Around the World in 80 Days: Todd's Zenith; Oscar's Nadir

1956 proved to be one of the finest years in cinema ever. John Wayne in John Ford’s The Searchers—recognized by the American Film Institute as the finest Western ever made and career highs in the prolific careers of both Wayne and Ford. Alfred Hitchcock’s The Wrong Man and The Man Who Knew Too Much. Douglas Sirk’s All That Heaven Allows and Written on the Wind. A pair of sci-fi classics—Forbidden Planet and Invasion of the Body Snatchers—were both overlooked. Akira Kurosawa’s masterpiece—The Seven Samurai—though released in Japan in 1954, hit American soil in 1956. What does each of these great films have in common? Little no absolutely no Oscar recognition. Even among the Best Picture nominees, Giant (which took home the Best Director trophy for George Stevens) is the only film that holds up under both critical and popular acclaim (The Ten Commandments and The King and I, though each incredibly popular then and now, don’t measure up by critical standards as great films).

What did happen in 1956 was a film completely undeserving of an Academy Award took home the biggest Oscar. Worse than being undeserving—several quality films have won Best Picture yet didn’t deserve it—Around the World in 80 Days plain stinks. If you’re following the blog and thinking, “Hmmm, with the victory of Marty, wouldn’t it signal the beginning of an Oscar trend to reward small, intimate and honest films?” you’d be dead wrong. If Marty is film haiku, then Around the World in 80 Days is an epic ballad on crack.

The film is the brainchild of its producer, Michael Todd. Todd made his mark in entertainment as a very successful producer of Broadway shows (he is also famous for being husband #3 to Elizabeth Taylor). His other significant contribution to film history is the development of the Todd-AO process. In Todd-AO, film was shot on 65 millimeter film which was blown up to 70mm for projection purposes. Films shot in Todd-AO have an aspect ratio of 2.20:1. Films shot in Todd-AO are meant to be projected onto a curved screen at 30 frames per second (a bit faster than the standard 24 fps), giving the film a richer, high-definition feel which eliminated many imperfections like flickering. Unlike the other major widescreen presentation, Cinerama, which used three projectors, films shot in Todd-AO had the advantage of needing only one projector to be screened.

Okay, we all get the point. Michael Todd wanted to make a really big fucking movie. Around the World in 80 Days is a big fucking movie, so good on Todd for accomplishing what he set out to do.

Unfortunately, Around the World in 80 Days is also a really big fucking mess.

The film is liberally adapted from Jules Verne’s 1873 novel. In the book, protagonists Phileas Fogg and his French valet Passepartout (played in the film by David Niven and Cantinflas, respectively) attempt to circumnavigate the globe to win a wager of ₤20,000. Their primary methods of transport are trains and steamships. Not sexy enough for Todd, who has Fogg and Passepartout embark on their journey via hot air balloon, creating a huge misconception about the source material.

The casting of Cantinflas is another issue. Loath though I am to knock a fellow Mexican—especially one regarded as Mexico’s version of Charlie Chaplin—but his presence in the film ultimately distracts from the storyline. Cantinflas’ casting was a huge coup for Todd, and entire scenes in the movie are designed to show off his considerable physical comedic talents. The bullfighting scene is a perfect example of this. No bullfighting scenes were in the Verne novel, but Todd felt obligated to showcase his big international star. In fact, although Niven received top billing for the film, upon viewing, it is obvious that Cantinflas is the true star. He gets far more to do, all the major set pieces revolve around his character, and he receives the bulk of the screentime.

(As an aside, David Niven sort of made a career of being overshadowed. In 1958, he won Best Actor for his performance in Separate Tables, a film where he is third billed in an ensemble cast and received a scant sixteen minutes of screentime for his performance. It remains the shortest performance to ever win Best Actor. He was also Sir Ian Fleming’s personal choice to play James Bond, though the role went to Sean Connery. When Niven did finally get to play Bond, it was in the satirical 1967 version of Casino Royale, where he plays one of six characters called “James Bond” in the film and totally overshadowed by a huge cast with actors like Orson Welles, Peter Sellers, and Woody Allen—who also plays a Bond—hamming it up in an obviously ridiculous film. Finally, in 1974, as one of four hosts of the Academy Awards ceremony, Niven was interrupted by a man named Robert Opel, who streaked across the stage flashing the peace sign at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. Niven, unflappable, got the last laugh in that situation, saying “the only laugh that man will probably ever get is for stripping and showing off his shortcomings.”)


Anyhow, Cantinflas’ antics become the real excitement in the film (anyone with half a brain, even if you’ve never read Verne’s story, knows that Fogg is going to win the wager), so much so that the film should more accurately be titled The Cantinflas Show. Don’t even get me started on the fact that a Mexican is playing a Frenchman (and when Around the World in 80 Days was remade in 2004, Jackie Chan played Passepartout, a Chinese actor playing a French character).

More strange casting decisions are made in regards to ethnicity. Shirley Maclaine—in one of her first films—is cast in the lead female role as Princess Aouda. The strange thing is, Princess Aouda is Indian. Fair-skinned, blue-eyed, red-headed Shirley Maclaine was cast as royalty from the subcontinent. A Mexican plays a French guy and an American plays an Indian in two of the three main roles in the film.

The film also has an astonishing number of cameo roles. Todd, in fact, is credited with coining the phrase “cameo appearance”. Over forty stars have cameo roles in Around the World in 80 Days. There are at least four Oscar winners (Ronald Colman, John Gielgud, Victor McLaglen and Frank Sinatra) to make cameos in the film, alongside some really legendary actors like Marlene Dietrich and Buster Keaton. Anytime the film meanders or gets a little boring—which happens quite often—an actor in a cameo pops up. “Look! There’s Sinatra!” “Look! That’s Red Skelton!” “Man, Dietrich and Keaton got old!” (I did like Peter Lorre’s cameo the best.) The film is also reputed to have 8,552 animals on screen, a veritable menagerie worthy of Noah’s Ark. If old celebrities aren’t your thing, there are plenty of lions and tigers and bears (Oh my!) to ogle. Distractions abound.

Also, the film has one of the oddest openings I’ve ever seen. It begins with legendary television journalist Edward R. Murrow (who must have enjoyed the payday) in a prologue where he describes otherworldly journeys man has undertaken, including rockets being blasted into space (current events for 1956). The rocket footage is accompanied by clips from Georges Méliès 1902 early science fiction film A Trip to the Moon. Todd is obviously and bluntly equating the journey in the film to astronomical exploration (and hoping his film will be as important to cinematic history as Méliès’).

The overall effect is not watching a film as much as a parade. I don’t know about you, but I pretty much despise parades (and watching a parade on television is especially cruel torture). No matter what the theme of the parade is, you can always count on basically the same stuff. Corny marching bands, fancy or ridiculous or obnoxious (or all of the above) modes of transportation, a litany of animals (along with animal poo), acrobatic performers, a princess or two, a politician, and candy being tossed your way (which is probably the only way a parade is better than Around the World in 80 Days—at least you get bubblegum and Tootsie Rolls when you watch a parade). And like this film, parades are neverending. At three hours, Around the World in 80 Days is at least twice as long as it needs to be. Two whole Marty’s could fit inside this picture.

What a disaster of a movie.

But, in the 1950’s Hollywood was terrified of television. Films needed to provide a larger-than-life experience, and Michael Todd took the concept to an extreme notion in Around the World in 80 Days. I think also, its Oscar victory is a clear signifier that the Academy was more concerned with how mightily a film tried to entertain an audience instead of how much a film made an audience think, or be moved, or feel an emotional bond with the characters. And frankly, the more deserving films like The Searchers (or any of the films I mentioned in the opening paragraph), were simply way, way ahead of their time and ultimately initially widely misunderstood in terms of their lasting impact.

Nothing could ever be misunderstood about Around the World in 80 Days. The film is as blunt as an anvil, as subtle as dynamite.

DETAILS

Around the World in 80 Days (1956)

Director: Michael Anderson

Starring: David Niven, Cantinflas, Shirley Maclaine and 40 cameo appearances including Frank Sinatra, Marlene Dietrich, Buster Keaton, Red Skelton, Peter Lorre, etc.

Studio: United Artists*

Total Oscars: 5 (Best Picture—Michael Todd, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Cinematography, Best Editing, Best Score) from 8 total nominations (Best Director—Michael Anderson, Best Art Direction (Color), Best Costume Design (Color))
*UA held the rights to the film from 1956 to 1976; Warner Brothers has held the rights to the film since 1983

NEXT BLOG: The Bridge on the River Kwai

The Greatest Show on Earth: Not-So-Ready for a Close-Up, Mr. DeMille

Everyone knows this Andy Warhol quote: “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.” The converse of Warhol’s line is that infamy lasts far longer. Cecil B. DeMille’s circus extravaganza has gained infamy for being one of, if not the, worst films to ever be awarded Best Picture. Yet the funny thing about infamy is that because The Greatest Show on Earth did win the top Oscar, whenever the “Best Ever” and “Worst Ever” Oscar winners are discussed, a place of dubious distinction will always be held for this film.

I’m a positive kind of guy, so I will highlight some positives of the film before diving into the pool of negativity. This film isn’t outright awful—none of the Best Picture winners are—on the level that Transformers 2: Revenge of the Fallen is; it just isn’t Best Picture material. Hell, there were several parts of The Greatest Show on Earth that I really enjoyed. The overall plot of the film is simple: the movie is a fictionalized version following the real-life Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus—the big-top known as “The Greatest Show on Earth”—as it travels around the country. Director DeMille—one of Hollywood’s most legendary filmmakers who was famous for staging epic films as far back as the silent era—wisely employed the real life 1951 travelling Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus, along with its over 1,400 employees (including performers, carnies, animal wranglers, backstage help, staging technicians and management), hundreds of animals, and a the famous circus train hauling 60 carloads of tents, equipment, animals, and humanity. The film is undoubtedly massive, and only DeMille had the talent and experience to mount such a gargantuan production.

Unsurprisingly, the plot is really overstuffed. The main through line involves the financial survival of the circus itself. Charlton Heston—in one of his earliest roles, and one that cemented him as the go-to male star to carry an epic film—plays Brad Braden, the no-bullshit general manager of the circus who manages to show compassion to the 1,400 souls who work under him. The owners of the circus are finding that in post-WWII America, the circus doesn’t have the same appeal as it once held, and that they are contemplating running a shorter national touring season rather than risk huge financial losses. Brad bargains to keep the full schedule running and his trump card is the most famous (yet also temperamental and egomaniacal) trapeze artist in the world, The Great Sebastian, who has inked a contract with the circus but only if it performs their full schedule. The bosses allow the show to run so long as it turns a profit, and Brad keeps his workforce employed.

I found the behind-the-scenes look into what makes the circus go easily the most compelling part of the film. Heston gives an excellent portrayal of a man who holds incredible responsibilities under extreme duress. There is never a shortage of problems at the circus; be it feuding star acts, sick animals, low ticket sales, potentially fatal accidents, personal dramas, et cetera, et cetera. Often, the problems conspiring to overthrow the success of the circus are happening all at once, and while Heston acts Brad as harried and stretched thin, he also gives the character a mastery of control over his emotions and the strength to keep his circus operating despite long and overwhelming odds through willpower alone. That Heston makes the audience believe that Brad can succeed at an incredibly difficult job defined him as an actor comfortable playing authority. Heston would forever be known for playing authoritative, decisive characters—most famously as Moses in DeMille’s remake of (his own film version of) The Ten Commandments just four years later and as the title role in Ben-Hur, the massively successful, Oscar-winning epic that closed the decade. Heston’s roles helped define a masculine ideal in the 1950’s and The Greatest Show on Earth was Heston’s first opportunity at playing a man with ultimate authority. He is often overlooked as an actor, but Heston creates easily the most compelling character in this film.

Another unique element to The Greatest Show on Earth is that DeMille includes documentary-style footage of the actual big-top tents being erected. DeMille himself provides narration during these segments. His voice-over is prone to exaggeration and melodrama, calling the circus “a mechanized army on wheels that rolls over any obstacle in its path” and a place where “Death is constantly watching for one frayed rope, one weak link, or one trace of fear.” His hyperbole is wholly unnecessary; the footage alone of braces of men hauling the massive tent poles into place and unrolling canvasses wide as football fields show exactly what an undertaking simply moving a circus from town to town is. I found myself wishing for more insight into this undertaking, but the film becomes far more concerned with melodrama.

With the hiring of The Great Sebastian (Cornel Wilde), Brad angers his other star trapeze artist, Holly (Betty Hutton), who is also Brad’s girlfriend (I couldn’t really buy into the fact that Brad would have such a serious relationship with someone in the circus when he gives off such a steely, no-nonsense demeanor—a romance with a co-worker would be exactly sort of the nonsense that Brad would warn one of his performers against). Brad displaces Holly from the circus’ center ring, and Holly takes it upon herself to engage in a game of one-upsmanship with Sebastian. Anything he can do, she can do better, and their aerial stunts become more dangerous and thrilling with each performance (the circus acts themselves are mesmerizing, and if you like that sort of thing, The Greatest Show on Earth is an excellent showcase for it). While the competition is good for business, Brad orders the acts to be toned down, putting further strain on his relationship with Holly. Finally, when Sebastian suffers an injury, Holly succumbs to the Florence Nightingale effect and ditches Brad for the wounded Sebastian. The love triangle becomes a love square when Brad takes up with Angel (Gloria Grahame), Sebastian’s ignored girlfriend who performs in the elephant act. There are too many silly love complications in The Greatest Show on Earth. Not to mention that the actors involved don’t have the chops to play romantic sequences without being cloying or over emotive (despite Heston’s brilliance playing authority roles, he’s never really great as a screen lothario). DeMille should have heeded the advice of the immortal Short Round from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (a film that was released 32 years after The Greatest Show on Earth, but play along, people): “Dr. Jones, no time for love.”

There is also no time for the many criminal subplots that fill up much of the film’s 152 minutes. I don’t think that DeMille should have glossed over the fact that the transient nature of the circus holds a special appeal to those either running from or wishing to exploit the law, but the stories in this film get ridiculous. First, there is a subplot involving crooked carnies running rigged games who are secretly conspiring to undermine Brad and the whole Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey operation. Brad has to eventually fire the conspirators, whose ranks have grown to include some of the performers (including Klaus, the head elephant trainer who is rejected by Angel, thus tying the conspiracy subplot to the already silly romantic subplot), and they retaliate by causing a massive collision of the circus trains (the wreck is spectacularly staged and is a highlight of the film).

The other criminal subplot centers on Buttons (played by none other than James Stewart), a clown who never takes off his makeup, even when the circus is travelling between cities. Buttons has not revealed any of his history to the other performers, though when accidents happen, he provides expert first aid to the injured and can wrap bandages around a trapeze far better than anyone else. Buttons, who rarely socializes with outsiders, provides fodder for the gossip cannon when he is seen speaking to a woman during a performance. As it turns out, Buttons is on the lam, and the woman he is speaking to is his mother, whom he only sees once a year when the circus rolls into his hometown. Buttons is revealed to be a doctor who has become a fugitive because he has euthanized his wife. Throughout the film, FBI agents are in pursuit of him (they carry a picture of Buttons without his makeup), yet neither Brad nor any other member of the circus are aware of Buttons’ past life. Inevitably, Buttons becomes crucial to the finale of the film, when the train becomes wrecked and Brad’s is gravely wounded.

In the words of the estimable Tim Gunn, what DeMille should have brought to his screenplay was “an editing eye”. There is just far too much going on in The Greatest Show on Earth to be believable. In fact, when first watching the film, I thought that while there was too much material for a two and a half hour movie, the massive subject matter would be perfect for television. (As it turns out, ABC produced a one-hour drama based on the film, with future Best Supporting Actor winner Jack Palance as Brad. The series aired 30 episodes for the 1963-1964 television season.) Sadly, the most interesting parts of the film are shunted aside for melodrama, and anyone who has ever seen a movie knows that this one is going to have a gift-wrapped happy ending. If the circus didn’t recover from the accident, I think the film would have had more depth. If DeMille had chosen to highlight the crew who so quickly and professionally assemble and breakdown the big-top tents as the circus moves from town to town with a character as interesting as Brad, the film would have had some more original perspective. Instead, "The Greatest Show on Earth" serves as a backdrop to contrived melodrama. This clichéd and predictable story won the film’s other Oscar.

Aside from the quality of the picture itself, what has incensed film critics the most about The Greatest Show on Earth was that the film unjustifiably defeated some truly fine and classic films. First, I’ll talk about some of the nominated films I haven’t seen. John Ford took home Best Director that year (his fourth win in that category, an Oscar record) for his Irish romance The Quiet Man, starring John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara. The film is regarded as one of Ford’s best non-Westerns, and the excellent performances from Wayne and O’Hara were overlooked. The Quiet Man reaped two more Oscar nominations than The Greatest Show on Earth and took home the same amount, two. Another big Oscar winner (though it did not receive a Best Picture nomination) that year was Vincente Minnelli’s Hollywood-set melodrama The Bad and the Beautiful, which took home five Oscars (including Best Supporting Actress for Gloria Grahame, who also played Angel in The Greatest Show on Earth). The film holds the record for the film that has won the most Oscars without receiving a Best Picture nomination, and one would think given the Academy’s tendency to repeat nominations, Minnelli (who directed the Best Picture from the year previous, An American in Paris) would have had more success.

The two films—which I have seen—that raise the most ire among critics for being overlooked in 1952 are Singin’ in the Rain and High Noon. First, Singin’ in the Rain. That film is held in near-universal regard as the greatest musical ever made (the American Film Institute first had it ranked #10 on its list of the 100 Greatest Films, then it rose to #5 when the list was revised and it placed #1 on their 100 Years of Musicals list). Astonishingly, (and again considering that a Gene Kelly musical was the big winner a year prior) Singin’ in the Rain only received two Oscar nominations (for Supporting Actress and Score) and won a total of zero. However, the results weren’t all that surprising as the film was not as well regarded when it was released as it is today (proving that audiences and critics in 1952 were morons). The film also casts a critical eye on Hollywood—the plot revolves around the transition from silent to talking films in 1927—and the Academy rarely ever rewards films that cast a critical on the film industry. The Bad and the Beautiful likely also suffered from this syndrome, as did Sunset Boulevard two years earlier.

The favorite in 1952 was Fred Zinnemann’s classic, real-time Western High Noon. Actor Gary Cooper took home the Best Actor Oscar for his portrayal of Sheriff Will Kane, the only man in a town full of cowards willing to stand up to a gang of criminals. Like Singin’ in the Rain, High Noon is universally critically regarded as one of the best films of its genre as well as one of the best films ever made (it ranked #33 on AFI’s initial 100 Greatest Films, #27 on the revised list, and is #2 on the 100 Years of Westerns list). Its Oscar undoing lies in its screenplay, for reasons more about politics, not quality.

High Noon’s screenwriter, Carl Foreman, intended the film to be an allegory against McCarthyism. While he was writing High Noon, Foreman was called to testify in hearings held by the House Un-American Activities Committee. Foreman declined to name names to HUAC, and landed himself on the Hollywood blacklist. The film was a political lightning rod, with obvious supporters on the left-leaning members and blacklist sympathizers in film community, and staunch, vocal opponents with conservative leanings. The biggest hater—John Wayne, in a clear reveal of his right-wing bias, called High Noon “the most Un-American thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” (Ironically, Wayne would end up accepting Best Actor on behalf of Cooper.) Yet the film also had a big supporter in President Dwight D. Eisenhower, and the film has since been a favorite of conservative and liberal Presidents alike. Both Ronald Reagan and Bill Clinton (who calls High Noon his favorite film, and screened it seventeen times in the White House during his eight year term) were Presidential admirers of the film. Oscar, however, has rarely courted controversy, and Communism was the kiss of death in the 1950’s.

Who benefitted most from the red scare surrounding High Noon? Cecil B. DeMille, who sympathized with Senator McCarthy’s cause. DeMille was also in an enviable position with Academy voters—that of the elder statesman, veteran, respected filmmaker who has never sniffed Oscar glory. Many Academy voters in 1952 likely determined that DeMille’s last, best shot at winning an Oscar was for The Greatest Show on Earth (which ended up being the penultimate film directed in DeMille's career), and they favored his more readily wholesome, all-American film over the controversy magnet. The fact that DeMille was awarded the Thalberg Award the same year as his Best Picture victory is evidence that DeMille clearly had the favor of the Academy (yet he did not win Best Director). This is far from the only example of politics determining an Oscar winner, yet it is easily one of the most egregious examples of political interference in the history of the Academy Awards. The lesson to filmmakers looking to win an Oscar—be careful in courting controversy.

While not a terrible film, The Greatest Show on Earth does not hold up under critical scrutiny, and certainly did not deserve to win Best Picture. The film is not-so-ready for a close-up. Its victory was indicative of several trends at the Academy Awards for the next two decades. The Greatest Show on Earth was the first Oscar-winner since Gone With the Wind to be a feat of epic filmmaking. Big-time epics with casts of thousands and spectacular sequences (like the train wreck) would prove both commercially and critically popular, especially since film would have to distinguish itself as something much grander than its chief competitor: television. Another trend was established with Charlton Heston creating a template for male masculinity in his authoritative, tough-guy roles. America wanted to see men in charge, and the films in the 1950’s provided them in spades. Finally, the Best Picture victory of The Greatest Show on Earth proved that Oscar was not ready to reward politically challenging films (films that, in this reviewer’s opinion, have withstood the test of time far greater) in a time when the country was in the grip of a palpable fear of all things considered to be un-American. After all, what is more American than the circus?

I’ll end on a positive note, one which shows that even a film infamous for being the Worst Best Picture can end up being a source for greatness. The Greatest Show on Earth was the first film Steven Spielberg saw, and he cites it as a major inspiration for wanting to become a filmmaker. The wellspring for creativity can have unusual sources indeed.

DETAILS

The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)

Director: Cecil B. DeMille

Starring: Charlton Heston, James Stewart*, Betty Hutton, Cornel Wilde, Gloria Grahame

Studio: Paramount Pictures

Total Oscars: 2 (Best Picture, Best Story) from 5 total nominations** (Best Director—Cecil B. DeMille, Best Costume Design (Color)—Edith Head, Best Editing)

*Unbelievably, The Greatest Show on Earth is the only Best Picture winner Jimmy Stewart ever appeared in, and he spends the whole film in clown makeup.
**DeMille was also awarded the Irving G. Thalberg Award in 1952, and the award that mirrors the Thalberg at the Golden Globes bears DeMille’s name.

NEXT BLOG: From Here to Eternity

How Green Was My Valley: The Richness of Memory

I’m going to come right out and say it: How Green Was My Valley did not deserve to win the Best Picture Oscar in 1941. Now, don’t take this as a judgment on the quality of the film itself. There is much to admire in Josh Ford’s adaptation of Richard Llewellyn’s novel. Considering the competition—Sergeant York, The Maltese Falcon, Suspicion, and above all, Citizen Kane—the film has taken on an ignominious identity as the least deserving Best Picture winner of all time (and had the field of nominees been those five instead of ten, How Green Was My Valley may be considered the weakest). Retroactively, it is easy to judge the merits (or lack thereof) of an award winner. Hell, it’s also quite fun to do so. However, I think in this instance, How Green Was My Valley is unfairly maligned, especially since it shares much in common with the critical consensus choice of the greatest film ever made, Citizen Kane.

Now, I said in my last post that each of the Best Picture winners of the 1940’s will act as a litmus test to how audiences reacted to the various changes and crises (especially World War II) occurring around them. If we use the Kübler-Ross model describing the five stages of grief—denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance—How Green Was My Valley is firmly in the camp of denial (and by the way, I will be using the consecutive stages of the Kübler-Ross model as a basis of comparison for five successive Oscar winners of the 1940’s—Mrs. Miniver, Casablanca, The Lost Weekend, and The Best Years of Our Lives).

Primarily, How Green Was My Valley is a film about nostalgia. I think nostalgia is a potent form of denial where a person yearns for an idealized past as a way to mask an inability or unwillingness to cope with a less than ideal present. The very title of the film is a tip off to its tone. The valley was green, implying that today, it must not be. The film is structured—like Citizen Kane—as a flashback, told through the eyes of Huw (Roddy McDowall, in one of the finest performances ever given by a child actor), the youngest member of the Morgan family. The Morgans are a family of coal miners living in South Wales, and Huw recounts his experiences as a boy. He has a rather Dickensian life—Huw is witness to tragedy as well as happiness—but the experiences recalled all point to comfort and personal growth.

The Morgans are a family steeped in rituals. There are clearly defined roles for each member. Father Gwilym (Donald Crisp) and the five elder sons—Ianto, Ivor, Gwilym Jr., Davy and Owen—toil every day in the coal mine. Mother Beth (Sara Allgood) and sister Angharad (Maureen O’Hara) are in charge of keeping order in the household. Huw is the student. The film takes time to show the everyday rituals of the Morgan family. When the men return home each day from work, Beth waits at the door to collect wages from each man as they walk through the door. At the dinner table, Gwilym is the first to be served and the last to finish. Beth is served last and finishes first. The father offers grace, and the family eats in silence. After dinner, the wages are distributed to each family member by age. Ianto receives the largest amount; Huw a single coin. The family rituals bring comfort, tranquility, and order to the Morgan family.

It is only when the rituals are disrupted that danger enters the story. Gwilym, despite having the respect of every man who he works with, remains loyal to the mine owner when wages are being reduced. His sons each advocate for a union (which Gwilym Sr. derides as “socialist nonsense”) and eventually decide to strike. The change in demeanor of the miners is signified by the fact that they are no longer singing when they return home (the miners in the film sing more often than the Seven Dwarfs). The strike lasts for months and Gwilym becomes ostracized by the men who once looked up to him. The strike indirectly causes injury to Huw and Beth when on a cold night after a meeting in which Beth defended her husband to the townsfolk now against him, she stumbles into a freezing river and Huw jumps in to save her. Huw temporarily loses the use of his legs afterward.

Huw’s convalescence becomes a happy memory. The new preacher (Walter Pidgeon), Mr. Gruffydd (that’s pronounced Griffith for those unfamiliar with their Welsh); helps Huw regain his confidence by reading him stories and teaching him to use prayer to regain strength. Mr. Gruffydd and Angharad also become instantly smitten, though their relationship becomes complicated by Angharad’s engagement to the son of the mine’s owner. Though Mr. Gruffydd and Angharad are passionately in love with one another, the marriage of Angharad is arranged as a way to show there is no bad blood between the workers and the owners. Angharad professes her love for the preacher, but Mr. Gruffydd knows that Angharad would remain in a life of poverty if she remained with him, as well as disrupting the truce between the miners and owners the marriage symbolizes. He sacrifices love to maintain rituals and appearances.

Eventually, the Morgan family becomes splintered. Gwilym Jr. and Owen depart for richer pastures in America when wages become too thin. Later in the film, Ivor is killed in an accident, and Ianto and Davy are also laid off and forced to go overseas to find work. Huw leaves the valley for the first time to enroll in school, but he finds danger in the outside world as he is bullied by his fellow students and teachers (though in an amusing subplot, Huw learns to fight back, and well). Eventually, Huw chooses to work in the mines alongside his father, and become a caretaker to Ivor’s widow, Bronwyn (Anna Lee)—who Huw fell in love with at first sight in the beginning of the film—and her infant son. By the end of the film, the rituals the town has developed break apart completely, gossip and mistrust dominate the valley, and death comes to Gwilym in a cave-in. The film ends with a montage of the happier times in Huw’s life, and concludes with the line, “Men like my father cannot die. They are with me still—real in memory as they were in flesh, loving and beloved forever. How green was my valley then.” Scenes of happy memories then flash by—Huw’s first glimpse of Bronwyn’s beauty, the Morgan family at dinner, Angharad waving at Mr. Gruffydd, the five brothers together, and a scene of Huw and his father, hand-in-hand, walking over a crest of a hill. With the present being messy and complicated, the past looks greener indeed.

Ultimately, Citizen Kane vouches for the same ideal. The entire film is structured around the mystery of Kane’s dying utterance: “Rosebud”. The newsreel reporter gains access the people closest to Charles Foster Kane, and they each reveal a portion of his life. Kane is a man who seems to embody the American dream (Kane even says at one point in the film “I am, above all, an American.”). He has an abundance of wealth. He has a family. He is the most powerful man in his profession. He has built an opulent mansion. In the end though, it turns out that the people closest to Kane find him just as enigmatic as the reporter. Nobody truly knows the man, and he dies in Xanadu (his mansion), a home filled with meaningless possessions. Of those items (oh, and if you have never seen Citizen Kane or don’t by virtue of cultural osmosis know the identity of Rosebud, I’m totally going to SPOIL it right now, but the film is rich enough that you can know what Rosebud is and still be blown away by Orson Welles’ picture—so you’ve been warned, and don’t bitch at me) a sled is thrown into a fire, with the word “Rosebud” written on it. In a key scene in the very first flashback, Kane is shown as a young boy riding his sled before his parents sing away their legal guardianship of him. “Rosebud” comes to signify the only period in Kane’s life where he felt true happiness. Although Kane doesn’t have the richness of memories Huw does, he too, is ultimately nostalgic for the happiest time in his life. In a way, Welles is as sentimental as Capra in saying that all the wealth and all the material things and all the power a man could ever hope to obtain are things you cannot take with you when you die. Only richness of memory endures.

Ford’s Oscar winner and Welles’ greatest film of all time each have the same message. The films have more in common than their reputations would suggest. While Citizen Kane can be cynical and bitter (and also incredibly profound) and How Green Was My Valley is sweet and sentimental (and also a big-time tearjerker—have your hankies at the ready, easily weepy ones), both films turn to nostalgia to find the ultimate places of happiness for their characters. If nostalgia is a form of denial, then How Green Was My Valley represents an American culture in denial about the changes and madness sweeping the globe at the time. The film was released on October 28th, 1941, so initial audiences were clueless to the massive tragedy about to occur only five weeks later. Films of the Golden Age of Hollywood were designed to play long runs throughout the country—starting in the cities and working their way to the heartland—and as the film made its run, I’m sure its themes of longing for an idealized past brought immense comfort to a country thrust into a world war. How Green Was My Valley represents an America in denial.

I want to mention some of the technical aspects of the film apart from my Kübler-Ross based analysis. In addition to the awards earned by John Ford and the film itself, How Green Was My Valley won Oscars for cinematography and set design. I think most film lovers agree that Welles and his film were robbed, but many film critics feel that the bigger Oscar crime was that Gregg Toland’s revolutionary camera work and the team responsible for the incredible set designs for Citizen Kane lost to their competitors from How Green Was My Valley.

Toland may be the single most influential cinematographer ever, and his work on Citizen Kane revolutionized film. Toland’s use of deep focus photography—meaning that all objects in a frame of film, in both the foreground and background, are in complete crystal clear focus—helped to shape the story of that film as much as the screenplay. In the scene where Kane’s parents sign away their rights to the boy, deep focus is used to marvelous effect. The adults are conducting business in the extreme foreground, but clearly visible through a back window is the young Kane, riding Rosebud in the snow. For viewers watching the film on a repeat viewing, it’s really amazing how many details Toland’s lenses capture, helping to enhance the story. Citizen Kane was the first film to show ceilings, and Toland devised ways for cameras to effectively capture image and sound in a room with a lid. It also allowed for the use of several extreme low angle shots to be filmed—one of the best ways to suggest intimidation and power with a camera.

Kane’s sets prove to be equally important. Xanadu is brought vividly to life. The scene at the end where there are crates and creates of Kane’s belongings perfectly captures the size of his home and how ironically empty it is (the shot is most famously paid homage to by Steven Spielberg at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark). The opera house is another fantastic set. Citizen Kane is a film where details were absolutely crucial to the overall effect of the film.

Details are equally as important to How Green Was My Valley. Ford wished to film his picture in Wales, but it was both cost prohibitive and politically impossible to film there (Great Britain, after all, was far more heavily involved with WWII by the time filming started). Therefore, a replica of the Rhondda Valley had to be recreated back in the states. At the 3,000 square foot Fox Ranch in Malibu, the set was erected. The entire town, every building, and the mine in the film are a set and the whole town was functional. Not once does artifice leak through when How Green Was My Valley is viewed. Though totally phony, the sets have a feel of absolute authenticity.

Arthur C. Miller’s photography is also gorgeous. Many scenes from the movie appear to be lifted from postcards (were the film made today, they would be compared to screensaver images). Although Miller’s lenswork doesn’t have the depth of Toland’s the film is crystalline. Miller also takes care to recognize that the events of the story are unfolding through the eyes of a young boy, so the camera is almost always at Huw’s eye level, where the adult world seems much larger than life (Spielberg would use this trick in E.T.). How Green Was My Valley is a beautiful-looking film, the cinematic equivalent of a children’s storybook.

I think Toland deserved the Oscar, but Miller’s work is also award-worthy. The art direction award is a toss-up in my book, but again, both films do marvelous work with their set design and construction. Were Citizen Kane not released in 1941, I think there would be far less critical uproar about the Oscars How Green Was My Valley took home.


DETAILS

How Green Was My Valley (1941)

Director: John Ford

Starring: Roddy McDowell, Maureen O’Hara, Walter Pidgeon, Donald Crisp, Sara Allgood, Anna Lee, Barry Fitzgerald

Studio: 20th Century Fox

Total Oscars: 5 (Best Picture, Best Director—John Ford, Best Supporting Actor—Donald Crisp, Best Art Direction—B&W, Best Cinematography—B&W) out of 10 nominations (Best Supporting Actress—Sara Allgood, Best Adapted Screenplay, Best Editing, Best Score, Best Sound Recording)


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