'Mr. Smith' Was Capra-Corny

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"It's a 40–foot dive into a tub of water, but I think you can do it."

Saunders (Jean Arthur)

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(1939 is widely regarded as the greatest year ever for the motion picture. Ten movies were nominated for Best Picture that year, and today I take a look at the seventh of those 10 movies to hit the theaters.)

Back in February, Peggy Noonan wrote a column in which she mentioned the Netflix series "House of Cards." Now, in the interest of full disclosure, I must say that I have never seen an episode of this series, but, according to Noonan, the show "reinforces the idea that the capital has no room for clean people. The earnest, the diligent, the idealistic, they have no place there."

She could have been describing "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," which premiered 75 years ago today.

Jimmy Stewart gave a lot of great movie performances during his career, and, while it would be hard to pick out the very best, I'm usually inclined to pick the one he gave in "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

In so many ways, it was a great civics lesson. It was a fictional story, of course, like The West Wing TV series of which I was so fond, and, like The West Wing, it dealt with real–life matters — like filling legislative vacancies and filibusters and things like that.

But it was also a Frank Capra story — which means it was made with a heaping helping of feel–good idealism. Because of that, Capra movies were often called "Capra–corn" — and "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" certainly was corny.

Well, Stewart's role was, anyway. He played a fellow named Jefferson Smith, a leader of the Boy Rangers in his state, truly a babe in the woods when it came to the ways of the world and Washington, a starry–eyed idealist who quoted American heroes like Jefferson and Lincoln and idolized his state's corrupt and thoroughly undeserving senior senator (played by Claude Rains). He was appointed to fill a vacancy left by the death of one of his state's U.S. senators.

But this wasn't entirely your standard "Capra–corn" fare. Nearly everyone else in the movie seemed to have a healthy dose of cynicism. Just not Jeff Smith. You probably couldn't find a more naïve individual. That was what his legislative aide, Saunders (Jean Arthur), loved about him. Pretty Capra–corny, huh?

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"Did you ever have so much to say about something you just couldn't say it?"

Jeff Smith (James Stewart)

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As a journalist, I have to say that I appreciated the comeuppance Smith got from the Washington media. I didn't think the press in that movie behaved in the way real–life reporters would under similar circumstances. They were a little rough on Stewart's clearly guileless character.

But they reached a point where they asserted that they could afford to be honest because they didn't have to face the voters to keep their jobs.

That's really a throwback to a bygone era. Far too many members of the modern press have compromised their principles — even though they still don't have to face the voters.

In "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington," many of the politicians were presented as being more virtuous than they almost certainly were in 1939. (It is beyond dispute that they were infinitely more virtuous than the politicians of today.)

Rains' character, caught up in the corruption Stewart was trying to defeat, confessed his sins on the Senate floor even though he had the upper hand against Stewart, whose voice was nearly gone from his filibuster.

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"I guess this is just another lost cause, Mr. Paine. All you people don't know about lost causes. Mr. Paine does. He said once they were the only causes worth fighting for, and he fought for them once, for the only reason any man ever fights for them. Because of one plain simple rule: Love thy neighbor. And in this world today, full of hatred, a man who knows that one rule has a great trust."

Jeff Smith

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And that is precisely the kind of corny–beyond–belief stuff that I'm talking about. For Capra–corn to work, there has to be a certain amount of plausibility there, however farfetched the story may be.

But the very notion that a politician, entrenched in a position of power, would behave so nobly is, well, hopelessly naïve. Perhaps it wasn't seen that way in 1939, but today, it is simply too farfetched.

Even if you tell yourself — if you stumble upon it while channel surfing — that "Mr. Smith" truly was Capra–corny, if you're like me, you'll watch it, anyway. It's entertaining, even if you've seen it several times before.

"Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" received 11 Oscar nominations, second only to "Gone With the Wind." Lewis R. Foster took home the Oscar for Best Story.

Casey Kasem Passes Away

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"Keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars."

Casey Kasem

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As I have followed the developments in the end–of–life story of Casey Kasem, it has been impossible to avoid concluding that the drama would soon reach its finish — and it has.

Kasem died early today at the age of 82 — and a part, a very big part, of my youth died, too.

Yes, he was a D.J. — but he was much more than just a D.J.

I remember listening to his American Top 40 radio countdown on weekends when I was a teenager. Back in those days, I was familiar with just about every song on the list. I probably couldn't identify a single song on such a list today — which, I suppose, is the natural order of things.

Most of my students probably could identify all the songs on such a list, but I couldn't — any more than my professors could have identified the songs on such a list when I was in school. In a way, I guess that is reassuring. It would be wrong to try to deny any generation the experiences it should have.

But most of my students probably didn't listen to the radio much when Kasem retired at the age of 77. He probably wasn't part of their lives.

I never speculated about Kasem's age when I was a teenager. He always sounded young. Maybe that was a byproduct of constantly reviewing the recordings that were the most popular.

Or maybe it had something to do with the long–distance dedications. If they weren't the most popular segments on his show, they were close to it.

The premise was simple: In addition to the songs in the countdown, Kasem would play at least one (usually more) long–distance dedication from one listener to another. It's been quite awhile since I've heard one, but I don't recall any being mean–spirited. Nothing like "Joe wants to welcome his ex back to town with Elton John's 'The Bitch is Back'" or anything like that. Usually, it was the kind of thing that would pull at your heartstrings — young lovers having to be apart for one reason or another or an older (perhaps much older) person seeking a long–lost love.

Hey, sure the long–distance dedications were corny. Just about everything about Casey Kasem's countdown was corny. Maybe that was the secret of its success — not unlike TV's Hee Haw. As director Frank Capra knew, corn sells. Especially if it is good corn.

And Kasem's was good corn. I've heard that some radio stations actually rerun American Top 40 programs from the '70s and '80s today.

Kasem was more talented than I realized. He did some voice acting, a lot of it for Hanna–Barbera cartoons. Apparently, he was best known for doing the voice of Scooby–Doo. I wasn't a Scooby–Doo fan so I have no memory of that.

He was also the original narrator for the TV show Soap. Again, I wasn't a fan of that show. My brother and my mother were; they used to watch it together and entertained each other endlessly by repeating lines from the latest episode.

Mom is deceased now, so I can't ask her, but I'm sure my brother doesn't remember Kasem's rather brief tenure as the show's narrator. Kasem didn't care for the adult themes on the show and pulled out of the project after the pilot episode.

He had certain standards.

Part Lebanese, Kasem objected to the depiction of Arab–Americans on a cartoon show (Transformers) and quit the project. He wrote a letter to the president/CEO of the production company and received a reply in which she sympathized with his position and assured him that she had shared his letter with her writers.

He also did voice–overs for commercials. I have no specific memory of that, either, although I'm sure I must have heard at least some of his voice–overs, and I probably knew it was Kasem. His was such a distinctive voice.

Every generation should have a Casey Kasem.

The First Movie to Sweep the Major Oscars

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"I want to see what love looks like when it's triumphant. I haven't had a good laugh in a week."

Peter (Clark Gable)

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There may have been movies that premiered before this date in 1934 that could be classified as screwball comedies.

But the genre really began to gain popularity when "It Happened One Night" premiered on this date in 1934. For all intents and purposes, I suppose, the screwball comedy was born 80 years ago today. (As a comedy, the American Film Institute ranks it eighth all time.)

And its influence can be seen in numerous movies in the decades that followed, even though the screwball comedy's heyday was in the 1930s. The blueprint for the genre — a headstrong, runaway heiress gets hooked up with someone, frequently a reporter, who can gain something from the relationship — has shown up in various forms over the years.

"Roman Holiday," for instance, had a runaway princess (Audrey Hepburn) in the company of a reporter (Gregory Peck) who needed a scoop to revive his career.

That, in a nutshell, was the plot of "It Happened One Night." (There were a few differences, but not many.)

But, because it was so different from other movies in the still–emerging motion picture art form, it didn't enjoy the enthusiastic support of some of its principal participants. Claudette Colbert, for example, had worked with director Frank Capra before, and the experience had not been pleasant. She wasn't going to work with him again, but she relented on the conditions that her pay be doubled and that her work on the project be done in time for her to take a planned vacation.

Capra claimed that Clark Gable was hesitant to participate in the project as well.

And Capra himself reportedly said it was "the worst picture in the world."

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Ellie (Claudette Colbert): I'll stop a car, and I won't use my thumb!

Peter (Clark Gable): What're you gonna do?

Ellie: It's a system all my own.

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Thus, it caught just about everyone by surprise when "It Happened One Night" became the first movie to sweep Best Picture, Best Actor (Gable), Best Actress (Colbert), Best Director (Capra) and Best Adapted Screenplay (Robert Riskin) at the Academy Awards. It was a feat that would not be duplicated for more than 40 years — until 1975, when "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" won all five Oscars.

Modern movie viewers who have watched other movies from the 1930s undoubtedly will notice that "It Happened One Night" was more daring than its contemporaries, and there is a good reason for that. "It Happened One Night" was made just before enforcement of the Motion Picture Production Code (also known as the Hays Code for Will Hays, Hollywood's censor–in–chief of the day) began.

Consequently, there was more of a sense of freedom in "It Happened One Night" than there was in most of the screwball comedies of the 1930s. Certainly, there was more bare skin than one sees in most movies from that decade. No nudity, but scenes in which skin — like Gable's bare chest and Colbert's bare leg — was shown.

In other movies of the '30s (and for decades after), you rarely, if ever, saw an unmarried couple sleeping in the same room, much less the same bed (even married movie couples didn't do that).

Gable and Colbert didn't sleep in the same bed, but they did sleep in the same room.

And they used a clever strategy for maintaining their individual privacy — they hung a blanket between the beds.

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Peter (Clark Gable): Remember me? I'm the fellow you slept on last night.

Ellie (Claudette Colbert): You needn't concern yourself about me. I can take care of myself.

Peter: You'll never get away with it, Miss Andrews.

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I never understood the objections that some actors had to the quality of the script. I thought it was smart, clever.

To be fair, some movie stars who turned down the roles that ultimately went to Gable and Colbert claimed that the actual script in the movie was not the same script they had been shown.

Be that as it may, there was an undeniable chemistry between Gable and Colbert in "It Happened One Night," and that more than anything else made it such an appealing movie.

The story transcended global politics — both Josef Stalin and Adolf Hitler were said to be fans of "It Happened One Night."

They weren't the only ones. Before "It Happened One Night" swept the Oscars, it swept the country. It was a smash hit for Columbia Pictures. Made for an investment of $325,000, it earned $2.5 million at the box office.

It's hard to imagine a better return on your investment in 1934.

Lost Horizon

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In the annals of movie history, there have been few film directors whose works have enjoyed the enduring popularity of Frank Capra's.

Maybe that is because you always know what you're going to get when you sit down to watch a Frank Capra movie. The mere mention of his name evokes a mental image of relentless optimism — of Jimmy Stewart waging a quixotic battle from the floor of the Senate or discovering the influence of a single life on everything it touches and, in the process, is persuaded not to throw away his own.

Audiences in the 1930s and 1940s consistently made Capra's movies the top money makers — even when Capra and his movie audiences weren't exactly on the same page.

Yes, you always knew what you were going to get with Capra. Or did you?

Columbia Pictures probably thought it knew what to expect 75 years ago when Capra was making "Lost Horizon," the film that was released on this day in 1937. He'd been money in the bank for Columbia in the past.

But "Lost Horizon" was a financial disappointment. It cost nearly 40% more than its original budget figure of $2 million (quite a lavish sum in 1930s dollars), and it was nearly five years before the backers broke even.

The more lasting damage was done to Capra's relationships with Columbia and screenwriter Robert Riskin, with whom Capra had built his reputation. In the preceding five years, Capra had been nominated for Best Director three times — and won it twice.

He wasn't nominated for his directorial work on "Lost Horizon," although he should have been. It was a bit of a departure for him.

Of course, Capra was mostly known for his work in comedies — and, to an extent, dramas — but "Lost Horizon" was really more of a fantasy.

And, while it would be fair to characterize many of Capra's movies as, at least, dabbling in fantasy, it was never as prominent as it was in Capra's film version of James Hilton's vision of paradise, the fictional Shangri–La, where there is no crime or hate, where wisdom is prized, self–improvement is encouraged and the age of 100 is roughly middle age.

But, of course, such a utopia cannot last, at least not for the outsiders who stumble into it. Consequently, one of Capra's trademark happy endings wasn't possible (as if the title didn't make that quite clear).

It was a challenging and ambitious project for Capra, and he deserved more credit and recognition for it than he received — but the truth remains that it was the only film he ever made that was nominated for Best Picture (or, in its earlier incarnation, Outstanding Production) for which he was not also nominated for Best Director.

That doesn't mean he didn't make a lot of critical decisions, especially in post–production. He cut back on the film's length, jokingly claiming that he merely lopped off the beginning and started the movie where the real action begins.

The truth is, he appears to have done a lot of meticulous editing from the heart of the film. He didn't just lop off the first 15 minutes.

I've seen both the edited and restored original versions, and I think Capra may have done his most skillful work on "Lost Horizon," whichever version was seen. The edited version seemed seamless to me.

It was an atypical entry in Capra's impressive body of work.

Power to the People

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So you've gotten all warm and fuzzy over "It's a Wonderful Life."

And maybe, just for good measure, you've pulled out your video tape or your DVD of "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" or "It Happened One Night," maybe even "Arsenic and Old Lace."

And you think you know Frank Capra.

I'll grant you, those are probably the highlights. There were so many classics in Capra's career, and many of them were almost fantastic in their nature, screwball in their humor.

And I can see how, after a certain point, it can be tempting to say that, if you've seen one Capra movie, you've seen them all.

"Meet John Doe," which will be shown on Turner Classic Movies Saturday night at 7 (Central), was like that, too, but it had more of a political edge than most of Capra's works, even "Mr. Smith," which was really more of a morality tale than a political one.

In fact, even though the movie was made 70 years ago, the timing might be right for an updated remake. And, as you will see, there are certain elements that undoubtedly would require revision because they are simply too implausible for 2010.

Barbara Stanwyck plays a spitfire of a reporter who loses her job when the management of her newspaper makes a mass downsizing decision. In her last column, she writes about a phony letter from a John Doe moaning about the plight of the "little people" and threatening to jump off city hall on Christmas Eve.

"If you ask me," writes Stanwyck's character, on the brink of joblessness and fretting over how to support her family, "the wrong people are jumping off buildings."

Now, Stanwyck wasn't like some actresses who were featured in Capra's movies — Jean Arthur, for example. Stanwyck excelled in a variety of movies, not just the screwball comedies.

That isn't meant as a slap against actresses who find their niche in screwball comedies. I'm just saying that Stanwyck was extremely versatile. I thought she was great in films like "Meet Jone Doe." She was great in classic film noir productions like "Double Indemnity," too.

(For that matter, Arthur didn't confine herself to screwball comedies, either. But that's another story ...)

My point is that Stanwyck, who was recognized by the American Film Institute as the 11th greatest actress of all time, enjoyed success in many roles — as did her counterpart among the actors, Gary Cooper, who just happens to be recruited to play John Doe.

Anyway, John Doe unexpectedly becomes the most popular guy in town. Everyone, it seems, wants to offer him a job or a place to stay. A few marriage proposals have even trickled in to the newspaper office.

It appears that being down on his luck was the best thing that ever happened to him — that is, if he ever actually existed.

Stanwyck's character knows a good thing when she sees one, though, and she persuades the editor to ride the popularity of John Doe and his "letter" as long as he can — but, in order to throw their newspaper competitors off the scent, they need somebody to present in public — enter Gary Cooper, a hobo who once played pro baseball, a pitcher until his arm went bad.

(And there is something that clearly needs to be changed if someone decides to do a remake. In the present economy, there are almost no American cities with more than one newspaper anymore. Heck, some cities don't even have one.

(So, while the angle of struggling newspapers has resonance here in the 21st century, the concept of actual competition in the newspaper industry seems, well, quaint. If someone is really entertaining the notion of doing a remake, it might be wise to change the employer of the Stanwyck character to an online news site or something like that.

(Oh, and those typewriters that Stanwyck uses? Clearly, they would need to be replaced with computers — preferably laptops. Even an electric typewriter — and they seemed oh so cutting edge when I was in school — would be hopelessly old–fashioned in 2010.)

Cooper is believable enough in his part, but his character brings some baggage — namely, his hobo companion played by Walter Brennan. Brennan's character in this film, known only as The Colonel, has always been one of my favorites, particularly in his rant against the "Heelots," which you can see in the attached clip.

(That philosophical rant reminds me of a slapstick routine I saw the Smothers Brothers do during the Vietnam era in which Tommy explained his theory of the relationship between clothing and political power. The people in charge, he said, were the people who wore suits and ties [they had more on] while the people who were subjugated were the people who wore shorts and T–shirts [they had less on]. Thus, Tommy said, the people in power were the "more–ons.")

Well, the Colonel resists the trappings of fame and fortune and encourages John to do likewise. But John falls victim to the allure of success (and, with it, regular meals and a real bed) and all the opportunities it could make possible (like getting his arm fixed and reviving his baseball career), and he ultimately winds up making speeches that seem sincere in their "love thy neighbor" message but are, in reality, the cynical products of Stanwyck's promotional pen.

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"Everything in that speech is what a certain man believed in. He was my father. When he talked, people listened. They will listen to you, too."

Ann (Barbara Stanwyck)

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At such points in this film, you really can tell if someone is truly a Capra aficionado.

For example, Stanwyck's character finds herself struggling to write the speech that, as she observes, could mean financial security for her and her family — and then her mother volunteers that she doesn't think anyone will listen to it.

"People are tired of hearing nothing but doom and despair," her mother tells her. "[W]hy don't you let him say something simple and real, something with hope in it?"

Sure, it's a Capraesque line, but it also happens to be a demonstrably successful advertising principle — which may make this the most cynical film Capra ever made.

Then she shares with Stanwyck her late father's diary. "There's enough in it for a hundred speeches," she says, "things people ought to hear nowadays."

And there's another Capra theme — the value and wisdom of experience and common sense.

As Cooper embarks on the Stanwyck–engineered "John Doe" campaign, a veteran Capra watcher can see the influences from earlier Capra movies — the images of newspaper front pages with Cooper striking his "I protest!" pose, for example, are straight out of "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington."

There are many such Capra touches, even if the story isn't standard Capra.

But Cooper is a man conflicted. Playing along with the John Doe story seems to hold the promise of restoring his baseball career — until it is pointed out to him that, if it is revealed to the public that he has participated in a deception, it will mean the end of that career.

Cooper's character comes across as every bit as naive as Jimmy Stewart's in "Mr. Smith" — or, for that matter, in "It's a Wonderful Life" — but cynically so, whereas Stewart's characters were selfless.

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John starts believing those poisonous press clippings until he is confronted with the truth — the whole John Doe movement has been manufactured by Stanwyck's boss to further his own presidential ambitions via the creation of a new political party.

And then he delivers a speech that really needs to be seen in the context of the rest of the film. It's impressive by itself, but it really makes the movie.

"Meet John Doe" is certainly more pessimistic than what one normally associates with Capra. There is no positive resolution to the story, which is kind of refreshing if you've become accustomed to the often overly sweet stories his films usually told, but it can be kind of a letdown if you're looking for a George Baileyesque tale of redemption.

I'm not sure there is redemption for Long John Willoughby (also known as John Doe). I don't think he even got his arm fixed.

But the film ends with the implication that there is hope of redemption for Long John. And that, I guess, elevates the story above most of Capra's other films.

You can't say that you really know Capra's work until you've seen it.

It's a Wonderful Life

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Earlier this month, I observed — in passing — that the Christmas season isn't complete for some people until they have seen "It's a Wonderful Life."

I've been writing a lot about Christmas lately — and, as a warning to my regular readers, I plan to post a Christmas message at my Freedom Writing blog on Friday.

But today, I feel moved to write about "It's a Wonderful Life" — because tomorrow is the 63rd anniversary of its theatrical release.

I don't know if it is Frank Capra's best–known, best–loved or just plain best movie. In Capra's life — which even a casual observer would have to concede was pretty wonderful — he directed many movies that are considered classics today. Several were recognized at the time, and three, including "It's a Wonderful Life," are on the American Film Institute's list of the Top 100 movies of all time.

I think it is safe to say, though, that it would be hard for anyone to watch "It's a Wonderful Life" and not feel moved or inspired.

The story is about something that many people have contemplated at some point. George Bailey (memorably played by James Stewart), who has repeatedly sacrificed his dreams and goals for the benefit of others, is at his lowest point on Christmas Eve and is thinking about ending his life. He believes everyone would have been better off if he had never been born.

Unknown to him, though, all those people whose lives have been affected by his presence are begging God to intervene on his behalf, and an angel named Clarence is sent to earth to convince George that he has made a real difference in the lives of his friends and family and his hometown.

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In the end, George is persuaded that it is true, which has always kind of reminded me of a line from another classic motion picture, "The Wizard of Oz." Near the end of that movie, the wizard is talking to the Tin Woodman, who has been looking for a heart. The wizard tells his lovelorn friend that one's heart "is not judged by how much you love — but by how much you are loved by others."

And George realizes that, with the exception of his nemesis, Henry Potter, he is, indeed, loved by many — and that he is, in the words of his brother, "the richest man in town."

Christmas never comes at a time when life is great for everyone on the planet. Even in the best, most prosperous times, there are always people who have no job, no home, only the clothes they are wearing to protect them from the elements, only the food scraps they find in garbage bins to satisfy their gnawing hunger.

And these aren't the best of times.

In what remains of this Christmas season, if you've been blessed enough to have things that others can only dream of, I urge you to share some of your bounty with the less fortunate.

And, if you haven't seen "It's a Wonderful Life" this holiday season, you can see it this Thursday at 7 p.m. (Central) on your NBC station.