If you had told me that John Travolta would comeback from his recent Academy Award persona butchery (2014’s “Adele Dazeem”, 2015’s repulsively awkward Scar-Jo sneak-a-kiss) by playing a sand-blasted moral compass in a Ti West Western (a Western, it must be noted, that is of the genre through and through, absent of the horror flair that has, up to this point, characterized the filmmaker’s oeuvre), I woulda spit my cud. But Travolta is as present for In a Valley of Violence as it is a corn-fed, all-American, organically certified Western. Consider my head scratched.

First of all, Ti West doesn’t work with known entities. Sure, he recruited Joe Swanberg, AJ Bowen and Gene Jones for The Sacrament but anyone outside the deep bowels of the film community wouldn’t be able to tell you who those guys were. The fact that he scooped up Ethan Hawke for the lead role for In a Valley of Violence is impressive enough, but Hawke’s been known to “slum it” in the indie film community more often than naught. John Travolta is a different story entirely. An A-lister – past his prime or not – who rarely even flirts with films beyond the borders of the studio system. No matter which way you slice, it is an impressive get for a definitively filmmaker’s filmmaker and Travolta proves that when he’s not just hunting like a socially inept truffle pig for the next paycheck, he can actually still put in top-notch work.

More importantly, Ti West, until Valley of Violence, has worked exclusively within the constraints of the horror genre. He’s experimented with different stylistic approaches – using models of classical ghost stories, slow-broiling Satanic thrillers and found footage suicide cult heart-stoppers – but everything he’s offered up to this point has been squarely set within the raggedy confines of the horror genre. And let me assure you now, In a Valley of Violence lacks even a lick of horror, a whiff of scares or a ladle of nightmares. Sand and gunslingers, not sandmen and devil worshippers lay here. Those expecting Bone Tomahawk, a formidable crossbreed phenom, will find themselves letdown by the absence of a pivot. So be warned – there is not one.

With that out of the way, I’ll allow the recalibration to sit in for a moment so we can move on to what the movie is, rather than what it’s not. Playing an archetype that’s deceptively familiar – and disappointingly remains such throughout – Hawke is West’s strong, silent type; the morally dubious man fleeing from his sins on horseback. Accompanying him as a reliable pooch with a saddle full of tricks, the only living creature with whom Hawke’s Paul shows any affection towards. Paul rides into a new town to stock up on provisions, but not before being warned by a drunken priest (Burn Gorman in a role with diminishing narrative return) that over the hills lies a land where the unscrupulous gather. Hence its not-so-forgiving nickname, The Valley of Violence.

Following an unprovoked bout with hotheaded provocateur Gilly (James Ransone), who just so happens to be the son of the local Marshall (Travolta), Paul discovers himself enrapt in a dustbowl John Wick scenario that leaves him half-dead and down a dog. He’s hotter than a steaming bowl of queso for vengeance of the slit throat variety and Gilly’s headstrong sister-in-law (Taissa Farmiga) is ready to aid in the downfall of her uppity sister’s (Karen Gillian) knuckle-headed hubby wherever needed. The plot sounds derivative – of John Ford and loads of lesser spaghetti western – as is the scenery on display – the set is literal that of the remake of 3:10 to Yuma with a fresh coat of paint slapped on; with the cinematography taking on a strangely second-rate quality, devoid of the painterly landscapes of great past Wild Wild West pictures – and unfortunately remains so throughout.

But even with a familiar script, West can plot enticing sequences and cut them with bone dry humor. It is here that he finds wind gathering beneath his sails. And with such hefty star power intact, the characters take on more depth than perhaps their writing deserved. Shame that West would allow it all to basically unwind with unfocused editing and a third act that slips into dragging its cowboy boots even while remaining fitfully exhilarating with the one-off spurt of viscus and some perhaps brilliant late stage character decisions. Nonetheless, the tracks end mid-desert, leaving us to ponder why this was ever made it in first place.

CONCLUSION: Inlaid with rich gallows humor and one or two spine-chilling tête-à-têtes, the appeal of Ti West’s ‘In a Valley of Violence’ is evident if the execution just isn’t quite up to par. Narratively derivative and lacking a strong command of mood and pacing, West’s Western experiment is best thought of as just that, an experiment. With it out of his system, hopefully the hor-tuer will move back into the world of slow burn indie horror as soon as possible.