Hud

At one hour and twenty-six minutes, surveying his cattle pit from the saddle, his mare quiet, his jaw set and impassive but his eyes grieving, Melvyn Douglas watches the literal and symbolic extermination of his way of life. It's an unforgettable scene in a moving elegy, where the smoke rising from the bodies of executed cows obscures the man's memory of his land, burying his place in it, his purpose, as the profit and loss of possibility stands before him like a blank, glaring nothing. And I couldn't find a picture of it, so here's Homer and Hud leaning on a fence, lookin' all handy:

Lon: "That didn't take long."
Homer: "It don't take long to kill a thing."