The Fugitive June 9, 2007
Posted by clydefro in : Classic Films, 1940s , trackback
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.
Comments»
Nice work again clydefro; I read somewhere that it’s the Mexican co-funding that is complicating the release of ‘The Fugitive’ on home video in the US - how true this is I couldn’t say.
Thanks John, I wasn’t aware of that. I guess it’s some consolation that the film’s unavailability may not be a result of lack of appreciation, but then again that would mean the delays might be indefinite.
Do you have much of an opinion of the film, either way? The consensus among ardent Ford watchers seems fairly mixed from what I can tell.
I’m afraid it’s probably somewhere in the region of 25-30 years (or more) since I last saw it, and all I can honestly recollect was some quite memorable imagery - beyond that my recollection is too indistinct to offer any worthwhile opinion.
I’ve no doubt it’ll turn up at some point, hence my failure to beat down the door of Amazon.fr.
The film actually did receive at least one stateside home video release in the early 1990s (or late 80s) that I know of as a fact — it was on laser disc, hence its relative obscurity.
I only first caught up with it myself a few weeks ago, when it aired on TCM, and, despite its somewhat heavy-handed Cold War era subtext (that in my opinion cause it to seem just a bit dated now), it still remains quite an amazing artistic achievement — nothing at all like such anti-commie pictures of the era as “Red Menace” and “Red Nightmare,” which I really shouldn’t even be mentioning in the same breath.
PS: Despite his descent into a bit of stereotypical behavior, I thought J. Carrol Naish was terrific and made a truly unsettling Devil, sent to tempt Henry Fonda’s Jesus.
Thanks for the comment David (they can’t be edited after posted, but I took care of it). I had never seen the film prior to TCM airing it either, though I’d wanted to for a few years. According to the channel’s programming guide, it was their premiere showing.
Naish perked up my ears, but his character, I’d agree, added a good deal of tension and, like Bond’s gringo, was vital to show the priest’s devotion.
I’m not terribly perceptive with Cold War subtext in films so maybe I didn’t pick up on the heavy-handedness, aside from the general idea of Fonda’s persecution. I’ll keep that in mind next viewing though.