What’s ostensibly a Western driven by the remedying of an injustice, Unforgiven is really an exploration into how perceived identity defines value, whether it centers on William Munny (Clint Eastwood), a “known thief and murderer, a man of notoriously vicious and intemperate disposition,” who was cured of “drinking and wickedness” by his deceased wife, or whether the focus is Delilah and her fellow prostitutes who may be “nothing but whores, but by God, [they] ain’t horses.”
As Unforgiven opens, the audience sees two people having sex but hears high-pitched screams between perfunctory groans. The copulating couple leap from the bed and enter a room where a man stands above Delilah, slashing her face with a knife on account of her giggling over his “teensy little pecker.” While the man justifies the attack as retribution for his emasculation, his violence is warranted by her occupation that renders her as a piece of “property,” which is further supported when Skinny, the brothel operator, explains to Little Bill Daggett (Gene Hackman) that he “brought her in from Boston, paid her expenses and [has] a contract that represents an investment of capital.”
Therefore, Little Bill’s decree that the attacker receive a “whipping” is unacceptable – not because the punishment doesn’t fit the crime but because Skinny feels that he is now in possession of “damaged property,” which impedes his revenue in that “no one will want to fuck her now.” Essentially, Delilah’s occupation not only devalues the violence she endures but also shifts the repercussions of the attack onto the brothel owner, leaving her as a broken piece of furniture rather than an afflicted party.
An element of humanity enters this predicament when the attacker’s buddy offers a “pony” as a gift to Delilah in order to atone by proxy for the attack. While this is slightly endearing and shows a half-ounce of humanity mixed with a quarter-ounce of chivalry, the gift is a “pony,” not a horse and has little trade value on the market. Moreover, Delilah and her co-workers reject the pony, asserting “She ain’t got no face left and you’re going to give her a mangy pony?!”
What’s telling here is not so much that they are taking a step towards a feminist movement, but more so that they are firmly establishing that Delilah’s humanity and commercial products are not fungible; there is no way to equally trade aesthetics, self-esteem and livelihood (Delilah’s) for temporal currency (the sale of the pony).
In addition, Delilah’s narrative mirror’s Munny’s. When we first meet Munny, he and his children are wrestling corralled pigs, trying to feed them, and getting covered in slop. This is when he meets the Schofield Kid, a young man looking to claim the thousand-dollar bounty put on Delilah’s attacker. Approaching on horseback, Schofield looks at Munny and mocks him, wondering what happened to the “son-of-a-bitch, cold-blooded assassin” that used to be Munny. Despite Munny’s currently sedate life and his character transformation through marriage and fatherhood, his reputation still precedes him, obfuscating the reality of his situation and giving the Kid hope that he will have a partner.
What’s also interesting is that “Schofield” is not a family name, but one that has been lifted from his “Schofield-model Smith and Wesson” revolver, further connecting identity with value. Using the name of the most popular gun from that era, the Kid has established a reputation that citizens would connect with quality, marksmanship, and danger. These three connotations soon supersedes any of the Kid’s ability in that he is nearly blind and can’t see more than thirty yards, and he’s never killed anyone, despite his insistence that he’s killed “dozens.”
Munny’s reluctance to collect this bounty soon fades when he hears about the crime and decides to seek retribution for Delilah. What’s additionally telling is when he recruits Ned (Morgan Freeman) to be a third party and pitches the venture by stating, “they cut up a woman”; while these are the facts, Munny is the only one not to use “whore” or another synonym for prostitute, establishing his change in character and also supplying a motive for wanting to seek retribution. It’s not the money – and he never collects it – rather, his decision is based on principle, and what appears to be in honor of his late wife, who showed him how to give up “wickedness.”
While the bloodbath at the end of Unforgiven showcases Munny’s ability to be a murderer and assassin, his actions also expose the weaknesses of Little Bill and his supporters inasmuch as Munny is able to stand amidst five shotgun-toting men and survive because their fear impedes their ability to kill a man, something they’ve all touted as an skill, but this is merely an illusion constructed by the fact that they are the only six men (including Little Bill) who are allowed to carry firearms within the perimeter of Big Whiskey. In other words, their identity is illusory, and their value as both protectors of Bill and enforcers of his laws connected to this identity are also diminished.
In the end, Unforgiven teaches us a few things: the power exhibited in the imagery of “the gun” is meaningless if there is no power in the self. Secondly, regardless of our actions, we only go so far as our reputations can carry us, regardless of our actions that might dispel them.
