The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)

I felt compelled tonight to watch one of my all-time favorite films, The Best Years of Our Lives (1946). Directed by the immaculate William Wyler, this film follows the lives of three service men as they adjust to civilian life: Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) from the Air Force; Al Stephenson (Frederick March) from the Army; and Homer Parrish (Harold Russell) from the Navy. The men meet in an airport, struggling to return to their home in Boone City--a fictional town whose name is as American as you can get. What follows is an intricate, intimate, and emotionally rich examination of precisely what happens when one returns from war. 

The Best Years of Our Lives is primarily thought of as a veterans' film--the ultimate veterans' film, in fact; however, I feel this summation not only oversimplifies this complex and beautiful film, but also grossly distorts the magnitude of the issues Wyler explores: alcoholism, culture shock, love, and above all disability. The Best Years of Our Lives is the first film to explore disability honestly, and it remains the greatest. Judging from the insulting crop of disability-related films we are privy to today (The Theory of Everything, anyone?), I'd say The Best Years of Our Lives will remain peerless for a very long time. 

Harold Russell holds his two Oscars.

Harold Russell, who had never acted before, plays Homer Parrish, a young man who lost his hands in the Navy. He has a girlfriend back home (played by Cathy O'Donnell, Wyler's niece) whom he promised to marry--that is, before his injury. We see Homer grapple with the same issues as his two new friends--Fred and Al--but his are much deeper and more complicated. It is a shame Russell never acted again because he was a complete natural. In fact, in a film full of legendary actors and brilliant performances, Russell was actually the best of them all. A true revelation in talent, Harold Russell really did lose his hands in the war. Indeed, The Best Years of Our Lives is one of the only films I have ever heard of in which the actor playing a character with a disability actually had that disability. As a result, the most significant part of his performance is not how incredible it is that he could make us believe he lost his hands; his true acting talent is on display. In fact, Russell is the only actor in Oscar history to win two Academy Awards for the same performance: one for Best Supporting Actor, and one Honorary Award for bringing veterans hope. This is only one of many reasons, however, why this film remains a landmark and gold standard among films dealing with disability. 

Homer's struggles with coming to grips with his disability are the most honest and realistic I have ever seen in a movie. For the issue that is of highest concern for him is not adjusting to having no hands; that is the easy part. It is actually the social issues: people asking stupid questions and feeling entitled to information about his hands; feeling like a spectacle and an object of gossip, which the scene in which his little sister and her friends spy on him captures so deftly; feeling like less of a person because of his new reality; the monotony of having to explain again and again what happened to him and why he has hooks for hands; the anxiety over what he should do with his life; and feeling unworthy of anyone's love or attention. See, this is something The Theory of Everything--indeed, every other disability movie ever made--fails to understand: the greatest struggle in having a disability is convincing able-bodied people that you are still a person. Homer tells his Uncle Butch (played by jazz great Hoagy Carmichael) "I just don't want anyone pitying me. All I want is everyone to treat me like everyone else." I have yet to encounter any other film that captures this desire with such truth. 

This is one film that always makes me cry, and it is this scene that does me in every time. Homer finally lets his fiancee Wilma see what he looks like without his hooks. It is among the most romantic and beautiful scenes ever put on film. Go on and watch this clip. I dare you not to need a handkerchief: 

So beautiful.

Of course, The Best Years of Our Lives would be a classic even if Homer's story were the only one, but it is only one of three. Dana Andrews, who for some reason never achieved the kind of recognition afforded to Gary Cooper or any of the other leading men in his generation, is incredible here. His ability to emote is superb; he breaks my heart every time I watch this. He is married to, we learn later, shallow and haughty Marie, played with bitch-slap-inducing gusto by Virginia Mayo (trust me, you want to slap her, which is a testament to Mayo's talent). Fred falls in love with Al's daughter Peggy, played by Teresa Wright, whose shining eyes alone express so many emotions; she steals every scene she's in. Frederick March won an Oscar for Best Actor playing Al Stephenson, a banker whose drinking problem is also portrayed with sensitivity but not one trace of preachiness--a welcome change, for certain. Myrna Loy plays his wife Milly, and gives as good as she gets to March's character. 

As with physical disabilities, this film also touches on mental illness, examining what was then called Battle Fatigue but is now known as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) movingly through Andrews's character. Not once is any term used to name his condition or preach to us; instead, we see what he is really facing in private moments. This scene, which is one of the most affecting montages I have ever seen, contains no dialogue; yet, we know exactly the thoughts and fears Fred is exorcising. 

The layers of symbolism here are staggering: the rows and rows of old planes now junk; the words "Round Trip?" written as a question on the side of this now discarded plane; the shadows and dust inside the plane--all of these elements, combined with Andrews's acting, Wyler's careful camera placement, and Hugo Friedhofer's emotive score, render this scene among the most impactful in a film bursting with impact. 

Speaking of William Wyler, there is perhaps no other American director responsible for so many classics: Wuthering Heights, Roman Holiday, The Heiress, Funny Girl, Jezebel, Ben Hur, Carrie (1952), Mrs. Miniver--I could go on and on. The Best Years of Our Lives, though, is his masterpiece. Wyler's style is deceptively simple: although we think he's not doing much because the camera stands still, he is in fact placing the camera in one specific spot to capture a specific emotional response that encapsulates all of the major players in the scene. One example from this film is the scene in which Fred calls Peggy to tell her he will not see her any more. While this phone call is taking place, Al is watching Butch and Homer play a duet on the piano together--that's right; this movie has a man with no hands learn the piano, which is one of many reasons to love it. To capture all of this action and emotional content, Wyler places the camera in front of Al's shoulder with Fred in a phone booth far in the back. This long shot keeps Al and Fred in equal focus, showing both of their perspectives and the flurry of emotions racing through both men simultaneously. Moreover, we hear the sound of the piano, and the long shot is intercut with shots of Butch and Homer playing. This shorter shot is also at an interesting angle: we see Homer, Butch, and Al in a line with Homer in front, allowing us, again to take in all of the myriad emotions in this scene. What results is Wyler showing us the many issues all characters are facing in only two alternating shots and no dialogue. Did I say William Wyler was a master or didn't I?

I can't say enough good things about this film, and I could write an entire book explaining why I love it so much. For the sake of brevity, I'll simply say The Best Years of Our Lives is a masterpiece, and I do not use that word lightly. If you've never seen it before, I envy you: you have the wonderful, thrilling, and inimitable chance to experience this film for the first time. 

Grade: A+

Adam's Rib (1949)

This George Cukor-directed film is one of several classic pairings of Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. Interestingly, it was written by Garson Kanin and...Ruth Gordon. Yes, you know. The inimitable Ruth Gordon who played nosy Satanist Minnie Castevet in Rosemary's Baby to such perfection she became the first actor to win an Oscar for a horror film. 

Iconic shot of Ruth Gordon in Rosemary's Baby

Apparently, Ruth Gordon was an accomplished screenwriter before becoming an actress, and she was also close friends with Katharine Hepburn. 

Adam's Rib is a delight from beginning to end and is a surprisingly feminist movie--surprising when one considers the fact it was released in 1949. Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn, who were together in real life, play married attorneys Adam and Amanda Bonner. Adam is a district attorney, Amanda a defense lawyer. Here's the trailer:

The film begins with Doris Attinger (played to perfection by another accomplished actress, Judy Holliday) tracking her philandering husband and shooting him in the shoulder while he is with his lover. She is arrested and charged with attempted murder. 

The next morning, the case makes the front page of the newspaper, which Adam and Amanda read together and which sparks a fierce debate between them: Amanda lectures Adam on double standards women face, especially before the law. When Adam arrives at work, he is appointed prosecutor to the case. When Amanda learns of this, she decides to become Doris Attinger's lawyer, and the gender debate begins full throttle! 

Honestly, this movie would be controversial for today, so I can only speculate about how audiences reacted to this film in 1949. During each courtroom scene Adam and Amanda question witnesses, and Amanda bases her entire case on women's inequality, showing the prosecution's witnesses no mercy when it comes to their own misogyny. In fact, during jury selection, her standard for each potential juror is whether they believe in women's equality. She tells the press and stresses in her opening statement that this case is about more than the defendant; it is about women being treated equally before the law. One of the most humorous and interesting scenes is when Amanda brings in high powered women as witnesses for the defense to prove women are equal to men. We see jaws drop and Amanda glowing with satisfaction as each of these witnesses describes how many degrees and positions she has. 

Although Spencer Tracy had top billing for this film, it is Katharine Hepburn with whom the audience identifies and for whom we cheer. The film portrays Amanda's case as more sophisticated and more important than Adam's, which is hammered home by his feckless closing argument in which he jumbles his words and makes little sense. Judy Holliday gives a smart, although supporting, performance as a woman who has suffered much physical abuse from her husband. In a rather touching scene in which she meets with her counsel (Hepburn) for the first time, she reluctantly recounts the times her husband beat her--all of which Amanda uses in her cross examination of the husband. 

The film ends on a comical note that does, to an extent, descend into the politics of its era (something that I expected and feel would have been impossible to avoid), but it rallies in the last scene, again stressing and celebrating women's right to equality. And it is hilarious: After Adam announces to Amanda that he will run as a Republican candidate for a judgeship, Amanda asks slyly if the Democrats have selected a candidate yet. I burst out laughing during this scene as I did many times throughout the film.

In addition, the film makes some interesting choices in its portrayal of marriage--choices that would be completely taboo in the fifties, if they were not already by 1949. For one, we see Adam and Amanda sharing one bed. From almost all movies of that era, husbands and wives had to have separate beds to avoid any possible reference to sex. Also, there is a rather hilarious (and, for its time, risque) scene in which Adam and Amanda, wearing only towels, give each other massages as they debate the case and women's rights. Something that is absent from the movie, interestingly, is children: not once do Amanda or Adam mention kids, and at the time this came out Hepburn and Tracy were in their 40s and 50s, respectively. We, in other words, are not exactly expecting Amanda to quit her job to have babies any time soon. By making Amanda a powerful attorney, one who works not just alongside her husband but who challenges him, and avoiding any reference to her as some sort of domestic goddess, the film confirms its arguments about equality (unlike The Thrill of it All (1963) that is relentlessly anti-feminist). 

All in all, Adam's Rib is a smart, funny, and progressive film that fully embraces feminism in a way that we don't even see now. You will find yourself cheering for Katharine Hepburn throughout. This is a classic for a reason. 

Grade: A

The Theory of Everything (2014)

I had put off watching The Theory of Everything for a while; the subject matter seemed incredibly depressing, and I was not in the mood to watch yet another biopic upon its release. The market was flooded with biopics last year, and this year's potential Oscar contenders appear to be continuing this trend. Moreover, as a Michael Keaton fan, I felt reluctant to watch the film that beat him at the Oscars this past year. In case you missed it, here is the trailer:

Putting my reservations aside, I finally watched The The Theory of Everything this evening and believe it might be the stuffiest, dullest, and most sanitized biopic I have ever seen--not to mention the only one in which the lead actor is in about one-third of the film. Yes, you read that correctly: Eddie Redmayne, who won an Oscar for his portrayal of beloved astrophysicist Stephen Hawking, was actually not in the film that much. The real main character? Hawking's wife, Jane, played with blandness and dispassion by Felicity Jones. 

There is little to admire about this film. The cinematography is the usual teal and orange combination that has saturated so many second rate productions these days. The oranges are aggressively orange, the blues aggressively blue--and poorly lit. There was only one scene that I felt was well shot, in fact, which was when Stephen and Jane kiss for the first time after viewing fireworks--an over used and predictable symbol, certainly, but one that was visually appealing. If only the actors' chemistry had matched the imagery. 

Eddie Redmayne's performance felt true and did provoke strong feelings of sympathy and sadness, but is that really what we want from a movie about a beloved figure with a severe disability? Do we really want to pity Stephen Hawking, or do we want to learn about the man--his thoughts, fears, anxieties, joys, and all of the inner workings of his brilliant mind? I'd take the latter, but this film indulges so deeply in the former that it ultimately feels like an experiment in making people with ALS as pitiful as possible. Yet, the film also failed to arouse much, if any pathos. An exercise in cliches, The Theory of Everything is insulting to Stephen in many ways. But I'm getting ahead of myself. 

As a feminist, I certainly yearn for woman-centric films; however, I felt this movie did itself a disservice by focusing so little on Stephen Hawking as a person and instead concentrating most of its energy, storytelling, and themes on Jane's life as drudgery because she married and altruistically cared for her husband. There are many scenes without Stephen and we are expected to sympathize with Jane for being trapped in a marriage with few rewards. Without question, Jane--and all caretakers, for that matter--suffered truly; however, the film robs Stephen of his humanity by not allowing the audience to understand how he must feel. It's a misconception to believe the caretaker suffers more than the person with the disease. As I watched the film, I kept wondering how Stephen must feel (and have felt in real life) about the horrendous changes his body endured; I wanted to know what was going on in his mind, but the film denies us even a glimpse into his experiences and accidentally fulfills a prediction made by Stephen's doctor. When he is diagnosed with ALS, the doctor explains that Stephen will still have thoughts, but "no one will know what they are"; indeed, we the audience never really do know what they are. All you are actually expected to feel (or know) is a romantic thrill over Jane meeting Jonathan and finding love again--an insult to Stephen Hawking, for certain.

Another flaw in the Jane/Stephen depiction is the lack of any chemistry whatsoever between its leads. Eddie Redmayne did do an excellent job playing a man whose body is deteriorating so rapidly and severely, but his costar seemed bored to be there. I found their romantic scenes together unbelievable (in the true sense of the word, not the superlative), and I stress "romantic" rather than "love" because love, and all its complexities, is perhaps the most interesting part of Stephen's life that was completely sanitized in this film to a distressing and irritating extent. 

After Stephen is diagnosed with ALS and he and Jane marry, we are shown a montage shot to resemble a family movie, but this montage skims over their wedding, early married life, and birth of their first child all in a matter of about 90 seconds. I do not at all mean this in a pornographic way, but the refusal to explore Stephen's sexuality (or anything else about his internal thoughts) hurt the film tremendously. Again, I kept wondering how he felt about himself and his wife: What insecurities did he have? What was his attitude toward intimacy? What was their married life like in the beginning--how they communicated, spent time together, worked, talked, interacted? How did they handle the ways his body changed? How did he feel about becoming a father in addition to beating the two-year prognosis he was given? How were the later years different? There are endless questions that the movie refuses to explore. Even when the film implies Stephen has fallen in love with Elaine, his nurse and second wife, we are still denied any exploration of his feelings. True, there are a few humorous comments about how Stephen's, um, "ability" is now "automatic" and we learn he likes to read Penthouse, but there is nothing substantive or honest about this portrayal. The births of his other children are handled with similar stuffy distance, which irritated me and, in a way, is an insult to Stephen Hawking: we can't learn anything about his fears, desires, or emotions in general because, gasp!, he's in a wheelchair; we see Stephen the ALS patient, not Stephen the man. I kept mentally comparing this film to My Left Foot, which is by no means a perfect film, but one that does honor Christie Brown's life more honestly and respectfully than this film does Stephen Hawking. 

The movie actually left me unsettled, and I finally realized why hours later: the film objectifies Stephen. We do see the world partly through his perspective...until his diagnosis. After the doctor tells him no one will ever know his thoughts, Stephen becomes an object of pity and scorn and is portrayed as a burden on his wife and family and everyone around him. Indeed, the way we learn ALS is serious is because we see his friend's reaction: Stephen explains what ALS is when his friend comes to his dorm room. As Stephen speaks, the camera focuses on his friend's face and his friend's growing fear and sadness; we identify with the able-bodied character and no longer with Stephen. We feel upset because the friend is upset--not because we understand how Stephen feels. The entire film is like this, privileging the able-bodied perspective over Stephen's, making this one of the most egregiously offensive films to people with physical disabilities, including Stephen Hawking. 

In short, this movie is a lifeless, bloodless, and ultimately disparaging morass of dishonest emotion and cheap attempts at pity. I respect Eddie Redmayne tremendously as an actor, but this film really is beneath his talent. I do look forward to his work in the future and believe he has a long and rewarding career ahead of him, but I hope this is not the one role that will define his entire filmography. 

Grade: D