaid’s Holliday loses nothing as his body is consumed. Rather than evanescing into the ether, Quaid’s character becomes like jerky, stringy, tough, and unpliable.

Both men have one foot in this world and one in the next. Neither fear what is coming for them, and both have found peace with it. Kilmer gives us a man who is slowly forgetting this world, meting out divine justice as he leaves, while Quaid gives us a man who remembers everything, where his every action is a deed of earthly retribution.

Of the two movies, I have to say that Wyatt Earp is the better one. Everything is of higher quality–acting, writing, cinematography, music, everything. Tombstone, like its star, comes with a whiff of the Disney, be it from the more historically accurate but unintentionally comical handlebar mustaches sported by the stars, or from the goofy soundtrack that often goes a little too far into cartoonishness. Wyatt Earp carries no such tinge.

Of the two Docs, I also have to go with Quaid’s performance in Wyatt Earp. Though Kilmer’s is more true to the real-life character, Quaid is much more fun to watch. His Holliday’s blatant self-contradictions and mercurial nature are held together by true artistry. As with all things Hollywood, don’t let the facts get in the way of a good story.

Also, full props to my lovely and indulgent spouse who sat with me while I watched, back to back, two movies that told the same story, just so I could compare them. My dear, you rock.

k