AFI #27: High Noon (1952)

This is a version of a review airing on ABC Radio Ballarat and South West Victoria on September 18, 2020, and ABC Radio Central Victoria on October 19, 2021.

This is part of a series of articles reviewing the American Film Institute's Top 100 Films, as unveiled in 2007. Why am I doing this? Because the damned cinemas are closed and I have to review something.

(PG) ★★★★★

Director: Fred Zinnemann.

Cast: Gary Cooper, Grace Kelly, Thomas Mitchell, Lloyd Bridges, Katy Jurado, Otto Kruger, Lon Chaney, Harry Morgan, Ian MacDonald, Eve McVeagh, Morgan Farley, Harry Shannon, Lee Van Cleef, Robert J. Wilke, Sheb Wooley.

Bourke Street in Melbourne wasn't the same during lockdown.

There's a shot in High Noon that is one of the all-time greats. It comes in the lead-up to the shoot-out that marks the film's crescendo, right after Marshal Will Kane (Cooper) has just had a down-and-dirty fist fight with his former deputy (Bridges). Battered and bruised, Kane realises he must face the impending stand-off with Big Bad Frank Miller and his men on his own. As his eyes dart around the empty main street of Hadleyville, the camera pulls back and up until Kane is an awkward, small figure, very much alone. 

"It’s still a haunting and gorgeous shot that really emphasizes Kane’s loneliness and abandonment," writes wonderfully named film reviewer The Love Pirate. "It’s the only shot of its kind in the film, the only technical trick, and it’s used perfectly as both a moment of artistry and performance and as a way to further explore the story."

In a single wordless shot, the peril and reality of Kane's situation is demonstrated beautifully. It's a powerful moment in one of the high watermarks of the western genre. 

Unlike many westerns, High Noon was about more than just cowboys and bad guys, right and wrong. It shows a town struggling on its day of reckoning, wandering in the grey zone of its own morality, sense of justice, and responsibility. The townsfolk make fine arguments for and against supporting Kane, as symbolised by the game of tug-of-war taking place among the children outside the church as these very arguments take place. In the end though, they all fall down, and one man is left standing by himself to face the storm.

So resonant is the story, the film has been seen as a metaphor for the Cold War, US involvement in the Korean War, and Hollywood's blacklist era. The latter is probably the closest to the intended allegory - screenwriter Carl Foreman was blacklisted after refusing to name names in front of McCarthy's communist witchhunt AKA the House of Un-American Activities Committee. While the blacklisting happened after the script for High Noon was written, Foreman probably knew the sharks were circling, given he'd been a member of the American Communist Party a decade earlier. All his concerns - about being a "man of principle, deserted by his erstwhile friends" as critic Barry Norman put it - came to fruition when he was forced to sell-up and flee Hollywood part-way through production of High Noon.

"Zinnemann's film is at once a great suspense western and a stark allegory of the climate of fear and the suspicion prevailing during the McCarthy era," wrote critic Kim Newman in 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die. 

But Zinnemann himself was less concerned with any allegorical notions of anti-McCarthyism and more enamoured by his preferred theme of the protagonist who stands alone against forces bigger than they are. In the director's eyes, Kane "merely represented a man prepared to do what a man had to do", according to Barry Norman. Zinnemann would mine a rich seam of individuals doing just this in From Here to Eternity (1953), A Man For All Seasons (1966), and Julia (1977), but High Noon was the first and best exploration of this theme.

The film's assessments of violence and responsibility continue to see High Noon so deliciously open to discussion almost 70 years on. A pacifist Quaker sees a need to resort to violence. Townsfolk argue that Kane could flee, but Kane's pride makes him stay. Indeed, despite Kane's adherence to his lawful duties above all else, even in the face of having handed in his badge and gotten married, some saw the film as "un-American". 

After all, here's a hero who admits he needs help and is scared. He's afraid to die, but is compelled to pick up his gun and tin star one last time for a town of patriotic Americans that have turned their backs on him. "(This) was what made the portrayal of the character of Will Kane so jarring," writes author Jesse Schultz. "In movies we’re accustomed to seeing the hero face down and defeat armies of opponents as if it were merely a day at the office - alone and betrayed, Kane is understandably terrified."

Its biggest critics were director Howard Hawks and John Wayne (who turned down the lead role), and ended up making (the also excellent) Rio Bravo in response. "I didn't think a good town marshal was going to run around town like a chicken with his head cut off asking everyone to help," scoffed Hawks. "And who saves him? His Quaker wife. That isn't my idea of a good Western." This assessment is at odds with many US presidents - it was a favourite film of Eisenhower, Clinton and Reagan.

High Noon's influence is huge and diverse. It wasn't the first feature film to use the real-time narrative device (that credit is believed to belong to 1949's The Set-Up), but it drew attention to the idea due to the film's widespread success at the box office (US$12m) and winning four Oscars, four Golden Globes and many more awards. The film wouldn't be as powerful without its countdown to the midday train - the tension rises alongside the growing odds that are stacked against Kane, enhancing the already palpable tension of the situation. 

High Noon also helped popularise the notion of westerns having a theme song. Alongside the occasionally ticking Oscar-winning score by Dimitri Tiomkin, the melody of The Ballad Of High Noon (AKA Do Not Foresake Me, Oh My Darling) drifts through the film to help articulate its mood and tension.

The other unwitting influence of High Noon is on what's known as the "Die Hard Scenario". The idea of the one-vs-many shootout was inevitable (and High Noon wasn't necessarily the first to use it), but it's one of the best early examples of the action sub-genre. The film's finale is Die Hard In An Old Western Town, in the same way Passenger 57 is Die Hard On A Plane, and Under Siege is Die Hard On A Boat.

Cooper won his second Oscar for this, but it's a weird performance. His line delivery is constantly offhand, or through gritted teeth with minimal facial movement. It makes Kane a tightly wound spring of a man, and when his emotions get the better of him later, such as in a quiet moment by himself in the sheriff's office, they really burst out. But it's definitely not a conventional performance. 

Better is Grace Kelly (age difference between her and Cooper = 29 years), who is magnetic in a tiny but pivotal role as Kane's new Quaker wife Amy. Even better again is Katy Jurado, who rightly won a Golden Globe for her turn. Helen Ramirez is a fascinating character who is part of High Noon's more progressive view of the west (and maybe part of John Wayne's beef with the film) - she's a businesswoman and an ex of the hero. She's smart and shrewd and has no time for bullshit. Oh, and she's Latino, though nothing is made of that in the film, which is pretty forward-thinking for 1952 and waaaaay different than the type of roles typically offered to Latino actors at the time.

Also of note is a silent Lee Van Cleef in his first role, especially given the way it would typecast him in the future. A boyish Lloyd Bridges (though he was 39 at the time) makes the most of his moments, bringing bravado, bluff, bluster and brashness to his slighted deputy sheriff. And there's Thomas Mitchell again, doing is usual best as a perpetual also-starring, and making his fourth appearance in a film in the top 27 on this list (see also Gone With The Wind, It's A Wonderful Life, and Mr Smith Goes To Washington).

From its wordless introduction to its bad-ass mic-drop ending, High Noon is tense yet thoughtful. It walks a high wire between building to a balls-to-the-wall shootout while still carrying a moral weight. It's a western that dares to whistle its own tune and it's a memorable, influential, and powerfully enjoyable tune at that.

AFI #26: Mr Smith Goes To Washington (1939)

This is a version of a review airing on ABC Radio Ballarat and South West Victoria on September 18, 2020.

This is part of a series of articles reviewing the American Film Institute's Top 100 Films, as unveiled in 2007. Why am I doing this? Because the damned cinemas are closed and I have to review something.

(G) ★★★

Director: Frank Capra.

Cast: James Stewart, Jean Arthur, Claude Rains, Edward Arnold, Guy Kibbee, Thomas Mitchell, Eugene Pallette, Beulah Bondi, H. B. Warner, Harry Carey, Astrid Allwyn.

"Won't anyone read my Fast & Furious fan fiction?"

No other film is as still-relevant and yet sadly out-of-date as Mr Smith Goes To Washington. 

It's central plot of a media magnate controlling politicians and spinning the news to favour their own ends has never been more timely. Indeed, the Machiavellian manoeuvrings of tycoon Jim Taylor (Arnold) pale into significance compared to what one particular multimedia mogul has wrought across the US, UK and Australia. Building dams is nothing compared to having the world crafted to suit your purposes, and there is a sad level of prescience in a finale where water cannons are turned on protesters who are merely demanding justice for the little guy.

Political corruption may be forever, but doe-eyed patriotism is not. The film is "Capra's hymn of praise to the American system of government" (according to 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die's R. Barton Palmer), and more than 80 years on from its release, it's hard to find anything praiseworthy in such a broken machine. Through no fault of Capra, the issues he saw growing in Washington have metastasised and have become incurable, no matter how pure a Jefferson Smith you find.

As a result it's hard to stomach the notions of fealty Smith (Stewart) espouses in regards to his nation due to the way his own patriotism has been misappropriated and bastardised since. Watching a starry-eyed Smith wander Washington's political landmarks in a flag-waving montage of propaganda is maddening and saddening because it now bears an uncanny resemblance to an election campaign ad, rather than a true-hearted display of respect for America. And seeing him raging against the machine is equally frustrating because good people get crunched and broken in the gears and cogs these days, right before they get steamrolled into the mud.

To today's eyes, Smith and the film are naïve to the point of being twee. All films are the product of their era, but the passage of time has rendered much of Mr Smith... as subtle as a bag of sledgehammers while also rendering its idealism sadly dead, its version of politics and patriotism unrecognisable.

Mr Smith Goes To Washington is both great and frustrating for all these reasons. At its heart is another great Stewart performance, Rains is his usual level of wonderful, while the character of Saunders is amazing, and feels almost revolutionary despite her inability to resist melting at Senator Smith's "aw shucks" integrity. A long take of Saunders drunk at lunch is a showcase of the brilliance of the under-revered Jean Arthur, as well as yet another reminder of perpetual sideman Thomas Mitchell's talents (seriously, Mitchell is in four films in the top 30 of this list).

The film is also funny and cynical, and has a couple of key messages at its core - 1) the system is broken and 2) never trust a politician. But even if we ignore its used-by politics, there is some average film-making here. Capra - an Oscar-winning director for It Happened One Night - uses awkward edits through the first half of the film that are jarring now (and surely were then). Meanwhile, a dinner table scene involving a group of kids has a too-short depth of field so the speakers at the table are regularly out of focus. There's also a single long take involving a hat that beats the gag out of itself. None of these directorial choices speak to the talent of Capra; in fact, they demonstrate the opposite.

Capra was a migrant who saw the US as the oft-promised land of opportunity. Mr Smith... was his Hail Mary of hope - a longshot from way-down-town that declared honesty could overcome corruption. Within a couple of years, Capra would be making WW2 propaganda films for the US, once again pushing his barrow of Hope. He believed in America, and that's clear in Mr Smith... - part of the film's beauty is that it highlights the flaws but sees a way to fix them. And that solution is in the American people. Just as he showed in It's A Wonderful Life, Capra values the virtues of humanity. But in Mr Smith..., he seeks them inside a soulless institution, one which can be brought down by a callow scout leader and a hard-nosed secretary. It's a tough pill to swallow in 2020.

Its ambition and influence on educating the US populace about its own political system is admirable. Its themes are just. Its performances are excellent - Stewart's filibuster hits almost every colour in the palette, and the aforementioned Arthur is one out of the box. The smirking president of the senate (played by the great Harry Carey) is also a highlight.

But Mr Smith Goes To Washington is pure fantasy now - a fantasy that's impossible to believe in. It's a dark depressing fable because the truth is Smith would never win in 2020. He couldn't. And that's the thorn in the side of contemporary viewings - the knowledge that the Smiths of the world don't stand a chance against the Jim Taylors. The problem lies not in the film, but the world in which we watch it. Or maybe the problem is with me. I look at Trump's America (from the outside, I might add), and see a once-great country eating itself as it spirals toward Civil War. It is every horrible part of Mr Smith... come to life, and watching the film is a reminder of what was, what could have been, and what has come to pass. As it stands, Mr Smith... is a too-naïve version of the past that doesn't register any more.

AFI #25: To Kill A Mockingbird (1962)

This is a version of a review airing on ABC Radio Ballarat and South West Victoria on September 4, 2020.

This is part of a series of articles reviewing the American Film Institute's Top 100 Films, as unveiled in 2007. Why am I doing this? Because the damned cinemas are closed and I have to review something.

(M) ★★★★★

Director: Robert Mulligan.

Cast: Gregory Peck, Mary Badham, Phillip Alford, John Megna, Frank Overton, Rosemary Murphy, Brock Peters, Estelle Evans, Paul Fix, Collin Wilcox, James Anderson, Robert Duvall, Kim Stanley.

Damn. It was Judge Judy again.

In the American Film Institute's 2003 list of the greatest cinematic heroes of all time, Atticus Finch topped the list. Ahead of Indiana Jones, in front of James Bond, and ousting Ellen Ripley was a down-South lawyer/single dad who fights for justice in the face of a system rigged against his client.

What's even more amazing about Finch reaching #1 is that - SPOILER ALERT - he fails in his task. It's tempting to paint him as the ultimate Great White Saviour, but in terms of the plot and his goal, he's a Great White Failure. He's a lawyer who not only doesn't win, but whose client gets killed on the way back to prison. Finch stands up against the systemic racism of America and fails. 

But that obviously misses the point of why Atticus Finch is a great hero - indeed, the fact he doesn't win makes him an even greater hero. Outside of the plot's win-loss machinations, he is a great man. He's a single dad (though he hires a black maid) with a unique parenting style for the time - he preaches tolerance and understanding, doesn't talk down to his kids, and is highly cognisant of the fact they're smart and very aware of the world around them. Finch's ability to turn the other cheek is next level. His humility is off the chart and without trying to, he puts all of us to shame. He's a hero in a way we don't often think about - he's resilient, caring, empathetic, hard-working, loving, dignified, moral, and desperate to help make a better world.

This saint-like virtuousness is lifted straight off Harper Lee's pages by Horton Foote's true-to-the-spirit screenplay, but its Gregory Peck's flawless performance that has lodged Atticus Finch in the collective psyche as a paragon of principle. He is a beautiful balance of firm and gentle, of outraged and zen, of defiant and humble. Peck's Oscar-winning turn was reportedly Peck just being himself, and in an esteemed career, it's the high watermark. From his towering courtroom closing to his firm-but-fair parenting, Peck is magnetic.

Atticus Finch dominates To Kill A Mockingbird the same way a father is so prominent in a child's world. That's part of the movie's magic. Told almost exclusively from the perspective of Scout Finch (Badham) and her brother Jem (Alford), To Kill A Mockingbird sets up this viewpoint beautifully during its opening credits via humming, marbles, crayons, and scribbling. Through its highly literate voice over, it's confirmed we're seeing a pivotal snapshot in a young girl's life.

Director Robert Mulligan occasionally veers from this child's-eye view of proceedings, and it's the only weakness of the film; that it doesn't fully commit to Scout and Jem's POV. We get conversations that continue once the kids are out of earshot, providing important information, but slightly breaking the spell of childish naivety. 

The kids' perspective wouldn't have worked without two great child performances, and Badham and Alford's turns are all-time. There have been great examples of juvenile acting dating back to Jackie Coogan's heartbreaking turn in The Kid in 1921, but Badham and Alford's work here is in the same ballpark of greatness. 

But the other amazing performance, and perhaps the best in the entire film, is Brock Peters' oft-overlooked turn as Tom Robinson. He only appears on screen for about half an hour, but he is absolutely electrifying. Peters throws everything into Robinson's time in the witness box, and the film is infinitely better for it. A lesser performance could have killed the movie stone cold dead right there, but Peters captures the fire that burns within this wronged man - he is doing all that he can to remain dignified in the face of certain death. Robinson speaking his truth, despite knowing the cost, is the most powerful and gut-wrenching performance of the film.

Mulligan's work is somewhat under-rated - certainly no other film in his catalogue is revered like To Kill A Mockingbird - but the way he captures the small town vibe and flips it in a heartbeat to haunted Southern Gothic is impressive. The story is two-in-one (a racially fired courtroom drama and a kid's own mystery) and Mulligan balances the differing tones beautifully. He's also happy to let ride the finale's weird sense of ill-fitting justice - "Let the dead bury the dead," as the town sheriff puts it - helping fuel hundreds of high-school essays in the process.

Any perceived faults of To Kill A Mockingbird's portrayal of race seem to miss that this is a young girl's story about her father (Harper Lee's own father was a Finch-like white lawyer who represented black clients). We are seeing the horrible systemic racism from the point of view of a couple of kids who don't fully grasp what is happening - they just see their father striving to be a good and kind man to all. He is a beacon in their world - a beacon of decency and humanity. Mulligan's film is "a message movie done right", but its message is less about the black experience, and more about a little girl's view of that world.

Even in the aftermath of his defeat, when Finch comes face-to-face with the villain of the piece - racist spit-in-your-eye drunk Bob Ewell (Anderson) - Finch maintains his dignity. He never stoops to Ewell's level. This is Finch's real victory - a moral one. Win or lose, he can hold his head high in the eyes of his children. And those eyes, through which we view much of this powerful saga, offer a viewpoint as important as anyone else's. There will always be innocence, and it's up to the Atticus Finches of the world to ensure it grows and learns, but is never corrupted. And that is the task of a true hero.

AFI #24: E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

This is a version of a review airing on ABC Radio Ballarat and South West Victoria on November 13, 2020.

This is part of a series of articles reviewing the American Film Institute's Top 100 Films, as unveiled in 2007. Why am I doing this? Because the damned cinemas are closed and I have to review something.

(PG) ★★★★★

Director: Steven Spielberg.

Cast: Henry Thomas, Robert MacNaughton, Drew Barrymore, Dee Wallace, Peter Coyote, K. C. Martel, C. Thomas Howell, Sean Frye, Erika Eleniak, Pat Welsh.

The new series of The Bachelor was pretty whack.

E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial was bigger than Star Wars. It's a weird thing to realise, but it's true. George Lucas' Star Wars bumped Steven Spielberg's Jaws off the top of the "biggest grossing films ever" list, but Spielberg had the last laugh, knocking his friend's space opera from top spot with this simplistic-seeming tale of a boy and his alien friend.

Of course, Star Wars went on to spawn a franchise-worth of sequels, prequels, spin-offs, TV shows, comics, books, and games. E.T. - aside from a then-insane level of merchandise including a famously bad video game - is basically just E.T.. No billion-dollar franchise - just one little film to rule them all.

Not counting this somewhat touching ad:

So why was E.T. the biggest film ever (for about a decade until Spielberg's Jurassic Park set a new benchmark)?

I've been thinking about this for weeks and I keep coming back to the fact E.T. is a deceptively deep fairy tale, perfectly told. There's not a hair out of place on its charming, alien-shaped head, and it has unexpected layers to its characterisation and themes. It's direction perfectly matches its subject matter, and it's enormously enjoyable, family-friendly and satisfying - these latter points are part of why Variety called it "the best Disney movie that Disney never made". 

E.T. doesn't push the boundaries of film-making like Citizen Kane or The General or even Star Wars. It doesn't set a benchmark in genre like The Searchers or Singin' In The Rain or 2001: A Space Odyssey. 

But it does something few other great films do (not even Star Wars) - E.T. speaks to our inner child in a deeply realistic and touching way. In fact, it does it better than any other film ever produced. It has a kids-eye view of the world, and understands what it's like to be a youngster in this strange, scary world full of confusing grown-ups. Its hero Elliot (Thomas) is a wonderful innocent who can't comprehend why adults do the things they do, whether it be break-up with his mum or try to capture a wandering alien. He just wants to do the right thing, which is to be caring and good, and spread love in a way that even he doesn't understand. To Elliot, the real indecipherable creatures that may as well be from another world are grown-ups. Or flip it, and take into account Elliot and E.T.'s strange symbiosis, and Elliot is the alien, trying to fit into a world he doesn't understand.

Spielberg's genius move is to enhance this directorially, taking every opportunity to make this Elliot's story, even on a subconscious level. For most of the film, adults are faceless drones (except Mum), it's largely filmed from Elliot's height, almost every scene is about him, and we don't see E.T. properly until Elliot does. 

Originally starting as a horror movie called Night Skies, screenwriter Melissa Mathison pulled out a subplot about the lone good alien befriending an autistic child and turned that into what we know and love as E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial. Matthew Robbins, who wrote Spielberg's The Sugarland Express, claims to have done an uncredited re-write, and indeed the film also seems to be partly based on a script he co-wrote that focused on growing up in suburbia. 

But lying beneath the surface of Mathison's beautiful writing and Robbins' sharpening is wonderful thematic depths - there's a Christ parable in there, deep streaks of anti-authoritarianism, and a fascinating look at single-parent family life in America. Best of all is the film's hopeful and positive attitude; as critic Barry Norman put it while naming E.T. one of the best movies of the 20th century, "along with the adventure and (genuine) sentiment, the film contains a warning against bigotry and prejudice: we should not judge others by their appearance or colour or creed but by their character and their behaviour".

"The message is understated but clear and gives E.T. the moral edge that makes it the ideal modern fairy tale," continues Norman.

The technical brilliance abounds too. Carlo Rambaldi's remarkable alien model, John William's profound and stirring score, and that magical moon shot are all exemplary, and the 20th anniversary touch-ups are largely worthwhile. Add in great performances (with seven-year-old Barrymore a stand-out), and E.T. shines as an incredibly well-made piece of all-ages entertainment.

For the record, here are the 2002 changes, compared with the original:

Like most good films, and indeed the majority of the films on this list, E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial is more than just its surface. It's a parable and a fairy tale that speaks to the child in us all, and wishes that we could all be more like Elliot, and less like the grown-ups.

AFI #23: The Grapes Of Wrath (1940)

This is a version of a review airing on ABC Radio Ballarat and South West Victoria on November 13, 2020.

This is part of a series of articles reviewing the American Film Institute's Top 100 Films, as unveiled in 2007. Why am I doing this? Because the damned cinemas are closed and I have to review something.

(PG) ★★★★★

Director: John Ford.

Cast: Henry Fonda, Jane Darwell, John Carradine, Charley Grapewin, Dorris Bowdon, Russell Simpson, O. Z. Whitehead, John Qualen, Eddie Quillan, Zeffie Tilbury, Frank Sully, Frank Darien, Darryl Hickman, Shirley Mills.

The 1940s version of The Avengers didn't quite have the same razzle dazzle.

"The Grapes Of Wrath... will in time be forgotten," wrote filmmaker William Bayer in his 1973 book The Great Movies. "This picture is so inferior to the novel, and so dated by its style... and suffers from being so tiresomely predictable, that it is best forgotten."

Bayer was 33 when he wrote this and would go on to have a successful career as an author. Needless to say, The Grapes Of Wrath didn't make his list of great movies. He's now 81, and I can't help but wonder if his opinion on John Ford's film has changed. Because he was wrong - the film deserves to be remembered and revered because, sadly, it's as relevant today as it was in 1940. The Joads of the world are still getting screwed by faceless corporations, endless corruption, and a broken system designed to keep the downtrodden underfoot.

Aside from appearing on this list that I'm working through, The Grapes Of Wrath is one of the few films rated 100% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes, and it appears in every update of 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die. In 1989, it was among the first 25 films added to America's National Film Registry.

Beautifully filmed, it's a tale of the Great Depression - told while that time was still painfully vivid in people's memory - that's as heartfelt, decent and honest as the folks it's about. Based on John Steinbeck's beloved novel, it follows the Joad family out of America's Dust Bowl to California, only to find that things are just as bad out west. While it differs somewhat from the book, ultimately skewing more hopeful, it's revered as an adaptation because it captures the essence of the book and the people it portrays.

Steinbeck's novel, released in 1939, was a massive success, but due to its bleakness and left-leaning politics few thought it could be turned into a movie, including Steinbeck himself. "I am quite sure no picture company would want this new book whole and it is not for sale any other way," the author wrote to his agent prior to publication. "It pulls no punches at all and may get us all into trouble but if so: so."

Producer Darryl F Zanuck, who secured the screen rights for 20th Century Fox, knew what he was getting himself and his studio into. Despite Steinbeck's own meticulous research for his article series The Harvest Gypsies about the Great Depression, which formed the basis of The Grapes Of Wrath, Zanuck reportedly sent investigators out to Oklahoma to see if the book's claims were true. They returned satisfied Steinbeck was right and that Zanuck could use the old "truth defence" against any arguments the film was pro-socialist or pro-Communist. In a move that surprised some, Zanuck hired conservative director John Ford to helm the project.

"(Zanuck) knew that John Ford was the right man to direct it, with his feeling for the American people and their history," wrote Edward Buscombe for 1001 Movies You Must See.... "(He) identified what was most heartbreaking about the plight of the Joad family - not their acute poverty but the psychological trauma of being uprooted from their home."

Writer/producer Nunnally Johnson (who later wrote The Gunfighter, My Cousin Rachel, and The Dirty Dozen) and Ford turned Steinbeck's book into a digestible story of humanity and hope amid hardship. It switches things around to find a positive message and brighter ending than the book, but it's heartbreaking moments are many, and they still punch hard. Ma (Darwell) burning the belongings she can't take with her to California, a fellow migrant worker recalling the fate of his family, the Joads trying to pay for a loaf of bread and keep their pride in tact, a farmer vowing to fight for his land - the soul still aches for these people 80 years on.

There's also the fact that the issues facing the Joads are the same as those facing millions of Americans today. Eight decades on from Steinbeck's novel and Ford's film, corporations are still screwing workers, banks are still screwing families, and the poor can't afford to live. Watching The Grapes Of Wrath is a reminder that America has been fucked for a long time, and remains fucked for many.

These tear-swelling moments are brought to life by a great cast. Darwell and Fonda really shine as the two nominal stars of the piece - Darwell's Ma is the heart of the film, and Fonda's Tom Joad is the stirring anger that slowly rises and rails against the corrupt and broken capitalist system that has driven the Joads off their land with no safety net and into a world of strikes, scabs and company stores. Fonda renders this all with subtlety and restraint. As critic Roger Ebert put it in his review of the film, "Fonda was an actor with the rare ability to exist on the screen without seeming to reach or try, and he makes it clear even in his silences how he has been pondering (what he's learnt)".

Also worthy of mention are John Qualen (who also pops up memorably in Casablanca and The Searchers) as Muley, and John Carradine as the former preacher Casy. Qualen would recall in the 1975 book Reel Characters that "John Ford... had tears in his eyes when I did that scene in The Grapes of Wrath about my father working the land – the greatest scene I ever had in a picture".

As for Carradine, who would do 11 films with Ford, his preacher is a shining star in the film. A dopey-seeming philosopher, Casy gets many of the movie's deepest lines, despite speaking on few occasions. If Ma is the heart and Tom Joad the anger, then Casy is the film's soul, constantly yearning to do right in a world where right isn't necessarily rewarded.

For a film about the Great Depression, The Grapes of Wrath is unsurprisingly depressing, but it has unexpected moments of humour, such as Tom Joad's one word taunt "Homicide!" to a freaked-out truck driver, or Granny's phlegmatic response to her first sighting of California, or the Joad's wobbly jalopy. These lighter moments help balance the film, but also speak to the integrity and stoicism of its subjects.

All of it - the highs and lows and in-betweens - are beautifully filmed by Gregg Toland, who did this film, Ford's follow-up The Long Voyage Home, and a little film called Citizen Kane in the space of two years. All three are innovative and groundbreaking in their cinematography. In The Grapes Of Wrath, Toland regularly captures conversations by candlelight, firelight or lanterns, eschewing the common practice of the time of "faking" darkness. He provides on honest eye, reflecting Dorothea Lange's powerful photography that accompanied Steinbeck's The Harvest Gypsies. Toland's single tracking shot through the transient camp brings Lange's and Steinbeck's work to life with all the tragic realism it deserved.

From masked men marching their machines over dusty fields like advancing enemy tanks to heartfelt speeches between a mother and a son, The Grapes Of Wrath has a deep understanding of the bigger issues at play in the Great Depression and the "social intent" of Steinbeck's book. But it also sees the personal amid the political - the Joads are an Every Family from Anywhere, and their story imitates a thousand similar tales that emerged from the Dust Bowl. As critic Barry Norman wrote, the film "is both a savage indictment of capitalist greed and a paean to the common man".

This Great American Film, borne of The Great American Novel, is somehow both proud of Americans and anti-American. As Ma puts it, The Joads of America can't be wiped out, but by god, the American system tries to find new ways to do so. It did in the Great Depression, and it's doing it again now. You only have to watch The Grapes of Wrath again to see it.

AFI #22: Some Like It Hot (1959)

This is a version of a review airing on ABC Radio Ballarat and South West Victoria on September 4, 2020.

This is part of a series of articles reviewing the American Film Institute's Top 100 Films, as unveiled in 2007. Why am I doing this? Because the damned cinemas are closed and I have to review something.

(M) ★★★★★

Director: Billy Wilder.

Cast: Marilyn Monroe, Tony Curtis, Jack Lemmon, George Raft, Pat O'Brien, Joe E. Brown, Nehemiah Persoff, Joan Shawlee, Dave Barry, Billy Gray, Barbara Drew, Grace Lee Whitney, George E. Stone, Mike Mazurki, Harry Wilson, Edward G. Robinson Jr., Beverly Wills.

"We will now perform Raining Blood in D minor."

The American Film Institute loves making lists (which I fully approve of) and among its many lists is a compendium of the greatest American comedies of all time. Some Like It Hot is #1 on the list.

The AFI is not alone in this line of thinking - BBC Culture's poll of film critics from 2017 also put it at #1. But even if you don't rate it as the GOAT, it's impossible to dispute its greatness. Still whip-smart, still laugh-out-loud funny, Some Like It Hot is hugely influential, but also sits in the very middle of a Venn diagram of awesomeness. Take the best of Billy Wilder and IAL Diamond's 12 script collaborations, take the finest moments of Hollywood heavyweights Monroe, Lemmon and Curtis, and right in the middle sits this boundary-pushing laugh fest.

From its opening moments, in which a guns-blazing car chase careens through the streets of prohibition-era Chicago, Some Like It Hot grabs you. Its main characters aren't even prominent until we get the setting well and truly set; in fact, there are several great gags before we properly meet Curtis and Lemmon's down-at-heel musos Joe and Jerry. The reveal of the casket full of booze, the funeral parlour-as-speakeasy, every wisecrack that comes out of the mouths of Pat O'Brien's Agent Mulligan and George Raft's mobster "Spats" Colombo - the laughs come like bullets out of a Tommy gun. 

The banter between Joe and Jerry (supposedly a reflection of Wilder and Diamond's own friendship) sets up the characters beautifully, and we love them instantly, despite the fact Joe is a cad and Jerry is a pushover. Its plot mechanics are like a well oiled machine too - by the time they witness a mob hit and have to go on the run, the main story's cross-dressing carrot has been well and truly dangled. We know they're going to end up in an all-girl band, hiding out from gangsters, but it's still funny when we finally see them wobbling along a train platform in high heels for the first time.

There's a great danger that Some Like It Hot's cross-dressing premise would age poorly, but it hasn't. This is largely due to the film never being mean-spirited in its comedy (despite the fact Joe's an utter bastard), but also because, sadly, men being shit to women has never gone away.

And that's part of Some Like It Hot's daring and agelessness. While some argue it's about identity and being who you want to be (which is true to an extent), its strongest thematic strands are about gender politics and perspective. Joe and Jerry, by moonlighting as Josephine and Daphne, get a taste of their own dickish pervy-ness. Jerry goes from leering like a horny teen to being outraged at a pinch on the bottom, and understanding how finding someone who treats you right is important. Joe comes to see how his past dalliances have left a trail of Sugar Kane's in his wake; sad, broken women who deserve better than to be taken advantage of and left languishing at the bottom of a bottle.

"The basic plot," writes critic Barry Norman, "is enough on its own to sustain a first-rate, full-length comedy-thriller. But to this already ingenious blend of slapstick and sophistication is added a wickedly sharp examination of gender and sexual politics."

While the cross-dressing-musos-on-the-run plot gives the film its strong skeleton, these themes around gender politics and perspective give it its brain. And then there's the heart, personified by Marilyn Monroe in a role that cuts devastatingly close to her own truth. As Sugar Kane, she's a talented performer (her performance of I Wanna Be Loved By You is a showstopper), and smarter than she gives herself credit for. She gets screwed over again and again by men who take advantage of her looks and charms, only to leave her "blue" and turning to substances (in this case, booze) in an effort to numb the pain. It's heartbreaking, and in Some Like It Hot, you desperately hope Sugar gets to live happily ever after - a finale Monroe herself never got. 

Monroe's off-screen troubles (which manifested on set as flubbed lines, high take counts, and turning up late) are invisible on screen, and she gives the performance of her career. 1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die's Angela Errigo called it Monroe "at her most enchanting". "Monroe's forlorn-funny turn, maddening though it was for her costars and director to capture, is mythic," Errigo wrote.

Monroe's performance as Sugar Kane is a rose among the thorns of Curtis and Lemmon's turns. Curtis gives not one but three great comedy performances - the acid-tongued straight-man, a reliable older sister type, and a goofy comedic turn as a pretend billionaire. And yet it's Lemmon who steals the film. He reveals hints of confidence and comfort as Daphne that Jerry doesn't possess, while hitting every punchline out of the park in a dialled-up performance that would influence so many comedy actors after. Tell me his work here doesn't echo through the likes of Jim Carrey, Robin Williams or Will Ferrell. 

Some Like It Hot won three out of three Golden Globes (for Monroe, Lemmon, and best comedy/musical), but lost five out of six Oscars, with Aussie costume designer Orry-Kelly the only winner. Orry-Kelly's dresses for Monroe were almost as risque as the film's homosexual flavours, all of which threw a middle finger at the ultra-restrictive Hays Code that dominated and censored Hollywood Some Like It Hot helped throw the code in the bin, liberating American cinema in the process.

It's a rare comedy that has something to say in between its punchlines, and it's an even rarer comedy that pushes the boundaries of the time while still proving to be a box office hit. Some Like It Hot managed all this, and gave us some of Wilder and Diamond's best writing, as well as top-tier performances from Monroe, Curtis and Lemmon. The cherry on top is the closing line - Joe E. Brown's nonchalant "Nobody's perfect" is not only hilarious but oddly philosophical and wonderfully celebratory of homosexuality in a pre-Stonewall era.

"Nobody's perfect" indeed, but Some Like It Hot just about is.