Southwestern Gothic

"This town has good and bad people," says Florence. "But, for a place so economically depressed, it's a family. When somebody dies, others raise money for the family. You lose a member of the community, it's like losing a member of your own family. It's become a bedroom community. What that means is people live here and work elsewhere.

"We have our crime, but I'm not afraid to walk down Main Street at 4 a.m. I don't mind the movie. It's just a fairy tale, and not a very good fairy tale, either."

It's a Friday night, and the bar is fairly busy. But, although I stay until closing time, I don't meet anybody else who's seen the movie. There isn't a theater in town, and most say they won't make the trip into the Valley. They'll just wait until the video comes out. Nearly everybody was excited by the presence of the filmmakers, but not many are too concerned about the end result.

If Oliver Stone had wanted to make a better movie than the one he made, he should have made one about the real Superior. When Los Hermanos closes and I head back toward Phoenix, slowly, to avoid becoming another cross by the roadside, I know the movie got one thing half-right: Superior is a hard place to leave, but only because you don't want to.

Contact Barry Graham at his online address: bgraham@newtimes.com