Only slightly disguised by Paramount's brighteyed little idea men, "California" members to fool Western fans for about thirty seconds before it crupts into a Fitzpatrick Travelogue neatly tucked into the same old roasted saddlebag that serves as standard fare in all horse operas.

Hampered by the absence of new ideas, the success of current Westerns can only be judged on the basis of actor appeal, the magnitude of the technicolor spectacle, number of hoof-beats per square actor. "California" fails miserably on the first two counts and barely comes within minimum standards on the last. Where the hero generally carries the plot on his godlike shoulders and livens the dialogue with sardonic humor, a miscast Ray Milland almost appears to be a slightly paunchy heel.

Unlike most technicolor sagas where producers can count on beautiful seenic photography to fill in any rough spots in the script, the color of "California" is as best mediocre. It seems to be over exposed and fuzzy for the most part with the best shots losing their effect in a painful Chamber of Commerce tour through the state.

The only refreshing notes are the excellence of Barbara stanwyck, perfectly cast as a questionable woman, the wonderful Irish brogue of Barry Fitzgerald, and the ceric perfection of a knife fight. By warping the conventional meat and potatoes script. Paramount has succeeded only in weakening Ray Milland's excellent reputation and in alienating what Western lovers it still has left.