John Huston's "Badge" Under Fire

John Huston's version of The Red Badge of Courage (1951), based upon the famous Civil War novella of Stephen Crane, is one of the director's most visually inventive films. At times, it's also one of his most gripping. But as for being one of his finest all-around works, the jury is out, as we'll never see the director's intended opus.

In his engaging 1980 memoir, An Open Book, Huston tells the story of how this film was first turned down at MGM, then later approved and finally edited by the studio after a poor initial reaction by the public (this despite very good critical acceptance). During post-production, Huston had to begin filming The African Queen, so he was not present while the studio executives decided to add narration as well as trim the film down to a mere 70 minutes. (Huston does not mention how long his version was, but we can imagine that at least 20-30 minutes were dropped for the final cut.) Years later after a reappraisal by English critics, the studio asked Huston for his copy of the film, as they wanted to rerelease the original version as the director had intended. But as Huston points out, he didn't have a print, as it didn't exist. Because of this, Huston would stipulate in his future contracts with studios that he receive a 16-mm print of the first cut of any film he made.

Yet despite the studio interference, this is a strong film. Given that the screenplay is rather sparse and the action focuses on only a few sequences, Huston's direction is the principal reason why this work is so memorable. His visuals are quite striking, especially in several shots where he has one character in the foreground of the frame - usually at the extreme left or right - with another in the background. This shot is used more than once with the two main characters, Henry Fleming, also known as The Youth (portrayed by World War ll hero Audie Murphy) and Wilson, also known as The Loud Soldier, portrayed by war correspondent and editorial cartoonist, Bill Mauldin.

Bill Mauldin (l.) and Audie Murphy

Some of these shots are the two of them sitting and talking, as during the morning of the final battle, where each confesses to the other their fears as well as excitement over the upcoming attack. In one shot however, Huston places The Youth in the extreme right foreground and has The Loud Soldier walk from rear left to front left, stopping a few feet away from his friend, as both faces fill the screen in closeup. Huston ends the scene with Mauldin walking back to the rear left of the frame, away from the camera and from Murphy. He never moves his camera and it's all done in one continuous, economical shot.

Huston films this work primarily as a series of closeups, as we identify with the various Union soldiers who march before our eyes. He wants us to see the fear and nervousness of these individuals in circumstances none of them have ever faced; they clearly have no idea what lies ahead. For the most part, Huston does not give us wide panoramas of battles or shots with long lenses to compress the view of two opposing sides in a skirmish. We rarely see the Rebs in this film, with the one exception being a few shots of captured Confederate soldiers talking to their counterparts after the film's final battle. This is an achingly simple scene, as one soldier on each side asks the other his name and what state they are from - the soldiers fight for their cause, but they share the same emotions.

This is one of the quietest war films ever made; battles are few, while the forced marches from one location to the other are the focus - again, so we can learn of the soldier's fears and hopes. There is a beautiful overhead crane shot of the Union troops asleep at night in camp; the camera pans from one soldier to another and composer Bronislau Kaper adds a remarkable cue, at first slow and solemn and then jarring, as he writes a short outburst of brass that communicates the nightmare one commanding officer has during his sleep. This is a haunting and eleoquent scene that tells us the uneasiness of the lives of these individuals.

One can only wonder how good The Red Badge of Courage might have been, had the studio not gotten in the way. Yet Huston gave us a stirring, wonderfully humanistic look at soldiers under pressure in this film that even non-approved editing could not eliminate. This is a film that does not take sides nor does it condone or condemn war. It is simply, an important film about the quiet struggles soldiers face in war. The fact that we identify with these subjects is a sign of the clarity and beauty of John Huston's direction.

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I promised Adam Zanzie at IceBox Movies, who is hosting a John Huston blogathon, that I would share my encounter with the director, so here goes - Adam, I hope you love it!

I was flying back home from Ireland in late September 1985 and had just settled into my seat, when John Huston boarded two rows directly in front of me. I immediately recognized him, given his height and that wonderful white beard he sported for so many years. Accompanying Huston was a female assistant who took care of his needs, which included an oxygen tank that he was hooked up to - at this stage in his life, he was suffering from emphysema. But if his health was causing him any agony, he certainly didn't show it this particular day, as I soon discovered.

About 30 minutes into the flight, the lead flight attendant, standing only a few feet from Huston, announced on the intercom that the movie that day was Prizzi's Honor. I couldn't believe my ears, as here was Huston's latest film - it had been released only a few months earlier - and I was going to watch it with the director as part of the audience.

When the flight attendant finished her remarks, Huston, who was in fine voice, barked at the woman, "Stewardess! Who books the movies on these flights?" The poor woman, obviously flustered at the demands of this man whom she did not know, said sheepishly, "I'm not sure, sir. But I can find out for you."

Huston smiled and then addressed her. "Well, you tell them, this is the worst movie I've ever seen!" All she could do was try and be helpful.. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I'll let them know."

I was doubled over in laughter in my seat, but looking around, no one else seemed to get the joke. It didn't matter, as Huston, even in his advancing years, hadn't lost his sense of humor.

Although I didn't get the chance to speak with Huston given his condition, I'll never forget the spark he displayed that day. No wonder so many great actors wanted to work with him. How could you not love someone who enjoyed that type of mischievous fun?

John Huston's War Documentaries

Still from Let There Be Light

In early 1942, just as John Huston was wrapping up principal photography of Across the Pacific, he was given a commission as a Lieutenant in the Army Signal Corps and assigned to a meaningless job in Washington. After a short while, he managed to get himself transferred to the Aleutian Islands and once there, made the first of three documentaries for the Army. Seen together, they represent very different views of the war and the effects combat had on the soldiers. They are fascinating chapters in the director's register.


REPORT FROM THE ALEUTIANS (1942)
This 43-minute film, shot in color, was narrated from start to finish by Huston himself. The opening shot is of a map showing the viewer exactly where the Aleutian Islands were, west of Alaska, with one island, Adak, located only 250 miles from Japanese-held territory.

Huston's film details the primitive airstrips and missions taken by the young pilots, many of whom were far too inexperienced in the air. Worse yet, they had to deal with flimsy planes with no radar, often battling rain and fog. Many planes did not come back and even for the ones that did, crashes on the airstrip were a routine occurrence.

Huston shows us the faces of these young men as well as the isolation of their surroundings. The missions were the emphasis here and the director was on several of those, along with a team of five or six other cameramen, capturing some remarkable images. One of the most striking is an over-the-shoulder shot behind the pilot as their plane flies head on into a rainstorm. Other images of the bombs being dropped have a eerie beauty to them.

Huston's job was to make a propaganda film, of course, and at one point, the narration has him saying, "The Japs were dug in like so many moles." However, these emotions were kept to a minimum, the result being a well-made, if straightforward record of the bravery of these isolated men. Few recall this part of World War ll, so we have Huston to thank for these memories.




THE BATTLE OF SAN PIETRO (1945)
This 33 minute film is one of the most beautifully realized works in Huston's canon. Detailing a particularly fierce battle for a small strip of land near the town of San Pietro in southwestern Italy (population 1412, as Huston proclaims in his narration), this is a gripping, visually rewarding film that retains its power today and was no doubt, an inspiration to filmmakers who made war films in Hollywood several decades later (Steven Spielberg for Saving Private Ryan, for one).

Shot in black and white, Huston opens the film with a brief speech by a nameless commanding officer who describes the importance of the Allies gaining hold of this small territory known as the Liri Valley, some 60 miles northwest of Naples and 40 miles southeast of Rome. This is a nice touch and reinforces Huston's belief in the bravery of these men; names are not important, only deeds.

Huston goes to painstaking detail to explain the various stages of the battle with intricate maps, showing where various regiments would be stationed and what their exact orders were. Seeing these plans acted out bring special impact to the film, especially seeing soldiers advance through the terraced groves of olive trees.




The hand-held camera work, much of it done by Huston himself, is thrilling and at the same time distrurbing to watch. As we see two or three soldiers advance amidst the dirt being tossed up by nearby grenades, Huston pans to the right as we watch a soldier being felled by enemy fire; this is still a bit shocking to watch. But even more disturbing are the brief images of the faces of a few soldiers being put into body bags; Huston does not show their entire face, but only a part, which gives these images a haunting quality.

Haunting and beautiful are the shots of the townspeople emerging from their hiding places once the Allies have secured victory. There are several lovely shots of children's faces with their innocent smiles as well as visuals of women washing clothes and men digging out from under the rubble. One of the best shots is of a local woman, balancing on her head, not a basket of clothes or food, but a casket.



This is a no-nonsense film that depicted the brutality of war as well as the simple beauty of the emotions of the local residents, grateful for their final plight. Huston recalls in his wonderful autobiography, An Open Book (1980), that at a premiere of this work for Army brass in Washington, several generals walked out on the film. Later, it was explained to Huston by an Army official that the film was to be shelved as it was "anti-war." He told the Army that if he ever made a pro-war film, "someone should take me out and shoot me." Thankfully, Gen. George Marshall, aware of the film's reception, asked to see the film and declared it as worthy of the heroism of the American soldier.

This is a must see film for anyone interested in John Huston's work.



LET THERE BE LIGHT (1946)
This is clearly the most controversial of the three Huston documentaries. The subject matter - the study of what was then called psychoneuroses on soldiers returning from the battlefront - guaranteed that, but it is the intensity of Huston's direction that makes this 58-minute film so troublesome to deal with for so many people.

Huston and his cinematographer Stanley Cortez (The Magnificent Ambersons) filmed soldiers at the Mason General Army Hospital on Long Island, focusing on a few specific cases, ranging from one soldier upset at the loss of his girlfriend to another who could not walk due to neuroses. The cure is often hypnosis as well as a shot of sodium amathal; a drug that is referred to a having a "shortcut to the mind" by removing symptoms that could impede the patient's recovery.



Narrated by Huston's father Walter, the director focuses on the behavior of these troops who dream of the "torments of fear, uncertainty and loneliness." Some patients have mild problems, others are more serious cases. The most talked about scene in the film is that of a fragile soldier who can barely speak, as he can only manage to say a few words, often stuttering. We are told that the man is not a chronic stutterer, but someone who is suffering from battle fatigue. After he lays down on a cot and is given medicine, he suddenly recovers, saying in a voice that becomes louder and louder, "I can talk! I can talk! Oh god, listen I can talk!" The doctor then slowly converses with him about the specifics that caused this situation and soon the soldier is cured.

The film continues with Q and A sessions between a group of soldiers and a doctor; as a group, they are in fine shape after their treatment. We then see shots of them playing softball and enjoying life, presumably for the first time in years.

All in all, while this does have a few marvelous sequences, the film lacks the dramatic punch one would expect. It is watchable and informative, but this is not the end-all study of war illness it could have been. This makes the Army decision to ban this film puzzling, as the end result of the film is seeing the expertise of the Army doctors who have cured the patients. These soldiers walked in with frazzled nerves, but the leave as relatively normal human beings, free of neuroses (for the most part).

The film was finally given a public showing in 1981 and is available on the internet (as are the other two films mentioned above). Huston wrote in his book that he believed the decision to ban this film was the Army's way of maintaining the "warrior myth" of the American soldier. The Army has said that the filmed interviews were invasions of privacy of the specific soldiers, but Huston writes that he had each individual sign a release, allowing him to film them, so Huston's explanation that he showed the troops at less than zealous heroism, is probably as good as any.

One final note: many reviewers of this film have written that Huston staged much of the film, especially so Cortez could get the proper camera angle and lighting setup. This may have happened - who's to say for sure - but I believe Huston when he wrote that:

"the cameras ran continuously, one on the patient and one on the doctor. We shot thousands of feet of film... just to be sure of getting the extraordinary and completely unpredictable exchanges that sometimes occurred... As the men began to recover, they accepted the cameras as an integral part of their treatment."

While I wanted an even more detailed look at these soldiers, this is a fine film and recommended not only as a historical document, but also as a look at the unglamorous side of combat, a side too often forgotten by filmmakers.

A Stellar Documentary

When I was growing up in the 1960s, I eagerly followed the NASA space flights, from the one-man Mercury to the two-man Gemini to the three-person Apollo flights. I couldn't get enough of these and like most kids growing up then, I watched all of this on tv, whether at school during the day or at home during the evening.

When the crew of Apollo 11 landed on the moon in July 1969, it was a milestone in everyone's life and at 13, it was something that influenced my life and has stayed with me to this very day. Seeing the moving documentary, In the Shadow of the Moon (2007) for the first time the other day, took me back to my youth and reminded me how magnificent man can be when he is challenged to go to a higher, more distant pinnacle than ever before.

Director David Sington organized his film around interviews taken in 2006 with several astronauts from various Apollo missions; these include Michael Collins and Buzz Aldrin from Apollo 11; James Lovell from Apollo 8 and 13; Alan Bean from Apollo 17; Edgar Mitchell from Apollo 14; Charlie Duke from Apollo 16 and Dave Scott from Apollo 9 and 15. Sington films them in closeup as they talk and it's interesting to see how youthful these men look in their 60s and 70s. Sington and his editor David Fairhead include a few extreme closeups which were merely test shots for focus on the eyes of various astronauts and were meant to be throwaways, but these brief images are quite revealing and visually notable.

Speaking of visuals, it's hard to go wrong with images of the huge Saturn rockets lifting off or of the astronauts walking on the moon. We've seen these before of course, but there are many images we haven't seen, as NASA officials allowed the director access to some shots that had never even been processed before this film. Visually, this is a wonderful film, especially seeing the earth as the astronauts saw it, from the vastness of space. No matter how many times we see this visual, it's stirring.



Sington has wisely decided to organize this film not by mission number, but by flight plan, so we get comments from the various astronauts on everything from the jolt they felt at liftoff to the excitement of seeing the moon up close to the thrill of walking on the moon to final splashdown back on earth. Thus the film becomes more than an exercise in trivia, but a journal of what life was like for these special men.

As visually interesting as this film is, the best part of this work is the collection of interviews with the astronauts. Some of the best remarks come from Michael Collins, the Apollo 11 crew member who did not walk on the moon, but instead stayed in the command module above the moon while his crewmates were making history traversing the lunar landscape. Collins says that while he remained positive during the flight, he was always "mildly worried" that something would go wrong. Upon completion of the mission, he comments that "nobody messed up. Even I didn't make any mistakes!"


There are dozens of other wonderful insights. Lovell talks of how small earth looked from space, saying he could put his thumb up and cover the entire planet. Bean recalls the "weird feeling" he had walking on the moon, as it was only his crewmate and himself, while Mitchell remembers asking himself on the moon, "What am I doing here? You've really got yourself in trouble now."




Sington also has the astronauts talk about their feelings as they returned and how they look at their life and the world today. Mitchell, recalling the view he had of space upon the return from the moon, says that "my molecules were the same as that of the stars." Bean comments that since his return to earth,

"I have not complained about the weather one single time. I’m glad there is weather. I’ve not complained about traffic – I’m glad there’s people around... Boy we’re lucky to be here. Why do people complain about the Earth? We are living in the Garden of Eden."

There is also a remarkable clip of President Nixon reading a prepared statement from the Oval Office about the tragedy of Aldrin and Neil Armstrong not returning from the moon. This was written in case the motor of the lunar module did not fire for their takeoff from the moon, which would have meant they would have been casualties, as there was no way to retrieve them. "They know there is no hope for their return but they know there is hope for mankind in their sacrifice," was part of this chilling message and what foresight it took for NASA to cover this possibility!

One final production note and that concerns the beautiful score composed for the film by Philip Sheppard. He writes stirring themes, never going over the top in emotion. The scenes of the huge rockets at liftoff are accompanied beautifully with Sheppard's music, which here is patterned after a classical concerto.

This is a highly recommended work that reminds us of how positive men can be when they are united in pride.


One final note: This was somehow passed up by the Academy for nomination as Best Documentary for the year 2007. Over the past decade, the branch that nominates the films for this award has become more socially conscious, focusing on subjects from war to terrorism to illegal dolphin fishing. While those are serious subjects and the films made about them were often quite powerful, it's a shame that a beautifully crafted, heartrendering film such as this could not even garner a nomination.

Truth or Lies?

"I always laugh about Jean-Luc Godard's comment that 'Film is truth 24 times a second,' because in my opinion, film is a lie 24 times a second. Everything is prearranged, predigested, rehearsed, thought out, worked out, written down and then eventually photographed." - Stanley Donen

This quote from the Turner Pictures documentary, When the Lion Roars, about the history of MGM, is about Donen's specific thoughts concerning the famous title sequence from Singin' in the Rain, which he directed in 1952. Noting how much preparation went into this scene, he continues:

"No musical number is not organized down to the last eyelash. The puddles were even organized. The puddles had to be placed and we had to work out how far he was going to have to move to splash in the puddle and we had to dig out the cement in the street and make it hold the water.

"It's an appearance of truth 24 times a second, but it's all organized. "We're all working strings."


LIke most of us, I've seen that scene in Singin' countless times, yet I never noticed that the cement was dug out on the street to hold the puddles. After Donen mentioned it, I saw it right away and now I know it's coming, whether I am looking for it or not.

So it seems to me that Donen is saying, at least in part, that the scene works so briliantly (I think it's one of the most perfectly realized scenes in cinema history) because it was so organized and rehearsed; in other words, nothing was left to chance.

But I wonder what Donen would say about the penultimate scene from In Cold Blood (1967) where convicted killer Perry Smith (Robert Blake) tells a childhood story to his former warden, as both of them are in a small room not far from the "corner" where Smith will soon be hanged. Smith is standing next to a window and as the rain hits the glass, we also see the reflection of the raindrops on Smith's face (this is shot in low key black and white so we can see these details quite clearly). Remarkably, the reflection of raindrops fall from his eyes down his cheeks, making it seem as though Smith is crying as he speaks. Conrad Hall was the director of photography on this film, but even a cinematographer as brilliant as he could not have planned this. It's an amazing, powerful visual that gives even more meaning to the scene, as Smith talks of the heartbreak of his youth. (The scene can be found on YouTube at:http://www.youtube.com/v/IVDxfDNq2VU&fs=1&source=uds&autoplay=1

So how do we now look at Donen's quote and what about Godard's statement of "film being the truth?" Of course, as Godard was a political filmmaker, we can believe that his words were more ethereal thoughts about the meaning of film - we don't have to take it literally. But while Donen certainly has a strong point, I think it's safe to say that based on the scene from In Cold Blood, the reality (truth?) lies somewhere in between, as this scene is a compelling one thanks to its happy visual accident. In this case, the total emotional impact was clearly more than the sum of its parts.

Suspense 15 floors up

One of the great things about DVDs is the rerelease of hundreds, if not thousands of films that many of us have never seen or in some cases, even heard of. That was the case for me with Fourteen Hours (1951) directed by Henry Hathaway. I picked this up at my local library, knowing nothing about it, except that it was released under the Fox Film Noir banner and as I love this genre, I thought I'd give it a try.

I'm pleased I did and I'm glad I knew so little about this work, as it is a riveting film about a man who threatens to jump off the ledge of his 15th floor hotel room in Manhattan. The film was written by John Paxton who adapted a 1949 New Yorker story by Joel Sayre about a real-life incident in 1938 concerning the drama of John William Warde, who held New Yorkers captive for most of a day when he threatened to jump from the 17th floor of his hotel.



What is remarkable about this film is the fact that most of the action takes place on that ledge (or just a few feet away in the safety of the man's room.). We know we are watching a movie, so we know that the man is not actually 15 floors up, facing possible death, yet the technical work - matte paintings and process shots - is of such high caliber, that we feel the vertigo of this man above the streets of New York, even though the film was largely shot in a Hollywood studio.

I also like the fact that the story is not sensationalized, as the film is more or less a cat and mouse game between the would-be jumper (wonderfully underplayed by Richard Basehart) and a street-smart, humble policeman named Charlie Dunnigan (charmingly played by Paul Douglas) who spends much of the film on the ledge trying to reason with the man about why he should not jump.



At first, we know nothing of this man and why he wants to take his life; he says almost nothing to Dunnigan, not even his name. Dunnigan works to gain the man's trust by offering him a glass of water; he accepts, but immediately wonders if anything has been added to the water to affect his behavior. This guy, as desperate as he is, stays ahead of Dunnigan and others (police officials, a psychiatrist, hotel employees) by constantly keeping them off their guard.

We soon find out the character's name is Robert Cosick, but it might as well be Robert Smith or Bill Jones, as the identity of the name is a plot device to bring the man's parents and former fiancé into the action. This takes up much of the seond half of the film, as we see how his parents - an overbearing mother and a recluse father - did much to ruin his psyche. Lacking self-confidence, he did not see himself worthy of a bride, so he now sees suicide as the only way out.



This psychological situation helps explain things, but it is the mano-a-mano conversations between Cosick and Dunnigan that are the strongest things about this drama. After an inital encounter on the ledge, Dunnigan is told to go back to the street by his commanding officer. Cosick hates policemen in general, but found Dunnigan understanding to his plight, so he demands that Dunnigan returns to the ledge so they can talk. Perched betwen the window and the ledge, Dunnigan questions Cosick why he asked for him. "Everybody lies to me," is his reply. Dunnigan tells him that he wants to help and it is his fast thinking during their conversations that begin Cosick thinking about small things, briefly taking his mind off death.

The film also has things to say about media and the public and how they treat these incidents. We see thousands of people gather below only minutes after this ordeal begins and of course, the television cameras are there to cover every detail. One woman tells her business associate that she refuses to head to work while all this is going on. "What if he jumps?" is her response to being late for work. Every time a new person is introduced and brought to Cosick's room to plead with him not to jump, we see photographers rushing to grab their camera, as this might be THE person who gets him to come back in - or else the person who fails and indirectly causes him to jump. Talk about drama! This is nicely felt in Hathaway's subtle direction and like the rest of the film, it's presented in a restrained manner.

Hathaway's direction is excellent - straightforward and tight, adding to the tension of the basic drama. Basic things such as Dunnigan giving Cosick a glass of water or a cigarette are directed very well, as we see the difficulty of a simple thing like this when the location is on a 15th floor ledge. Also, during one scene when Cosick slips and almost falls, we are taken aback - my heart was pounding as I'm sure most everyone who sees this scene will be. Combining this drama within a drama with the excellent photography makes this tense film even more gripping (Joe Mac Donald contributed the sparkling black and white cinematography).

The formula for this film is a good one, but it is the package of taut direction, first-rate production and above all, the emerging trust and newly formed friendship of the two main characters that makes Fourteen Hours such an absorbing and rewarding experience.

"Wild River" - An American Classic

This past February, the Gene Siskel Film Center in my hometown of Chicago offered a retrospective of the films of Elia Kazan. I have seen most of his films, but had only heard about his 1960 work, Wild River. I looked up the critical reponse and learned that many of the country's top film analysts, including Dave Kehr and Jonathan Rosenbaum had celebrated this as perhaps Kazan's finest film - high praise indeed for the artist that gave us such works as East of Eden, On the Waterfront, Baby Doll and A Streetcar Named Desire.

Armed with prior critical admiration, I went to see the film. I was moved by this work, but decided to view it again before writing about it, so I could separate my view point from the previously mentioned critics. I saw it a few days ago and now offer my thoughts.

Wild River is about a specific place at a specific time; the setting is along the Tennessee River in the mid-1930s. Kazan opens the film with black and white newsreel footage of houses being washed away by the floods; a local farmer tells us about his loved ones who were killed in the destruction. A narrator tells us that dams have to be built in several spots along the river to save the land. By so doing, a few small islands in the river will be lost, engulfed by the water from the dams' construction.

It is on one of these small islands that most of the film takes place. An elderly woman named Ella Garth (magnificently played by Jo Van Fleet) stubbornly refuses to leave her home, despite being told that the waters will soon envelop the island. A Tennessee Valley Authority official named Chuck Glover (Montgomery Clift) is sent to the island to evict her; he is not the first government man to attempt this duty.



Garth lives on the island with a few dozen poor black laborers, who farm the land using their mules. In an early scene, Kazan uses a tracking shot (one of the few on the film) to show Garth walking among these people, who have put their trust in her. She tells them that President Roosevelt is planning on putting "her" island underwater, as this is his decision to make things better. Kazan cuts to the faces of these workers; they clearly respect and at the same time, fear this woman and they are under her spell.

Glover comes to change her mind, but she tells him that she does not agree with the decision, as she believes that moving the residents from the island just to provide electricity for the local towns is akin to "talking away people's souls." She fiercely proclaims her independence and loyalty to her homestead. "I like things running wild," she declares in one of the film's most memorable lines.

Glover realizes he will not be able to change Garth's mind with simple logic, so he enlists the help of the blacks by offering them government jobs in town for a good wage. They are more than happy to embark on this new life, so most of them soon leave the island, although this will later create a problem for Glover with the prejudiced town officials.

Also living on the island is a woman in her early 20s, Carol (Lee Remick), who is Garth's granddaughter. Carol married very early in life, but when her husband passed away suddenly three years prior, she moved back to the island with her two young children to be with her grandmother.

At first, Carol does not want to leave the island either, but Glover believes she thinks this way as she is afraid of her grandmother. Slowly, he convinces her that leaving is the only decision for her and she soon comes to trust and then become enamored of Glover. He has similar feelings for her, yet both initially believe that nothing can come of their friendship, as Carol has a fiancé and Glover knows that he has to leave this land soon after his work is finished - thus he does not see a future for them.

The screenplay by Paul Osborn (based on novels by William Bradford Huie and Borden Deal) elegantly weaves these plot lines together. One of the many strong elements of the screenplay is the emotional depth of the love story between Glover and Carol. This is a mature relationship based more on security and hope rather than simple physical attraction. Both need to escape the boundaries that have been set up for them; Glover with the everyday workings of his job, Carol with the devotion to her grandmother. By becoming closer as they grasp the immediate situation, they see that they will each be able to better deal with the dramatic changes in their lives.



No matter the major theme of his films, from unfair labor practices (Waterfront) to peasant revolt (VIva Zapata!), Kazan always focused on the everyday troubles and pleasures of his main characters. Who can forget the scene of Marlon Brando and Eva Marie Saint in Waterfront, walking along the dock, as Brando confesses his part in her brother's death? Or the scene in East of Eden between Julie Harris and James Dean in the field, as she tells him about her father? These were touching scenes that gave the audience great insight into the character's motives and at the same time, brought us closer to them.

But in no other film of Kazan (with the possible exception of his autobiographical 1963 epic, America, America) did he succeed so brilliantly in humanizing his characters. Kazan's camera pans over the faces of Garth, Glover, Carol and the black workers with the utmost respect. He paints an unforgettable scenario where the dignity of life is celebrated, no matter how poor or downtrodden anyone is. We come to know these people and care about their immediate future, be it finding a new home or a new partner in life.

Kazan had been criticized in the past for not being a director of great compositions; certainly in his training as a theater director, his work was shaped by the proscenium arch, as evidenced by Streetcar. But for me, beginning with Eden, Kazan beautifully opened up his lens and carved out a world in the vast expanses of America. In Wild River, his visuals are the strongest he ever put on screen; he handles the widescreen beautifully (the films was shot in the Cinemascope process) and the depth of field is an important part of telling this story visually. There is a lovely shot of the small barge used by the characters to cross the tiny inlet of river that separates the island from the mainland; filmed at dawn with the early morning mist enshrouding the vessel, it is a haunting image. Likewise for the shot of Garth's house after she has been evicted. (The dark, earthy tones of the photography are the work of the director of photography, Ellsworth Fredericks. Interestingly, Haskell Wexler, one of Hollywood's greatest cinematographers, worked on this film, though he was uncredited.)

Kazan always brought out the best in his actors and there are three superb performances in Wild River. Clift emphasizes the uncertainty as well as the humility of his character; he is in almost every scene and he never has a false moment. This is one of his least known, yet most honest, sincere and complex performances. Remick, who had previously done a fine job emphasizing her sexiness (she had worked with Kazan on A Face in the Crowd and had just finished her part in Otto Preminger's Anatomy of a Murder), here delivers a quiet, reflective performance. Her character is often emotionally confused and Remick is up to the challenge of this role. She is better known for her showier roles (especially in 1962's The Days of Wine and Roses), but she delivers what is arguably her finest performance in this film.

As for Jo Van Fleet, this was the greatest moment in her brief film career, in my opinion. She had previously won an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress as James Dean's mother in Eden, so Kazan must have relished the opportunity to work with her again. Yet I wonder if even he knew how remarkable her performance in Wild River would be. She brings a wearied, yet eloquent quality to her character and at the same time a rugged fierceness. She is unwavering in her intensity about her land, yet it is her decency and humanity that are at the core of her words and deeds. In a documentary on Kazan, the director commented how Van Fleet (who was 46 at the time) would have the makeup artist apply age spots to her hands, despite Kazan's word to her that he would not shoot any closeups of her hands. Kazan was amazed at her preparation and devotion to her work and it is on display here in a performance that I think rivals the greatest in American films. (A separate note of gratitude for the bluesy, soulful trumpet theme composed by Kenyon Hopkins that opens the picture; it instantly sets the proper tone for this film.)

Wild River is a singular work by Elia Kazan and it is a masterpiece. In a career filled with many memorable films, this is his most lasting and unquestionably, his most heartfelt and beautifully told. The human spirit is on display here - we may die, but the passion of our souls will never perish.

Freud - The Pursuit of the Unknown

John Huston often made films that dealt with the subject of a pursuit. In Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948) it was three men trying to find gold in the Mexican hills. In The Asphalt Jungle (1950), he detailed a group of low-life criminals determined to make one last major heist, while in Fat City (1972), two down and outs try and pursue a meager life in the world of small-time boxing. In The African Queen (1951), it's all about getting down the river to safety and in Moulin Rouge (1952), it was the obsession of Toulouse-Lautrec trying to fit into Paris society, despite his physical deformities.

Some of Huston's characters succeed in their pursuit, while many fail. But clearly the quest or chase of the principals' goals is what fascinated Huston throughout his long career. The search for the truth - or perhaps better stated, the presumed truth - is what makes Freud (1962) such a captivating film in the director's canon (The film is sometimes referred to as Freud: The Secret Passion).

This is a serious look at the beginnings of Sigmund Freud's search into the darkness of the human mind; soon after Freud (earnestly portrayed by Montgomery Clift) teams up with Joseph Breuer, who would be his partner for years, we are introduced to a young patient of Breuer named Cecily (Susannah York) who suffers from extreme neurosis. In her case, she cannot walk, as it is up to Breuer to discover why this young woman is so mentally tortured. (This character is based upon the famous real life Anna O. that Freud documented in his works.)



Breuer has been working with Cecily for a short time, but believes he must turn her care over to Freud, as it seems that she has developed a crush on Breuer. Freud takes over, first hypnotizing her and then in later sessions, he decides against this, opting merely to talk with her to discover her inner secrets.

What he discovers as he learns more of her early life is that she loved her father, who was willing to let his daughter become curious about many new things in her life. As her mother would scold her for putting on makeup (this is compared to a prostitute who paints her face), she is naturally more comfortable with her father's care than with her mother's scorn.

Freud meanwhile learns things about his chlldhood, as he had problems accepting the meek nature of his father, especially when verbally abused about being a Jew. Freud turned to his mother for comfort to make his upbringing more bearable.

Thus Freud and Cecily are linked in their passion for the parent of the opposite sex - Cecily in love with her father and Freud looking to his mother for caresses. "Truth is a mirror upside down," is Freud's explanation; for him there is sexuality in childhood.

The movie goes into great detail abut Cecily's case; it is a good 40-50% of the film and it is fascinating. Originally penned by the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre (and then reworked by two others), the screenplay is serious and detailed. This is not the kind of movie that would play today, as the pace is too slow for modern audiences, but I was intrigued by the story and by Huston's careful and literal direction.

He does give us a few dream sequences - most notably one in which Freud is dragged - via a rope tied to his waist - into a deep cave. The symbolism here seems clear - he is going back into the womb via the umbilical cord - but this is played out with great skill and originality, especially in Douglas Slocombe's excellent black and white photography, which is quite edgy in this scene (negative images as well as out of focus shots).

In the end, Freud has created his Oedipus complex, but is shouted down by his peers during a reading of this paper. Worse yet, he is turned down by Breuer, who respects his diligence and compassion, but cannot agree on the notion of childhood sexuality. Another of Huston's characters has found his meaning in a pursuit; while others mock him, he does not fail. He knows that his work has only begun. This makes him a man who is firmly rooted in John Huston's world. He may be looking more at the end results than the means, as did the gold seekers in Sierra Madre, but the goal, the journey, the pursuit, is what defines his existence.