"High Noon" Review: McCarthy-Era Commentary Is More Relevant Than Ever

In light of recent events, Fred Zinnemann's iconic western is worth revisiting.

January 28, 2025

Critics are supposed to be objective. If one projects themselves onto something, their evaluation becomes meaningless. People read to learn about something, not the person describing it.

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Art is where this idea becomes fluid. The perceptible will, by definition, get perceived, and even the most unbiased observer cannot separate themselves from their observations. If one balances objectivity with perspective, one can enlighten.

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Of course, no one should presume themselves capable of bestowing enlightenment, so this is a means of excusing bias before analyzing Fred Zinnemann’s western classic, High Noon.

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Two years ago, this writer lived with a textbook narcissist: predatory, self-absorbed, internally fractured, averse to accountability, impervious to sincerity, and devoid of conscience. Anyone who got harmed for his self-aggrandizement suffered for a worthy cause.

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One night, after multiple prior suspicious incidents, including pressuring my friend into drinking alcohol she expressly stated she didn’t want, I witnessed him escort a highly intoxicated woman outside for a private conversation. Approximately 10 minutes later, he brought her back inside. Concerned, I monitored him closely. Later, he took her outside to converse again. To overhear the conversation, I went outside and roped around the side of the apartment complex, but unfortunately, I could not overhear. I went back inside and waited.

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Soon after, he returned and demanded that everyone leave the apartment, claiming he had an early-morning work meeting and needed to sleep immediately. Certain this was a ruse, I went outside while a mutual friend excoriated him for kicking everyone out so abruptly. I suspected that my housemate was not going to sleep and had convinced our drunken acquaintance to rendezvous with him at her housing unit. I hoped to catch our mutual friend on his way out of the apartment so I'd have a witness.

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The mutual friend left the apartment, and I intercepted him. Soon, my housemate left the apartment with his backpack, claiming he was going on a “midnight walk.” Anticipating our mutual acquaintance, who’d driven the other party guests back to their units (a deeply unwise but all too common occurrence in this environment), would soon reappear, I stalled.

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Unfortunately, the mutual friend tried to usher me to his place so we could talk about my plight living with the narcissist, and I panicked. If we weren’t there to intercept the drunk woman, something horrible was likely to happen. Thankfully, as we (comically slowly, in the hopes I could buy more time) made our way to his apartment, her car came up the pathway. Amazingly, my housemate had returned at that exact moment from his "midnight walk."

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When I entered her car, I saw a text from him on her home screen, and he was now calling her. I asked if he was attempting to hook up, and she said she likely gave him the wrong impression. I informed her that, as she was intoxicated, she was incapable of giving anyone any impression. We embarked on the 20-second journey to the mutual friend’s place by car. My housemate appeared about 20 seconds after us, having sprinted. He looked terrified. I played it cool, satisfied that I’d subverted his predations.

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Even after he kicked me out, thanks to our relationship deteriorating, something nagged at me. I wanted to have fun and enjoy my time with a new group in a fantastic new living situation, but I couldn’t shake that a predator was a mile away. After learning from another mutual acquaintance that the woman expressed feeling taken advantage of by my former housemate and that he’d expressed interest in an underage girl who worked nearby, I had to act.

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The specifics of what I did are unimportant, but suffice it to say I dropped a bomb. For this review, the important part of my story is that I did it alone.

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Okay, that’s not entirely true. My friend contributed her account of when he pressured her to drink with the guarantee of anonymity. Alas, the general idea was that going after this guy, someone inexplicably beloved who had somehow earned everyone's loyalty and devotion, whose bond with said people superseded my own, and who was engaging in conduct society had made clear it had no issue overlooking, was going to cost me.

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I’d left home to start over, and I was succeeding. I’d cultivated a positive reputation rooted in empathy, compassion, consideration, and a penchant for throwing a mean (and safe) party. I knew that by tackling this, I was risking that. People never see the person handling an issue as the good guy; they’re rocking the boat, poisoning the well, creating “drama.” All was well so long as everyone looked away. I was hoping I’d have support, but when the time came, the people who were “friends” to us both chose him outright or tried to ride the middle, not in a matter of perspective or a “he said/he said,” but one of right and wrong.

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Losing so much of what I valued in one fell swoop, even if I anticipated it to some extent, was not fun. It’s one thing to hear about that stuff on the news or know it happens; experiencing it for yourself is another matter entirely. My faith in people was shattered.

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Truthfully, High Noon is the prototypical Zinnemann film. It’s not technically ambitious and lacks flair. One could argue that its simplicity lets its message speak for itself. After all, many directors overstuff their films and muddy the thematic waters, creating a black hole that sucks all the meaning into it and leaves behind only the gimmicks. Unfortunately, Zinnemann sometimes struggled to balance inherent quality and cinematic drama. You can restrain and refine without sifting out the good stuff; in this respect, he was hit-or-miss.

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Still, High Noon is a simple story well told. Gary Cooper, far removed from heartthrob status by 1952, brings a nuanced blend of shocked morality and resigned indifference. The emotional process is easy to imagine: when we try to do the right thing, in this case, spare the town from a convicted murderer, we always hope that others will take up arms with us. But deep down, we know people are only as noble as their options. As Marshal Kane seeks deputies to help him repel Frank White and his gang of criminals, he walks into each room optimistically. Cooper wisely refrains from overacting any indignance born from their cowardice or refusal.

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Within that restraint, there’s the nuance to make High Noon shine when its other components miss the mark. Grace Kelly is flat as new bride Amy, a Quaker sickened by her husband’s decision to meet White’s return on the noon train with violence. The dynamic between Kane and former flame Helen Ramirez overflows with potential, and the two have far more chemistry than he and Amy. Sadly, Zinnemann doesn't explore it, leaving the stakes of Kane’s decisions in the hands of his banal relationship with the Quaker.

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Regardless, there’s a quiet but palpable drama in High Noon, one Zinnemann was an expert at bringing to the screen. It doesn't come from gunshots or melodramatic conversations or the breathtaking black-and-white cinematography. It comes from an inherent humanity he brought to his films that strikes at who we are and how much of ourselves we can find in his subjects.

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Sure, one could reasonably argue that’s a copout, and this blog has many reviews criticizing other directors for demanding so much from their audience. The difference here is that Zinnemann doesn't employ any gimmicks and play them off as something thematic. He’s doing as he always did: trusting that strong writing, a commanding central performance, and a deft hand are enough to make a movie hit home.

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It may not be as actively engaging as it could be, and there’s no denying its director wasn’t as skilled in that respect. Regardless, High Noon remains a film worth watching because it absorbs those who can relate to it the most.

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Is this to say I have the courage of Will Kane? Absolutely not. But what I can say is that I relate wholly to that final moment, after he’s killed the criminals and saved the town, where he takes off his badge and throws it to the ground. You must never allow others to stifle your virtue but move on once you’ve done your duty. We preach forgiveness and understanding, but screenwriter Carl Foreman’s most vital lesson gets imparted in that moment, where Hollywood acknowledges that instead of some syrupy notion of overlooking others’ flaws, we accept that not all deserve forgiveness. Some things are too important.

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In 1952, that was not backing down to McCarthy and his ilk as they baselessly persecuted countless people as part of the Red Scare. In 2022, it was refusing to ignore predation simply because it was more convenient for everyone. Movies work best when they truly mean something: not when they try to fake meaning or exploit abstraction to appear profound, but genuinely mean something that hits at what it means to be human. High Noon, though flawed, means something and reminds us that objectivity is overrated. It has its value, but art should speak to people on a deeper, more personal level in moments like these. Considering everything going on in the US, and thus the world, we need films like High Noon more than ever.