For a so-called “revisionist western,” this one still feels a bit conflicted. A Man Named Horse wants to show cultural respect, but it never fully escapes the sense of an outsider looking in. Richard Harris throws himself into the role of an English aristocrat captured by a Sioux tribe, slowly earning his place among them. It walks a fine line between sincerity and spectacle.
The rituals are filmed with care, and there’s genuine effort to portray something deeper than the usual cowboy clichés. Still, it feels slightly exploitative — maybe because there’s no real acknowledgment or thanks to the Sioux nation for what the film takes from their culture. The intentions are good, even if the execution wobbles.
I came across it thanks to Quentin Tarantino’s recommendation, and I’m glad I did. Fascinating, flawed, and very much of its time — a western trying, and only half succeeding, to grow up.