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first the marshal punches into the camera in a medium close-up, and then Frank James recoils in an opposing medium close-up. Here the camera optically situates the viewer in the middle of the action, and the effect of the marshal’s punch is more fully felt.

      The visual preferences that define Fuller’s later work are most apparent in the film’s opening and closing scenes. The opening is a largely wordless montage organized around character glances that depict an unfolding bank heist by Jesse James and his gang. The final image of the credits sequence, a poster announcing “$10,000 Reward For Jesse James Dead or Alive,” swish pans to the beginning of the scene, a close-up of an unidentified man we conclude to be James. The scene then cuts to an opposing close-up of another unidentified man, then back to James, whereupon the camera tracks out to a medium shot of the two men, revealing James to be holding a gun on the other man. By opening on the shot–reverse shot close-ups, Fuller immediately begins raising questions in the viewer’s mind: who are these men, and what is the conflict between them? The fourth shot in the scene answers these questions by presenting a long shot of the entire space: a bank robbery is in progress, and James is holding a gun on the head bank teller. Subsequent shots provide medium angles of the men, analytically dividing the space and creating eyeline matches between the tellers and the robbers, all motionless except for Bob Ford, stuffing money from the safe into a bag. The disorienting opening shots and lack of immediate exposition in I Shot Jesse James preview the similarly opaque beginnings of The Steel Helmet, Pickup on South Street, and The Naked Kiss, displaying an early iteration of Fuller’s penchant for keeping viewers guessing even as they expect to be clearly introduced to a new narrative.

      As with the first part of I Shot Jesse James’s opening scene, the second segment is constructed like a tense intake of breath, everything held in suspension, until the sounding of the alarm prompts a sudden, fast release. Fuller develops the suspense of the robbery in a series of intercut close-ups of (A) James, (B) the head teller, and (C) the teller’s foot inching toward an alarm bell. The slight movement of the teller’s foot draws the viewer’s eye in contrast with the static, impassive close-ups, while the evenly paced editing draws out the teller’s movement and heightens our anticipation of the alarm, still unbeknownst to the James gang: ABCBC/B/ABCBC (alarm sounds). The subtle contrast between stasis and motion introduced in the first two segments of the scene becomes overt in the third, as the sound of the alarm bell spurs every man into action. Fuller returns to the medium shots of the men, their movements forming rhythmic patterns and developing graphic contrasts across the scene, providing a sudden burst of kineticism: Jesse looks offscreen right, then Bob looks offscreen right, then the bank tellers point their guns to the right; a gang member turns to the left and shoots, then another gang member shoots to the left. The return to the establishing shot completes the editing pattern that doubles the first segment of the scene and finally clarifies the escape of the James Gang.

      James Ireland as Bob Ford (left) in a publicity still from the opening scene of I Shot Jesse James. Much of the scene is organized through eyeline matches—juxtaposing shots of characters’ glances with shots of what the characters are looking at. Photofest

      The piecemeal construction of space, development of eyeline matches, contrast between stasis and motion, and rhythmic and graphic editing patterns utilized in this scene are early examples of some of Fuller’s favorite stylistic techniques, designed to emphasize conflict and motion within the frame. These same techniques are also brought to bear on the film’s closing scene, the final confrontation between Bob Ford and the marshal. Shot in depth and largely in darkness, the scene begins with an extended sequence that intercuts (A) a deep-space shot of the marshal, static in the foreground, first facing Bob, then turned away, and (B) a medium shot of Bob, advancing on the marshal with a drawn gun from the background, producing an editing pattern of ABABABABABA. In a reversal of the prototypical western showdown, the tension in the scene hinges on the marshal’s refusal to fight; by turning away from Bob, he dares him to again shoot a man in the back. Similar to the strategy he used in the second segment of the opening scene, Fuller extends the situation through repeated cuts back and forth between the depth shot of the marshal on the street and Bob, contrasting the marshal’s stasis in the frame with Bob’s advance into the foreground, causing the latter to loom ever larger in the frame. Here, however, the depth staging, chiaroscuro lighting, and violent yelling of Bob Ford create a darker, more chaotic feel. The staging of this sequence presages the showdowns at the end of Forty Guns and Dead Pigeon on Beethoven Street, each utilizing rhythmic and graphic editing patterns and contrast between stasis and movement to heighten the scene’s dynamism and suspense.

      The response to I Shot Jesse James exceeded Fuller’s and Lippert’s expectations, launching the film into top first-run houses, where it played steadily as the headliner from February through May of 1949 before moving to neighborhood theaters.¹⁶ Variety accurately noted, “Physical values are about usual level of Screen Guild releases, giving it the dressing for top playing time in houses buying sturdy action product.”¹⁷ In April the film debuted at the Palace in New York City, a 1,700-seat, first-run Broadway theater, a first for a Lippert picture. By August, Lippert estimated grosses for the film at an exceptionally high $800,000, although actual returns were probably lower. Regardless, I Shot Jesse James established Fuller as a director of offbeat action fare and gave Lippert the confidence to entrust an even larger budget to Fuller’s next picture.

      The Baron of Arizona reveals both Lippert’s and Fuller’s increased ambitions. Lippert’s announcement of its 1949–1950 slate in Variety signaled its desire to move into more “epic” productions, as it planned three top-budget films, several intermediate and medium-priced pictures, as well as its usual budget westerns. Early trade notices placed The Baron of Arizona in Lippert’s top tier with a projected cost of $300,000, enabling Fuller to mount a historical costume picture with an extended shooting schedule, a ninety-minute running time, and increased production values.¹⁸ Fuller’s real coup was in attracting the services of legendary cinematographer James Wong Howe (Air Force [1943], Body and Soul [1947]), who agreed to work for a fraction of his regular fee. Again produced by Hittleman, the film is loosely based on the true story of James Addison Reavis, who planned an elaborate swindle in the 1870s to claim the territory of Arizona using a forged Spanish land grant. The Baron of Arizona introduces motifs and themes that will become characteristic of Fuller’s work, while its visual style features a richness and complexity only intermittently apparent in I Shot Jesse James.

      The Baron of Arizona begins in 1912, as a group of tuxedoed dignitaries are toasting the admission of Arizona into the Union. One man, later revealed to be John Griff (Reed Hadley), a forgery expert, offers a toast to Reavis (Vincent Price), who recently celebrated his thirtieth wedding anniversary. Griff then begins to tell Reavis’s tale, prompting a flashback to 1872, when Reavis arrives outside Phoenix at the house of an adolescent girl named Sophia. Reavis tells her guardian, Alvarez (Vladimir Sokoloff), that Sophia’s real name is Peralta, and a Spanish land grant reveals she is the heir to the first baron of Arizona. Reavis summarily joins the makeshift family, molding Sophia into a young baroness and creating the physical evidence of her ancestors’ existence in Arizona. Despite Sophia’s reluctance to part with him, Reavis sails to Spain, where he spends several years disguised first as a monk and then as a gypsy in order to modify all the copies of the actual Spanish land grant. By the time he returns, Sophia has grown into a young woman (Ellen Drew), and the two marry, thereby giving Reavis complete control over her ancestral estate.

      The second half of the film concerns Reavis’s attempts to defend Sophia’s claim and develop their land, while the federal government and local landowners contest his control. Griff arrives to lead the government’s investigation and put Reavis on trial, and Reavis, suddenly guilt-stricken, confesses his forgery to Sophia. Sophia stands by Reavis when he gives himself up to Griff, and he explains that his love for his wife is what made him confess. The film comes to a climax as an angry mob attempts to lynch Reavis. With the noose around his neck, Reavis convinces the mob that he must testify in court in order to ensure their land rights, and a newspaper insert announces