1830's America. A pair of grizzled frontiersmen do battle with injuns, drink liquor and keep straight faces despite delivering lines about the valley being full of beaver.
Films like this one rise and fall on the ego of their star. The bigger the ego, the worse the film, as the scenery, the concept and everything else is forgotten as the opportunity to spend even more time than usual in front of the camera takes centre stage. This wilderness epic is one of the worst, thanks to the monumental attempts by Heston, despite the distractions of his beard and fur-outfit, to dominate the screen.
The plot is mundane, the script is foul-mouthed but lethargic and the acting is never thoughtful. One of the reasons why Heston gave up the movie business.
A flabby and meaningless meander into America's ample heart.