A useful fusion of the two finest films on the Earp-Clanton feud, John Sturges's Gunfight at the O.K. Corral and -- fancy that -- John Sturges's Hour of the Gun. (The most simple measure of the fusion is that the titular gunfight in the first one comes at the very end, and the rest of the movie is buildup; in the second one the gunfight comes at the very outset, and the rest of the movie is aftermath; in the present one it comes just past the halfway point, with roughly equal parts buildup and aftermath.) That Tombstone is fundamentally a remake of a remake of a remake, etc., with plenty of recognizable markers along the way (Boot Hill, Doc Holliday's consumptive cough, Wyatt Earp's Cyrano-nosed Buntline Special), only underscores the pattern and ritual of the Western form. From the start, the movie shows an appreciation of its place in the scheme of things: the expository prologue in black-and-white, narrated by that old cowhand Robert Mitchum, blends scratchy pseudo-newsreel footage (doctored images from the movie to come) together with clips from Edwin S. Porter's granddaddy Western, The Great Train Robbery, and in so doing it creates an inextricable, and quite proper, mix of fact and fiction, Old West history and Hollywood history. In the broadest view, another account of this particular legend may look less imaginative than a purely fictional and original work, but a closer inspection will find multiple cracks and crevices, gorges and gullies, of imagination within it. Kurt Russell handles his duties as Wyatt Earp with total command and conviction; and Val Kilmer's Doc Holliday, with the degeneracy of the character veiled behind a foppish façade of Southern-gent dialect, cultivation, and wit, is remindful of Brando's complete overhaul of Fletcher Christian in Mutiny on the Bounty. The costumes -- the Mexican-vaquero motif of the outlaws, the country-parson motif of the Earps -- are marvelous. The photography by William Fraker, doubling as Associate Producer, is warm, rich, burnished. And the screenplay by Kevin Jarre serves up some delectable American language: "I'm your huckleberry" and "You're an oak" and "Skin that smoke wagon" and on and on. With Dana Delany, Michael Biehn, Bill Paxton, Sam Elliott, Stephen Lang, Powers Boothe; directed by George P. Cosmatos. (1993) — Duncan Shepherd