'Mrs. Miniver' Is Dated But Still Relevant

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"I know how comfortable it is to curl up with a nice, fat book full of big words and think you're going to solve all the problems in the universe. But you're not, you know. A bit of action is required every now and then."

Carol (Teresa Wright)

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William Wyler's "Mrs. Miniver," which arrived in theaters on this day 75 years ago, occupies an elevated position in the history of World War II movies.

And it contains what was long the most intense battle scene I personally had ever seen in motion pictures (until "Saving Private Ryan" and its graphic depiction of D–Day). But its intensity was on a psychological more than visual level — which may still make it the most intense of its kind.

There may be no more powerful battle scene — and excruciating in its length and growing sense of claustrophobia — than the one in which the Minivers (Walter Pidgeon and Greer Garson) and their children huddled in a crude bomb shelter waiting out a German air raid. In the grand British tradition of keeping a stiff upper lip, they tried to pass the time with conversation about mundane topics — like knitting — while the tension from the hellish cacophony of bombs and bullets from outside built to an unbearable level.

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It was all the more powerful as an illustration of how war can touch anyone; it has no regard for age, race, gender or social status. The Minivers lived in the comfortable world of the upper class, a world where Mrs. Miniver could calmly go about her daily routine while her husband participated in the evacuation of Dunkirk, but they were brought to their knees by World War II the same as their cook and maid.

As the vicar observed in a pivotal sermon near the end of the movie, "There's scarcely a household that hasn't been struck to the heart.

"And why?" he went on to ask. "Surely you must have asked yourselves this question? Why in all conscience should these be the ones to suffer? Children, old people, a young girl at the height of her loveliness? Why these? Are these our soldiers? Are these our fighters? Why should they be sacrificed?"

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Aren't these the questions many ask today when people are dying in airports, at concerts and in restaurants and nightclubs rather than battlefields?

The movie hasn't aged particularly well, but the message is still a good one: War truly is hell and is not made less so by the knowledge that it was started by someone else. If there were plans to remake "Mrs. Miniver" today, the characters probably could use some work — Garson's character particularly seemed a bit naive, especially when she confronted the downed German paratrooper in her kitchen, but perhaps that illustrated how off guard many people were caught by the Nazi threat and the reality of war.

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Her daughter–in–law in the movie, played by Teresa Wright, seemed far more grounded in reality than Garson's character (who, for example, refused to permit Nazi bombing raids to ruin her roses — later in a climactic bombing raid that set up the vicar's sermon, a rose that had been nominated in a local flower show competition was named for Mrs. Miniver).

Garson did her part for the war effort propaganda that "Mrs. Miniver" really was. Her character was brave and noble — and in real life she did her part for the war effort at home, too, but Winston Churchill said "Mrs. Miniver" did more for the war effort than a flotilla of destroyers.

"Mrs. Miniver" received a dozen Oscar nominations and won half of them. The movie won Best Picture. Wyler won Best Director. Garson won Best Actress (and delivered a record–long acceptance speech). Wright won Best Supporting Actress (beating co–star Dame May Whitty). The movie also won for Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Black–and–White Cinematography.

Pidgeon was nominated for Best Actor but lost to James Cagney in "Yankee Doodle Dandy." Richard Ney, who played Garson's son in the movie, became her husband the following year. The union lasted until 1947.

Setting a Standard of Epic Proportions

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"You may conquer the land. You may slaughter the people. That is not the end. We will rise again."

Judah Ben–Hur (Charlton Heston)

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As a general rule, I have found that it isn't a good idea to judge a movie you haven't seen by how many Oscars it won. Some of the best movies I have ever seen won no Oscars, and some of the worst movies I have ever seen won several.

That said, "Ben–Hur," which premiered on this date in 1959, managed to live up to the hype created by its then–record 11 Oscars. It was a deserving recipient.

There certainly was a lot to recommend "Ben–Hur" as a movie — and as historical fiction, with its apparently accurate costumes and lavish sets, but not as the literal history of Jesus' life story, which remains the subject of disagreement among people the world over.

I also thought "Ben–Hur" had a bit of a tendency to beat viewers over the head in the process of making its points. It was a little heavy–handed at times.

Early in the movie, for example, when Ben–Hur was watching the parade for the new governor from a rooftop, a loose tile fell and injured the governor. The same thing happened in the book, but, in the movie, the unnecessarily loud sound of loose tile could be heard when it was touched, setting up the viewer for what was to come next. In the print context, I suppose the noise level varied from reader to reader.

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It cost more than $15 million to make, and nearly as much was spent on advertising. That was an astronomical amount in 1959, but it paid off handsomely. "Ben–Hur" was the highest–grossing film of the year — and became the second highest–grossing film ever, up to that time (behind "Gone With the Wind").

Director William Wyler didn't like the widescreen format, but it is hard to imagine "Ben–Hur" being nearly as effective without it. Much has been made over the years of the nine–minute chariot race scene, which really is an amazing film sequence, the kind of thing that must be seen either on the big screen or in the letterbox format that simulates the big–screen experience at home.

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In the context of the story, it was after the chariot race that Heston's character experienced a reversal of fortune and began to learn the ways of ancient Rome. Still, he wanted to be with his family in his homeland.

Heston went on to win the Oscar for Best Actor — ironic, considering that many other actors were approached about playing the lead role before Heston was asked. Hugh Griffith (whose career began during the heyday of the Ealing Studios comedies) won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor, and Wyler won for Best Director.

And Miklós Rózsa received an Oscar for his score, which is often said to be his best. It was certainly influential, and it remained (pardon the pun) instrumental among film music composers for nearly two decades.

Living and Learning From Experience

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Catherine Sloper (Olivia de Havilland): Don't be kind to me, Father. It doesn't become you.

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Try as I might, I just can't think of Olivia de Havilland as plain.

I say that having seen "The Heiress," which premiered 65 years ago today. She won the Best Actress Oscar for her performance as Catherine Sloper (the title character of an adaptation of a play based on a Henry James novella that supposedly was inspired by a true story) and that character was very plain and very shy.

But I would never call Olivia de Havilland plain. She considered herself a classical actress when she was appearing regularly in the movies, and she paid a professional price for refusing to play bimbo roles. A skilled makeup/hair person could make her look plain, I suppose, but she wasn't naturally plain.

Nor would I call her particularly shy, either. She sued Warner Bros. for extending her contract at a time when studios virtually enslaved their talent through unfair contract extensions. She paid a price for that, too, but, in the end, she won, and "the de Havilland Law," as it is known, shifted the balance of power in Hollywood from the studios to the performers.

I've never read James' novella, but if plain and shy is an accurate description of its heroine, I imagine that de Havilland really must have done a superb job of portraying her because she was clearly playing against type.

The only thing that her father (Ralph Richardson) thought she had going for her was her wealth, and he was determined that de Havilland's handsome, young suitor Morris (Montgomery Clift) wouldn't get his hands on it. Catherine saw her father as emotionally abusive. I think a pretty good case could be made for protective. I've known many fathers who didn't approve of their daughters' choices for husbands.

But as Lysander said in Shakespeare's "A Midsummer Night's Dream"...

"The course of true love never did run smooth."

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It wasn't really true love, though. Turned out Catherine's father was right. Her suitor was after her money, and he disappeared the minute it seemed her dowry would be cut off.

Richardson's relationship with de Havilland was devastating to watch. He was well–meaning and wanted to protect his daughter, but he also felt disdain for her. The scene where she realized that was painful to watch — and remains so even after several viewings.

Morris surfaced again several years later, after Catherine's father had died, and insisted he left because he wanted to spare her the "grief" of being disinherited. Her words told him he was back in her good graces, but the audience could see facial expressions he didn't see and body language he failed to pick up.

She told him to pick her up that night and they would be married, but she had no intention of going away with him.

"He's grown greedier over the years," she told her aunt. "Before he only wanted my money; now he wants my love as well. Well, he came to the wrong house — and he came twice. I shall see that he does not come a third time."

"Can you be so cruel?" her shocked aunt asked.

"Yes, I can be very cruel," replied Catherine. "I have been taught by masters."

And when he returned, the door was bolted. He kept knocking, but there was no answer.

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One of the things I liked best about "The Heiress" — but I never hear it mentioned — was how director William Wyler made parts of the set silent characters.

Take, for example, the tall, narrow stairway in her father's home. When Catherine was anticipating Morris' arrival to take her away from her old life, one could imagine her bounding down the stairs in excitement. The audience didn't actually see that part, just the glowing Catherine with her bags all packed waiting by the front door.

But when she made the long, arduous climb back up those stairs after reaching the agonizing conclusion that Morris wasn't coming after all, each step was more painful than the last.

The acting in "The Heiress" was spellbinding, and de Havilland, as I mentioned, did win the Best Actress Oscar, but Richardson lost Best Supporting Actor to Dean Jagger ("Twelve O'Clock High"); "The Heiress" also won Oscars for Best Dramatic or Comedy Score, Best Black and White Art Direction and Best Black and White Costume Design.

It was recognized with Oscar nominations for Best Picture, Best Director and Best Black and White Cinematography. The movie's eight Oscar nominations and four victories outperformed every other motion picture that year, even the Best Picture winner, "All the King's Men."

What If ...?

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"If he loved you with all the power of his soul for a whole lifetime, he couldn't love you as much as I do in a single day."

Heathcliff (Laurence Olivier)

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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 third of those 10 movies to hit the theaters.)

Emily Brontë would have been a terrific writer for Twilight Zone if such a thing had existed in the 19th century. Her book "Wuthering Heights" and the first of four movie adaptations based on it are perfect examples.

Of course, the William Wyler–directed movie, which premiered 75 years ago today, differs from the book. It told the story of the romance of Heathcliff and Cathy, to be sure, but it said nothing about their children, who play significant roles in the end of the book. In fact, in the movie, Heathcliff and Cathy have no children.

Having read the novel many years ago, I am inclined to think the book really was the Gothic romance it is said to be, but the movie was something different, largely because it left out that second generation stuff.

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It was useful as a cautionary tale, I suppose, about jealousy and hostility.

There was also a certainly element of dishonesty — I suppose filmmakers would call it creative license. Although the story was set in the Yorkshire moors of northern England, the filming was done in California. That is the sort of thing that is done all the time, I guess, and is easily excusable, but, given the location of Yorkshire, I would have expected to hear more of a Scottish accent than I heard from the cast. All British accents are not the same.

Another thing: When I saw "Wuthering Heights" for the first time on some movie channel, I felt that there wasn't the kind of chemistry — perhaps passion is a better word for it — between Heathcliff (Laurence Olivier) and Cathy (Merle Oberon) that would be expected.

If I didn't simply imagine that, perhaps it was because Olivier had wanted Vivien Leigh, his lover and future wife, to be his co–star. But Leigh was not yet a major star — she became one when "Gone With the Wind" came out later that year — and producer Samuel Goldwyn opted for Oberon.

Or was that the reason?

If legend is to be believed, Olivier and Oberon did not like each other, to put it mildly, and I'm kind of inclined to wonder whether Oberon was more of a star than Leigh at that point, but I'm also inclined to think that star power wasn't the driving force. Hungarian producer Alexander Korda had sold half of Oberon's contract to Goldwyn so casting her in the role of Cathy may have been purely a financial decision.

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Frankly, Oberon never matched the mental image I had of Cathy when I read the book. If I could have chosen, I probably would have chosen Leigh to play the role. She came much closer to being the Cathy I imagined.

It's intriguing, isn't it, to think of how different movie history might have been.

If Oberon had not been cast in the role of Cathy, if the part had gone instead to Leigh, who would have played Scarlett in "Gone With the Wind?"

"Wuthering Heights" almost certainly would have had more passion — and might well have won Best Picture and/or other Oscars it lost, too. It was nominated for eight Oscars as it was — and actually won one, for black–and–white cinematography.

But it lost Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor and Best Supporting Actress (Geraldine Fitzgerald) as well as nominations for screenplay, score and art direction. Five of those awards went to "Gone With the Wind."

Some still recognize "Wuthering Heights" as one of the great movies of its type. The American Film Institute ranked it 15th on its all–time list of romance movies.

1939 was a banner year for movies, half a dozen of which made AFI's Top 100 romance list, but only one — "Gone With the Wind" — rated higher than "Wuthering Heights."

If Leigh, not Oberon, had co–starred with Olivier, would their screen passion have changed movie history? Or, at least, the order of some of AFI's lists?

An Offbeat Love Story

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Princess Ann (Audrey Hepburn): I've never been alone with a man before, even with my dress on. With my dress off, it's MOST unusual.

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I have written here before that I consider Audrey Hepburn one of the most beautiful actresses ever to appear on the big screen.

The movie for which she won her only Best Actress Oscar — William Wyler's "Roman Holiday" — was released on this date in 1953. It wasn't her first appearance in a movie; it wasn't even her first lead role.

But, in a career that included several great performances, this one stands out, even today, more than two decades after Hepburn's death.

It isn't because Gregory Peck was her co–star. She appeared with many of the top leading men of her day.

It isn't because she won an Oscar — she was nominated four other times but lost each time.

So what was it about "Roman Holiday" that made it Hepburn's defining role in the opinions of so many?

In large part, I have to think it was because Hepburn was at her most charming and most naive in "Roman Holiday" — although I personally think of "Wait Until Dark," in which she played a very different kind of role, whenever I hear her name, not "Roman Holiday."

Still, she always seemed delicate, no matter the role she was playing. She was that kind of female, sort of frail (but not in an old lady kind of way, more in the helpless female, damsel in distress kind of way, thin and willowy) and I often think that was what made her — and Grace Kelly — stand out in an era that was dominated by shapely, well–endowed bombshells.

But I can't rule out the incredible setting of Rome for the movie, either.

In the 21st century, the public has grown accustomed to the idea that a movie will be filmed on location, no matter how exotic or remote it may be, but I gather from what I have read that, unless a movie was filmed domestically, that was a rare occurrence 60 years ago.

Nevertheless, most of "Roman Holiday" was, indeed, filmed in Rome, and it is hard to imagine anyone putting the city to better use as a movie set than Wyler did.

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And that, in turn, seemed to get the best out of the cast.

Hepburn, of course, played a very appealing character, a young princess who craved fun and anonymity. Peck, of course, was always magnetic but rarely was he as charismatic as he was in "Roman Holiday," playing a reporter who wants to scoop the competition but falls under Hepburn's spell.

And then there was Eddie Albert — the same Eddie Albert who entertained TV audiences a decade later as the lawyer–turned–farmer Oliver Wendell Douglas in Green Acres. Many folks of my generation may not know until they see "Roman Holiday" that Albert had a career on the big screen.

But the truth is that he made lots of movies before and after "Roman Holiday." Some were quite good; most were average at best. But none was as good.

How good? The American Film Institute rates it #4 among all romantic comedies.

But a few more words about Albert ...

He received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor but lost to Frank Sinatra for "From Here to Eternity." Frankly, that was a pretty tough category that year. Just being nominated really was an honor. I know that is a cliche, but it is true.

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I always thought his character, a photographer named Irving who never lost sight of the career implications of his association with the princess (unlike Peck's character), kept the story grounded in reality. For example, when Peck started wavering on whether to profit from the opportunity to sell a candid story (with photos) about the AWOL princess, Irving reminded him that "[i]t's always open season on princesses."

Irving's presence was a much–needed reality check — not to mention a breath of fresh air — that elevated the tale to something more than an offbeat love story.