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The Mexican village of Ixcatlan is at the mercy of a bandit, Calvera, whose recurrent inroads strip the peasants of the fruits of their labours. In desperation they hire seven American gunmen, recruited by Chris Adams, for protection. The villagers are trained for combat, a trap is laid for Calvera and his gang, and the strategy is partially successful. Several of Calvera's men are slain, but Calvera himself manages not only to escape to the hills with the rest of his band but succeeds in subsequently outmanoeuvring and capturing the Americans while regaining control of the district. Regarding the gunmen as outlaw like himself, Calvera spares them and has them escorted out of the village. The seven heroes, however, come to realise that victory over Calvera is no longer a simple professional matter, but one of principle, of affection and loyalty towards the villagers. They return and, at cost to several of their number, lead the villagers to victory. Chris and Vin, his first recruit, ride off; Chico, the youngest recruit and a farmer at heart, remains to settle down and marry.

Since Kurosawa's debt to John Ford and the Hollywood Western has often seemed implicit, it is ironic that one of his most characteristic films should have adapted with something less than ease to a Western setting. Kurosawa gave a good deal of thought to the backgrounds and motivations of his Seven Samurai; whereas in William Roberts' ingenious adaptation the seven gunmen, true to Western tradition, seem virtually to appear out of the blue. Furthermore they turn idealist on impulse rather than for money, and subsequently give every impression of men just hanging around and waiting for the selfless nobility of their new position to rub off on their souls. In view of a certain growing lack of appreciation of their presence among the villagers, the gunslingers' self-sacrifice becomes as hard to believe in as their sudden willingness to enlarge to a maudlin degree on such topics as fear, courage and the hazards of their profession.

The Magnificent Seven, in fact, marks a return to that hazardous dichotomy of the traditional and the anti-romantic, initiated over ten years ago by The Gunfighter. The split conception remains something of a left-handed compliment to a setting which is perfectly capable in itself of throwing moral values into immediate relief. Here, the validity of the philosophical Western is put in further doubt by the curious casting of Yul Brynner, albeit at his competent best, as the leading gunfighter; and another European, Horst Buchholz, equally competent if over-excited, as the Mexican Indian whose highly moral decision to stay put and grow roots stands out as the film's most completely unbelievable contrivance.

Despite these failures of conception, however, and notwithstanding some crisply laundered, well-spoken villagers and a tendency towards the balletic in the groupings and the final showdown, the film manages to be both impressive and likeable. John Sturges has directed for the most part firmly, with a keen eye for excitement - in an introductory graveyard sequence - and pictorial enchantment; Charles Lang's Eastman Colour photography is good, Elmer Bernstein's score has flavour, and the supporting performances are of an unusually high standard. Particularly notable are Charles Bronson as the Neolithic-looking strong man with tender paternal instincts, James Coburn as the tensely commanding knife expert, Steve McQueen as the most relaxed of the group, and Robert Vaughn as the one whose black gloves and nightmares serve as a constant reminder that The Magnificent Seven, unlike The Seven Samurai, is also and perhaps sadly a Freudian Western.

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