Top 50 of 1950s June 30, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1950s , 8 comments
It’s that time again, as the Criterion forum’s Lists Project focuses on the decade of the 1950s. As described in my list for the previous decade (here), a master list of 100 films is calculated from participating members’ individual 50 film lists. I probably take this whole thing way too seriously as I try to meticulously fill in the gaps of what I’ve seen and re-watch things where it’s been a couple of years since my last viewing. I’m not reluctant to include the films frequently honored in these type of lists, as long as I think something deserves to be there, but reputation alone isn’t going to be enough. Looking back at my list, it becomes a little too obvious the kind of film I like and a few directors (Wilder, Ray, Mann, Hitchcock) are particularly well-represented. This decade, while not as consistent as the forties in my mind, had more really good and great films than the previous one. As I said the last time around though, I’m content with the final flims included and their rankings. I’ve commented briefly on each choice and included links to pieces I’ve previously written where available.
1.) Rear Window (Hitchcock, 1954) - For me, the most fascinating film ever made. A helpless, wheelchair-bound photographer can’t help spying on his neighbors after weeks of being confined to his New York City apartment. It’s a cracking suspense film, up there with Hitchcock’s (and thus anyone else’s) best, but the really interesting parts are Jimmy Stewart’s portrayal of L.B. Jefferies, his relationship with Grace Kelly’s character, and, of course, the voyeuristic element. Writers tend to psychoanalyze Stewart’s Vertigo character ad nauseam, but Jefferies here becomes equally unraveled. Even though his suspicions ultimately prove accurate in Rear Window, his methods are still unhealthy, intrusive and creepy at best, disturbing at worst. Also, notice how little Stewart pays attention to Kelly and how their relationship suddenly becomes warmer when he tells her he thinks one of the neighbors he’s been spying on has killed his wife. Finally, the multiple levels of watching (Stewart on his neighbors, the viewer on Stewart, and, in a sense, Hitchcock on everyone) really showcase a master director at the very top of his game. I think my favorite scene is when Stewart is looking through his lens at Raymond Burr while Kelly is being escorted from Burr’s apartment by the police and suddenly Burr turns to look at Stewart, the camera, and the audience. It always makes me feel quite uncomfortable, like I’ve been caught watching something I shouldn’t have been.
2.) Sunset Blvd. (Wilder, 1950) - Somehow Gloria Swanson is Norma Desmond. It’s difficult to think of another actor so associated with just one role. Even though she was Oscar-nominated twice before (in 1929 and 1930), Swanson has become Norma in most of our hearts. Wilder’s scathing look at the devouring nature of Hollywood is still unsurpassed in its depiction of the insanity of the movie industry. It’s no accident that, fifty-one years later, David Lynch used another famous Hollywood road for the title of his look at the destructive side of Hollywood with Mulholland Dr.
3.) In a Lonely Place (Ray, 1950) - I wrote a lot about this one already so I don’t want to drone on, but I can’t think of another film in any language or decade that inspires the level of heartache found in Ray’s masterpiece.
4.) Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958) - I like Rear Window better, but Vertigo (which ranked first in the last Lists Project go-around) may be the better film. Regardless, it’s difficult to argue with either’s place in cinematic history. Combined with the Capra and Mann films, shouldn’t these two make Jimmy Stewart the consensus top Hollywood movie star of all time? Really, who else could have pulled off so many variations and downright shake-ups of an image while maintaining their strong popularity. Vertigo, like Citizen Kane, can be watched literally dozens if not hundreds of times without becoming tiresome. It’s that layered and endlessly fascinating while somehow still being fun and entertaining.
5.) The 400 Blows (Truffaut, 1959) - Aside from Citizen Kane, this could be the greatest debut film in the history of cinema. Antoine Doinel is a remarkable character - a tad precocious, a little bratty, but ultimately a kid looking for escape. Like Welles, Truffaut probably never made anything else as perfect as his first feature. Certainly the other Doinel feature films didn’t approach the first’s brilliance and left many people disappointed. I like them all to varying degrees but The 400 Blows is in a class by itself.
6.) Ace in the Hole (Wilder, 1951) - Wilder’s long-neglected masterpiece of unbridled cynicism is as unrelenting as anything from the decade. Its power continues to increase as the pull of the media strengthens and the masses continue to give society a bad name.
7.) A Face in the Crowd (Kazan, 1957) - A perfect companion piece to Ace in the Hole, Kazan’s film outdoes Network by twenty years and still plays like a punch to the gut of all those talking head followers. Andy Griffith is remarkable and his television show persona might look just a little creepier after watching this.
8.) Diary of a Country Priest (Bresson, 1951) - A fascinating, moving look into faith, religion and the human struggle of balancing both with our own individual needs. Like Ordet, it doesn’t try to provide answers so much as encourage introspection. For Bresson, it was a leap forward from Les Dames du Bois de Boulogne stylistically and the first of his films to use his trademark “models,” or non-professional actors.
9.) Singin’ in the Rain (Donen & Kelly, 1952) - The musical for people who hate musicals. The glorious Technicolor, the transition from silents to talkies and Jean Hagen are all icing on Gene Kelly’s cake. There just aren’t very many scenes in film as magical as Kelly’s performance of the title song.
10.) Seven Samurai (Kurosawa, 1954) - It’s amazing to see the enduring popularity of Kurosawa’s film when you take into consideration everything it seemingly has going against it. Shot in academy ratio black-and-white, the film is nearly 3 1/2 hours in length and, of course, in Japanese. Yet, generations now have been introduced to Kurosawa, Toshiro Mifune, Japanese filmmaking and even international cinema through this film. It makes for a wonderful entry point and remains a resoundingly entertaining epic.
11.) Some Like It Hot (Wilder, 1959) - Hilarious, daring, and fun, Wilder’s first collaboration with Jack Lemmon proved to be a winning effort. I’m still amazed how the scene between Tony Curtis (doing his best Cary Grant) and Marilyn on the yacht made it past the censors.
12.) Nights of Cabiria (Fellini, 1957) - I’m not sure how I find Giulietta Masina here so poignant and heartbreaking, but kind of annoying in La Strada. Her Cabiria is truly one of the most memorable, devastating characters in Italian film.
13.) North by Northwest (Hitchcock, 1959) - Endlessly watchable, Hitchcock’s frequent theme of mistaken identity was never played for as much pure entertainment as it was here. Cary Grant’s likeable screen persona goes a long way. When people opine that they don’t make ‘em like they used to, this is the kind of movie they’re talking about.
14.) Paths of Glory (Kubrick, 1957) - Impressive for its restraint, the film that really made a young Stanley Kubrick’s career has aged incredibly well. Sadly, it will remain timeless as long as powerful, insulated men send young, vulnerable soldiers to their deaths.
15.) The Big Heat (Lang, 1953) - Lang’s violent and sexy look at vengeance remains a potent noir.
16.) Johnny Guitar (Ray, 1954) - What kind of western has a supposedly tough outlaw named “The Dancing Kid?” Maybe one that’s not a western at all. Whatever Nicholas Ray’s genre-exploding film is, it’s bizarrely incredible. Joan Crawford essentially playing a stereotypically male character and Sterling Hayden as a former outlaw now reduced to a guitar instead of a gun. Throw in Mercedes McCambridge (also in a masculine role) and the ubiquitous Ernest Borgnine and you’ve got a truly odd Western mash-up. These characters’ relationships are remarkably complex and fly in the face of the genre’s expectations. Ray’s use of color is but one of the many unexpected aspects found in the film. Make sure to pay attention to the colors of Crawford’s dresses as the film progresses.
17.) Mon Oncle (Tati, 1958) - I like to laugh, it’s just that my sense of humor doesn’t necessarily mesh with the general public. Thankfully, Jacques Tati shared the Chaplin slapstick combined with topical questioning of technology that I find appealing. Does that make it a mixture of lowbrow and highbrow or is it even worth trying to characterize? Either way, it’s satire with physical comedy and without the pretentiousness.
18.) Kiss Me Deadly (Aldrich, 1955) - One of the finest noirs of the decade, Aldrich and Ralph Meeker give us the uncaring, callous Mike Hammer and a mysterious glowing briefcase. A great effort from one of the more underrated American filmmakers.
19.) The Searchers (Ford, 1956) - I’m always going to have a few problems with it, but Ford’s film has justly risen to the top echelon of the American western. Endlessly debateable, the racial undercurrent is stronger here than in any other American film I can think of, impressively doing so without hitting the audience over the head with clear-cut answers. We’ll never know exactly what John Wayne was thinking while playing Ethan Edwards, but we’ll keep on watching as we try to get closer to both the character and the myth of his portrayer.
20.) Winchester ‘73 (Mann, 1950) - First Mann-Stewart teaming and arguably the best. A great collection of actors, mingling together while the determined Stewart stays on the trail of a mysterious man from his past. This film, along with the other four director-star teamings, makes so many other Westerns before and after it look corny and fake.
Collection as Non-essential Uselessness June 27, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : General Film , 10 commentsSo why do DVD collectors repeatedly buy shiny discs when they already own hundreds of other shiny discs, many of which they still haven’t christened in their shiny disc player? This is the very question I’m trying to come to terms with, and one which I’ve noticed I’m not alone in being perplexed about. I frequent DVD forums and review sites and often I read about others who have a large number of “unwatched” discs. I tend to not participate in such discussions, partly for fear that these people are dealing with small potatoes in comparison to my own unruly pile of yet-to-be-spun discs.
Here’s some background: the geeky spreadsheet I maintain indicates I have 766 different films on DVD. Of those, I have never watched 308 in their digital format which I’ve paid good money to be able to say I own. Many of these I’ve already watched, via rentals, television showings or in the theater. Most, though (roughly 183), I’ve never seen at all. What is wrong with me, I scream! Well, firstly, I have trouble resisting a fantastic bargain. More problematic, I think, is that I love movies. I almost always find some reason to own, instead of merely rent, the DVDs I purchase. There’s a commentary or other special feature that can enlighten or add to my appreciation of the film, or so I tell myself.
Criterion Collection DVDs are the absolute bane of this addiction. I think I’m hovering around 2/3s of the entire collection at this point. Why, you might ask? Primarily because I see the Criterion DVDs as the pinnacle in what might come out for a particular film. For instance, if Criterion licenses and releases a film like Young Mr. Lincoln from Fox then you can be pretty sure that that release will be the absolute definitive edition in R1 DVD for years to come. Thus, I’m mostly confident that my Criterion purchases will securely prove to be the end all, be all release of any particular film. Additionally, Criterion DVDs have an optimum re-sale value should I ever need to sell them off. I ended up selling my original edition of The Third Man for more than I was able to pay for the new, superior version.
All right, so I can weakly justify my Criterion purchases, but what of the rest of my collection? I suppose my second favorite studio would be Warner Bros., who consistently release in-demand classic films in affordable, often extras-laden editions. Their box sets are like warehouse store economy size packages of junk food for the DVD enthusiast. How can you not resist getting one or possibly two films you’ve been dying to own in a set that also contains three or four more films you never possibly considered buying until now? It’s brilliant marketing. In the James Stewart Signature Collection released last August, I was eager to pick up The Naked Spur and The Spirit of St. Louis so why not just go all in for the box set? That’s exactly what I did and now The FBI Story sits on my shelf, yet to be watched.
Other studios have caught on, especially Universal who continue to put out sets of five or so films with a couple that I’d otherwise never imagine buying. If you want Design for Living then you’d better be willing to shell out for four more Gary Cooper movies, including the still-unwatched The General Died at Dawn. Preston Sturges fans who already own the terrific Criterion versions of The Lady Eve and Sullivan’s Travels will find themselves owning two of each if they purchase the Universal Sturges set (as well as The Great Moment). That brings up a troubling predicament - owning more than one DVD of the same movie.
I’ve tried to keep this ridiculous problem down to a minimum, but there are still a few culprits. Criterion’s recent release of Shohei Imamura’s Vengeance Is Mine lacks the Masters of Cinema’s commentary and copious booklet, but it has a brighter image and a brief interview with the director. Likewise, the upcoming Hiroshi Teshigahara box set from Criterion contains two films already released by the Eureka! Masters of Cinema label, both of which I own, but they’ve added Woman in the Dunes, which I’d held off buying the R2 BFI release in anticipation of the Criterion version, and an extra disc of Teshigahara’s short films. The result for obsessive collectors like myself: owning two versions of multiple films on DVD just to retain a few commentaries.
Of course, there are no real excuses for having so many unwatched or duplicated films on DVD. It’s a bug, a disease perpetuated by slick marketing and vulnerable film lovers. The really sick part of it is that I crave the newest releases, as if I didn’t already have hundreds of titles to choose from each night. The end of July can’t get here soon enough so I can partake in the newest WB Film Noir Collection, one of my absolute favorite releases these last four years. I’m even looking forward to unannounced, but percolating titles from my studios of choice for the remainder of this year and into the next. I have enough films on DVD to watch for two straight years without repeats, yet I hunger for more. I honestly don’t understand my own reasoning.
This is made all the more worse by adding the number of television shows I also have on DVD yet haven’t gotten around to watching just yet. Seriously, when did I ever imagine I’d have the time to get to the first three season of The Bob Newhart Show? “But it was a good deal,” I comfort myself by saying. Sure, it was a great deal to pay less than thirty dollars for three small boxes to take up space in my closet. Even if I watch these shows once, how is it advantageous to shell out the money to own them instead of just renting through Netflix or Blockbuster? I have no idea.
So, as much as I’d love to be able to get that unwatched “pile” down to single digits, I’m perpetually stuck around the 300 mark. I take comfort in knowing I’m not alone, as well as the idea that I’d be set should a DVD moratorium ravage the continent. You’d think that using a rental service would ease the compulsion a little, but not really in my case. I’ve subscribed to both Netflix and Blockbuster, the two leading rental channels, separately and at the same time even, but it’s only hindered my efforts to lessen the number of DVDs I’m still yet to watch. The good news is that everyone reaches a point where they no longer desire to own many more things on DVD, as good taste and common sense enter the picture. I think I’m approaching that exit myself since I barely took advantage of the recent 20% off sales at DeepDiscount and DVD Planet. I’m still buying the new Criterions as they’re released, but I’m actually watching them within a few weeks of purchase. All in all, it’s a promising start.
Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? June 23, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1950s , add a comment
American film comedy took a creative hit in the 1950s. Absent are the screwball antics and the witty sophistication from the previous two decades of talking pictures. To be fair, World War II and its aftermath would be reason enough to sober up a nation full of writers, filmmakers, and audiences. Yet, it’s fairly difficult to find screen comedy in post-war Hollywood on the level of what we saw from directors like Preston Sturges, Howard Hawks, Frank Capra, Ernst Lubitsch, even Mitchell Leisen under the studio system. If you look at the AFI’s 100 Years…100 Laughs list from 2000, a flawed but probably unmatched indicator for judging trends in the comedy canon, you’ll find that a whopping 31 films were released between the beginning of the 1930s and 1945. It’s certainly impressive that a fifteen year period accounted for almost a third of a list compiled over six decades after most of the films were released.
By comparison, the period between 1945 and 1959, when Billy Wilder’s Some Like It Hot, the AFI’s choice for #1, was released, arguably reigniting the American comedy, yielded only 11 selections on the list. Additionally, the films included in that span seem lightweight and stale in comparison. Where we had the likes of Chaplin, the Marx Brothers, Cary Grant, and four Sturges films earlier, now we’re looking at Father of the Bride, The Seven Year Itch, Auntie Mame and The Court Jester, films that perhaps haven’t aged quite so well. Notwithstanding Some Like It Hot, by far the most accomplished (and funniest) film from this later era on the list is Singin’ in the Rain, usually not even considered a comedy so much as a musical (though, admittedly, that may be a point of contention).
Even sticking with the AFI list, though, makes it difficult to find any real rhyme or reason in those selected films from ‘45 to ‘59. There are movie stars - Spencer Tracy and Marilyn Monroe each pop up twice, while Cary Grant and James Stewart are in one apiece - and well-known directors - two from Billy Wilder, as well as two written by Garson Kanin and directed by George Cukor. But there really aren’t any dominant figures, actor, writer or director, among these eleven films like we’d seen in the decade and a half earlier. The strange thing about the list is that there actually was someone who was doing exciting, interesting things in live-action American film comedy, yet Frank Tashlin and his films were ignored by the AFI’s listmakers. I’m not arguing he should have had four or five movies in the top 100, but some recognition would have been nice.
Like other creative forces of comedy, Tashlin had his hand in the writing of many of his films. Though several of these were based on other writers’ stories, the director seems to have molded the screen versions largely himself, including the two films he made with Jayne Mansfield at Twentieth Century-Fox. The first of these was The Girl Can’t Help It, a starmaking vehicle for Mansfield. It’s now frequently cited as the first significant “rock ‘n roll film” and featured musical performances by Little Richard and Fats Domino, among others. It’s a fun movie, cinematic bubblegum. I might have enjoyed it more without Tom Ewell and Edmond O’Brien, as the latter seemed to like playing his role more than I enjoyed watching him do so. The songs can also be a little repetitive and annoying, but lots of people might disagree with me there.
With the success of The Girl Can’t Help It, director and leading lady quickly re-teamed for Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?, the Broadway version of which (mostly abandoned by Tashlin’s screenplay) Mansfield had been starring in just before she made her initial film with Tashlin. I’ve noticed mixed opinions as to which film is better, funnier, sharper, etc. I’ll take the second pairing in all those criteria without hesitation. Aside from a better cast around Mansfield, especially Tony Randall in the title role, the follow-up film seems much more pointed and enjoyable. Tashlin’s trademark bright hues, even painting the screen with full color fades at times, are on display, but slightly reined in. Characters still tend to wear glossy outfits (why have a drab earthtone robe when a shiny red one works just fine), though the level of seizure-inducing, eye-popping visuals is a little less distracting this time around.
We also have little jokes flying throughout the picture, beginning with Randall playing the 20th Century-Fox theme music by himself on multiple instruments. The actor then searches his pockets for the name of the film, mistakenly referring to it as The Girl Can’t Help It, before we see several fake advertisements as the opening credits roll. They’re both ridiculous and humorous while having little to do with the film’s storyline aside from the Madison Avenue backdrop. At first glance, the use of false ads may seem dated, and there was definitely a strange fascination with the advertising world in several films from this era, but it’s not too difficult to see a strand running between some of the seemingly over-the-top things we see here and the even less sensical attempts to sell us things today. The same “how did we ever get by without this product” mentality is inherently present just as much today as it was then and vice versa. (An upsetting trend towards the emotional dilution of rock music via ads hocking everything from automobiles to investment firms adds an odd twist given the subjects of the two Tashlin-Mansfield films.)
Television itself also briefly becomes the butt of one of the more clever gags in Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?. Randall, once again out of character as in the opening, interrupts the film to remind us how commercials disrupt television programs. We then see the screen shrink (made more noticeable by the CinemaScope format that surely lost much of its impact when seen only on broadcast television in the decades since the theatrical release, as well as a pan and scan VHS edition) and switch to black and white. It’s a little bit of propaganda in the fight for viewers between the small screen and the expanding silver one, but I still think it’s inventive fun. Tashlin is making clear that his film is more than a sitcom on a big canvas, pulling out tricks where he can. (Meanwhile I can’t help but wonder how American comedy has been dragged down to the succession of bodily function jokes gutter it’s been stuck in for years now, a lowest common [PG-13] denominator discouragingly populated by the new directorial titans of box office yuks Tom Shadyac, Shawn Levy, and the Farrellys.)
Through three separate stints working for Warner Bros. on the Looney Tunes and Merrie Melodies animated shorts, Tashlin was able to hone his ribald comic sensibility while crafting characters like Porky Pig and, later, Private Snafu, star of a military-only series of which Tashlin directed four shorts. It’s fitting, then, that the director’s feature films are so often described as being like live-action Looney Tunes, because, at their best, they basically are. Vibrant colors, crazy sight gags, and larger than life, exaggerated characters are consistent in the animated shorts just as in Tashlin’s films, with the humor aimed more at adults than children. And just as Tashlin had Porky Pig and Daffy Duck in his cartoons, he had Jerry Lewis and Jayne Mansfield in his features. While Lewis would prove to be a more frequent collaborator, with Tashlin directing two of the comic’s teamings with Dean Martin and six of his solo starring pictures, it was Mansfield who became perhaps the closest thing Hollywood has ever had to a living, breathing cartoon movie star.
Fearless and intelligent, the woman used by her movie studio as a threat to Marilyn Monroe would end up with a similarly tragic fate. Mansfield, however, had a much shorter time in the spotlight and Tashlin seemed to be the only director who knew what to do with such a unique screen presence. Her iconic figure, shrill voice, platinum hair, and painted face are all used at the actress’s expense, the punchline instead of the joke teller. Like the animated bombshells she resembled, Mansfield has minimal smoldering chemistry or sex appeal in the Tashlin films and the director never seems very interested in her sensuality. Mansfield plays Rita Marlowe with ease, and any other actress, even Marilyn, would be unimaginable in the role. The problem is that these types of roles become one-dimensional when repeated with lesser directors and an actress/sex bomb with Jayne Mansfield’s appearance and reputation wasn’t going to get the in-demand serious roles. It’s difficult not to feel a little sorry for her, especially considering how bubbly the Tashlin films can be, given the almost inevitable direction her career would take.
In contrast to the enduringly popular Mansfield, the real lead of Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? is Tony Randall, despite the film only being available on R1 DVD in Fox’s Jayne Mansfield Collection (a fine 2.35:1 anamorphic transfer with original four channel audio). His name comes after hers in the credits and the blonde starlet dominates the DVD cover, wearing a bedsheet and a martini, while Randall is relegated to a small photo alongside an oft-dyed poodle, Mickey Hargitay sporting a chest hairpiece and a second picture of Mansfield. At least Rock Hunter got his name in the US title. Internationally, it was released in the UK as Oh! For a Man! and known as La Blonde explosive in France. Nevertheless, Randall stands out as the great “Lover Doll,” whether he’s hiding from his adoring public behind a Rita Marlowe advertisement or basking in the glow of the executive washroom. Mansfield has kept the film moderately well-known for fifty years, but it’s Randall who’s responsible for most of the laughs on screen.
While too much analysis can take the fun out of comedy, it’s also nice to think a little as you laugh. Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? appeals to my sense of humor and Frank Tashlin’s clever, though not entirely subtle, film works on several levels. Great comedy does that because it takes into consideration the many different things people find funny. For instance, I can’t help but laugh when I see the Russian newspaper taking credit for Lover Doll and adding a moustache in the process. I also think it’s funny to catch the numerous references to other Fox films. A mention of The Girl Can’t Help It or Love Is a Many-Splendored Thing alone might seem shameless or distasteful, but the overkill of adding Peyton Place, Love Me Tender, and two other Mansfield films transforms the gag into a recurring wink that makes me smile. Tashlin’s approach may seem like he’s going for broke at every opportunity, but I’d argue that such a gifted and experienced comedy talent (his entire professional life was devoted to the genre) knew exactly when to show restraint and when to give the audience the whiz-bang farcical treatment.
The Fugitive June 9, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1940s , 5 comments
It’s a little hard to believe that a film directed by John Ford, starring Henry Fonda, and adapted from a Graham Greene novel could remain mostly unknown and unseen sixty years after its release. Even more peculiar, Ford claimed the film as his favorite or one of his favorites (depending on the source) throughout the rest of his life. Yet, The Fugitive still hasn’t been released on DVD, save for a French edition, and, I believe, never appeared on VHS stateside. Originally released by RKO, the R1 DVD rights should be controlled by Warner Bros., who released a nice John Ford box set last summer, but failed to include The Fugitive. Pious without being grating, Ford’s version of Greene’s The Power and the Glory (published in the US and identified in the opening titles as The Labyrinthine Ways), is an extremely interesting departure for the esteemed “Director of Westerns.”
Audiences certainly didn’t warm to the slow-moving tale of a fugitive priest unwilling to sacrifice his kindness or pride. An opening voiceover tells us the story is real, from long ago, but the setting is fictional and could have happened “1,000 miles north or south of the equator.” In reality, it was shot in Mexico with several native actors, including familiar faces Dolores del Rio and Pedro Armendáriz. It was del Rio’s first English language film since her affair with Orson Welles on the set of 1943’s Journey Into Fear. Despite the tepid commercial reception of The Fugitive, Armendáriz was able to segue into a stable career in Hollywood, working again with John Ford on Fort Apache and 3 Godfathers, while maintaining his star status in Mexican film. Both actors are effective in The Fugitive, playing forbidden ex-lovers on opposite sides of morality. Del Rio is the Virgin Mary character, an unmarried mother bathed in soft light, and Armendáriz is a corrupt government official.
Ward Bond, who acted in an astonishing 26 films under the direction of John Ford, plays El Gringo, an American on the run for murder. His screen time is limited, but crucial in the picture’s plot. Faring less favorably is J. Carrol Naish who plays a swarthily stereotypical Mexican-type character, complete with heavily accented English. He’s the weakest part of the film. The film’s star, Henry Fonda, delivers in the central performance as a man mysteriously persecuted, too weak to fight his impending punishment. I’ve read conflicting opinions as to whether Fonda was in over his head as the on-the-run title character. Regardless, he doesn’t quite reach the grand performance he gave as Tom Joad in The Grapes of Wrath, but I still can’t find fault in his characterization. The attempt to transform him into a Latin American is a minor distraction, but it’s not difficult to get past, especially in comparison to the atrocious example set by Naish.
All that aside, Fonda is quite good. Never a showy or flashy actor, he instead inhabits his roles as quiet, respectable everymen. From a personal standpoint, I’ve always liked Fonda a great deal, as he reminds me of what I imagine my grandfather was like, and, in turn, myself. He’s simple, reserved, and respectable, while maintaining a moral high ground without condescension. Though his real-life celebrity children publicized Fonda’s shortcomings as a parent, the actor persona we see onscreen is nothing short of admirable, the standard to judge all others. This is consistent in The Fugitive, where Fonda quietly shows the audience the consequences of pride as he ultimately makes peace with his ominous fate. His priest character must know what lies behind the foreboding last rites requested by Bond’s gringo, but he still chooses the “path of the righteous man,” sealing his own fate in the process.
Where Fonda is most effective is in the reserved, resigned quality he brings. The priest is an uncommon, struggling man determined to perform God’s work whatever the consequences. He thinks of himself only after seeing to his de facto congregation. After learning that the baby mothered by the del Rio character has not yet been baptized, the priest immediately sets in motion a service to correct what he sees as an essential rite of passage. He’s selfless to a fault, fleeing the law in God’s name before accepting what must be done as a consequence of his vows. I don’t think you need be terribly religious or full of faith to appreciate Fonda’s achievement or Ford’s film, and that’s exactly why it remains absorbingly fascinating even today. Despite some views to the contrary, The Fugitive doesn’t try to cram religion down the viewer’s throat. It’s not heavy-handed and it never manipulates the audience. Instead, the film shows us the plight of a man confident in his deity’s power, without ever asking or demanding the audience share his views. It’s an allegory that never relies on its source to be compelling.
Aside from Ford’s direction, the two stand-out aspects of The Fugitive are Fonda’s lead performance and the incredible cinematography of Mexican master Gabriel Figueroa. Figueroa (who passed away a decade ago but has a worthwhile website maintained in his name that includes key clips from The Fugitive), not withstanding the other impressive elements of the film, is the absolute main reason to sit down and watch The Fugitive. Not even the breathtaking vistas of Monument Valley equal the photographic wonders found in Figueroa’s wondrous camera work. From the beginning, when Fonda’s shadow is transformed into a cross as he enters the church where he once preached, we know we’re in for something special. The lighting, the shadows, the framing. It’s an incredible achievement by Figueroa, worthy of the highest praises, and a highlight in black-and-white cinematography.
In Greene’s novel, the protagonist was classified as a “whiskey priest,” less sympathetic than what we see in Ford’s film. Maybe that character would have been more interesting, more flawed and thus more human, but the production code required a kinder, gentler man of faith. The script, written by Dudley Nichols in his final credited collaboration with Ford after previously adapting The Informer and Stagecoach, among others, for the filmmaker, instead gives us a near-perfect embodiment of the Catholic church. (Screenwriter and director were briefly reunited on Pinky, prior to Ford being replaced by Elia Kazan.) The reverence shown doesn’t elicit discomfort or rolling of the eyes even if it maintains a strict allegiance with the church. As in other great films of faith, such as Rossellini’s The Flowers of St. Francis (Francisco, giullare di Dio) or Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest (Journal d’un curé de campagne), we’re never left with uncomfortable dissatisfaction at the characters’ actions regardless of our beliefs.
Those two films are superior to Ford’s, but all three allow the viewer to casually observe the actions of men who possess an undying commitment to their God without forcing us to understand or share their beliefs. Films of faith in this mold fascinate me, as I’m allowed to peer into the mindset of persons with unwavering confidence in their higher being and His omnipotence. For someone who struggles with questions of faith and the idea that an idle God could possibly exist in the presence of war, famine and nearly universal malfeasance, films like The Fugitive serve as a curious and intriguing window into the possibility of gospel absent logic. They provide a stark contrast to the numb cynicism or cloying preachiness we encounter in contemporary films. I’d argue that any over-the-top religiosity derived from Ford’s film is the result of the viewer’s own aversion to those types of themes, and not necessarily inherent in what’s presented.
The allegorical comparisons are obvious, but never out of place. Fonda’s priest is a good man, one of undying faith who sees his beliefs as superior to his own fate. The fact that he’s presented as a martyr, though flawed, adds a gravitas that fits perfectly with the seriousness of the story. Though Ford’s film is far from perfect, hampered a little by Fonda’s demystifying speech late in the film after escaping to another state, it’s still completely absorbing and a significant departure from much of the director’s other work. I enjoyed it very much, especially the first half, and the cinematography alone makes it required viewing. The Fugitive is a quiet, atypical work by a highly influential filmmaker, arguably made during his directorial peak. It’s apparently too “arty” (whatever that means) to obtain a ravenous audience, but I anxiously await the day it becomes available on DVD.