Month: April 2022

When producer Alan Pakula first proposed a film adaptation of Harper Lee’s masterpiece, studio executives asked him what story he was going to tell with it. “Have you read the book?” he asked them. They said yes. “Well, then you know the story,” he said. You likely know the story as well; it’s been assigned reading in United States classrooms for years.

Pakula was wise – when you are working with source material this good, the best approach is a minimal one. So this is a very faithful adaptation of Lee’s work – with the adult Jean “Scout” Finch recalling her Alabama childhood, back when she was six and then seven; when she (Mary Badham) and her older brother Jem (Philip Alford) got into mischief alongside Dill (John Megna), the nephew of one of their neighbors. Most often the three would dare each other into spying on the creepy neighbor Boo Radley (Robert Duvall), a recluse about whom the kids had spun many a tall tale.

Meanwhile, Scout’s widowed father Atticus (Gregory Peck), the town lawyer, was caught up in a case defending Tom Robinson (Brock Peters), a black man accused of raping and beating poor (and white) Mayella Ewell (Collin Wilcox), even though the majority of the evidence points to Mayella’s father Bob (James Anderson) doing the beating part. Robinson is found guilty nevertheless, but Bob Ewell still feels slandered by Atticus’ case, and vows revenge – leading to a scary confrontation bringing both stories together.

The biggest difference between the book and the film is that some of the richness of the kids’ lore is missing. But with good reason – Lee simply wrote so much about their shared superstitions, conversations and thoughts that including it all would have made for an impossibly long film. Fortunately what is here is still rich enough, and the kids playing Scout, Jem and Dill are all perfect. Badham is particularly memorable as Scout, a spunky kid who’s just as likely to beat up a classmate for insulting her Pa as she is to snuggle with Atticus on the porch swing for a talk when she’s confused about what Bob Ewell was saying in court. She’s a tomboy, but she’s also fond of her daddy.

And with Atticus as her daddy it’s easy to see why. While at times he’s depicted a bit too rosily, Atticus is patient, fair-minded, nurturing, wise and even-tempered. This was Gregory Peck’s favorite role – reportedly he instantly said “yes” when offered the part – and the role for which he is best known, even today. Pakula, as well as several friends of Peck’s, have speculated that this is because Peck was playing himself; or, at least, an idealized version of himself.

I’m very familiar with both the book and the film, having seen and read them both before. And this time around some of the detail in the Tom Robinson subplot struck me afresh; there’s a moment when Atticus learns that Robinson was “shot while trying to escape” a police escort. I didn’t even remember that scene from earlier viewings, but this time, after years of seeing real-life instances of police brutalizing black men and women – Rodney King, Amadou Diallo, Michael Brown, George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, and so many others – I found myself distrusting the man who’d brought Atticus the news. Harper Lee may not have meant for me to suspect Robinson’s “accidental” shooting was staged, and some years ago I might not have.

But that’s part of the power of the film. It’s ultimately about Scout and Jem growing out of innocence and learning some of the harsher truths of the world; that their Pa wasn’t all-powerful, that sometimes people are unfairly treated, that some people are dangerous. But they also learn that sometimes the creepy neighbor is just shy or that sometimes doing the right thing when no one supports you is its own reward. And that sometimes there are no easy answers, and that growing up is a work in progress – both for a girl and for a country.

There’s a running gag about aspiring writers setting out to write “the Great American Novel”, but arguably I would say that Harper Lee already did, and this is the film made of it.

Movies or plays based on “history” have long fascinated me – particularly the liberties that they sometimes take, and why they take them. One of my favorite books, Past Imperfect, is an anthology of essays by historians, each of which chose a different “historical movie” to review – and in all cases, these reviews compare “here’s what actually happened, and here’s what the movie says happened.” Some essays go even further and discuss “and here’s what was happening when they were making the movie, and here’s how that influenced things.” All historical films adapt the story somewhat, even if only for the sake of dramaturgy; a straightforward depiction of things “as they actually happened” would be either dull or confusing, since things rarely happen at a drama-worthy pace and often there are false starts and red herrings as the story unfolds. ut sometimes looking at how a filmmaker tells such a story – what bits they emphasize and what they sweep under the rug – can also be telling.

Lawrence Of Arabia is more of an adaptation of an adaptation, basing itself on the real T. E. Lawrence’s memoir of his time in Arabia. To sum up very quickly: the real T. E. Lawrence was a British officer during the First World War who was stationed in Egypt, and who was tasked with supporting (or, rather, encouraging) an Arab revolt against the Ottoman Empire, a move which would in turn impact control of the Middle East and the Levant. Lawrence was one of several British intelligence officers and diplomats assigned to this task, but his approach was particularly impactful, as he was able to unite two of the major tribal factions into a single force. He also coordinated a number of Bedouin tribes’ fighters into a guerilla army, making regular attacks on Ottoman railways and the smaller towns surrounding major cities. At one point he was captured during a scouting expedition in the Syrian city of Daraa, and was tortured by the Ottoman officer there – he was definitely whipped, and was possibly sexually humiliated. At another point, he and his party came upon a retreating Ottoman platoon, and he gave the order to “take no prisoners” as punishment for the Ottoman massacre of a nearby Bedouin settlement. Following the war he encouraged the British government to grant the Arab nations independence after the Ottoman Empire fell, but the U.K. and France already had their own plans for the post-war empire, and his efforts came to naught. He returned to England and lived a bit aimlessly for the next 15 years – writing his memoirs, joining in a stage show about the Arab Revolt, and even trying to re-join the military under a pseudonym. He was killed in a motorcycle accident in 1935.

That’s the “real” story. Lawrence’s own account, and the story the film wants to tell, goes something like this:

Lawrence (Peter O’Toole) had long been fascinated with Arabia and had finagled his way into a post with the Arab Bureau during the war; but ended up stuck in a dim office for a good while. He felt he had a unique understanding of the Bedouin culture and wanted to put it to use. So when offered the chance to meet Prince Faisal (Alec Guinness), leader of the Syrian revolt against the Ottomans, he jumped at the chance – and ignored the orders to stay impartial, offering Prince Faisal some military strategic advice instead. Faisal is impressed, as is Sherif Ali (Omar Sharif), one of the Bedouin tribal leaders serving Prince Faisal; after a particularly impressive victory, Ali gifts Lawrence with a set of Bedouin robes to wear in lieu of his British military uniform.

Ali is Lawrence’s “sidekick” for much of his ongoing campaign – keeping peace amongst the various tribes, tending his wounds after Lawrence is beaten by the Ottomans, trying to stop his massacre of the retreating Ottoman army. He is skeptical when Lawrence assures him the British will surely give the Arabs their independence, but is among the last to leave when Lawrence’s attempts to set up an Arab-run government fall apart. Lawrence goes to appeal to Prince Faisal, to urge him to demand independence – only to find that Faisal already knew about British and French plans to divvy up the empire, and had resigned himself to it.

It’s actually not that far off the facts. The film leans heavily into Lawrence’s love of Arabia and the Middle East, implying he was a bit of an outcast in England who’d found a family among the Bedouin. It draws a little bit of a veil over Lawrence’s torture, but implies that this fuels some anti-Ottoman sentiment in him which leads to the bloody Ottoman troop massacre. It does play a little fast-and-loose with some of the non-Western characters – in particular, it implies the Bedouin leader Auda abu Tayi (here played by Anthon Quinn) was more of a mercenary than the team player he actually was.

The film really shies away from commenting on rumors about Lawrence’s sexuality – just before the film’s release, a play about Lawrence addressed rumors that he was gay. And while film Lawrence does have a couple of close friendships among his Bedouin comrades, the film plays really coy about whether these are lovers or comrades-in-arms.

Ultimately, though, the film seems to suggest that Lawrence may have ultimately been unknowable. Things start off a bit like Citizen Kane does – we first see the motorcycle accident which caused his death, then we eavesdrop on various mourners’ chatter following his state funeral. A reporter is on the scene trying to find someone who knew Lawrence well – but cannot. Everyone has an opinion on the man, but no one can say that they really knew him. One particular admirer of Lawrence’s says that he “had the honor of shaking his hand once in Damascus” – but when we see the actual incident towards the end of the movie, we learn that the officer in question had actually insulted Lawrence when he was in Arab dress just moments before.

Visually, the land itself might be the real star of the film. Director David Lean filmed in the then-new “Super Panavision” technology, sort of a grandfather to IMAX. Super Panavision called for bigger screens, and quick cuts on big screens were making audiences nervous – so Lean opted for longer, panoramic takes which were perfectly suited for sweeping desert vistas. Honestly, if you put anyone against a backdrop that beautiful – and added in Maurice Jarre’s Oscar-winning score – they would end up looking as larger-than-life as Lawrence became after this film.

Alright, we’re done with Oscars talk, seriously. I really appreciated Daniel Radcliffe’s comment in an interview right after the Oscars; he was asked his opinion on the Will Smith scandal and he said that he’d become so “dramatically bored” reading everyone else’s thoughts that he didn’t want to weigh in at all. It is ironic, though, that this next film examines the ethics involved with resolving disputes with violence.

Actually, the glib review I gave Roommate Russ was that it was “like Mr. Smith Goes To Washington‘s Western grandpa.” James Stewart is “Ransom Stoddard”, the Senator for an unnamed Western state. At the start of the film he has made a return visit to his home town of “Shinbone” with his wife Hallie (Vera Miles) to attend the funeral of their mutual friend, rancher Tom Doniphon (John Wayne). Their visit attracts the attention of the local newspaper, and the editor corners Stoddard to ask how the esteemed Senator knows a low-stakes rancher like Doniphon.

Stoddard’s tale takes up most of the rest of the film, told as a flashback to when Stoddard was an idealistic newcomer to Shinbone, eager to start a law practice and assist during the territory’s transition to statehood. He’s held up almost immediately by Liberty Valance (Lee Marvin), the thug who’s been terrorizing Shinbone for the past handful of years at the behest of the local bigwig cattle ranchers. The one person Valance respects is Doniphon – mainly because he’s the one person in town who’s a better shot than he is. The penniless Stoddard takes a job as busboy in the local inn, washing dishes alongside Hallie – who was then Doniphon’s girl.

Stoddard insists on opening his law practice as soon as he’s more settled, even though Doniphon warns him things work a bit differently out west. But Stoddard stubbornly insists that violence isn’t the way to solve disputes. He also insists on opening a school once he learns that Hallie – along with several townspeople – can’t read and are generally uneducated. Doniphon isn’t impressed by the way Hallie seems to be taking a shine to Stoddard – and Valance is unimpressed by Stoddard’s civilizing crusade, ultimately challenging Stoddard to a showdown on Main Street one evening. Hallie and Doniphon both urge Stoddard to leave (although, likely for different reasons) but Stoddard takes him up on it. And to everyone’s surprise – Valance is shot.

Stoddard becomes the hero of the day, with the town going so far as to nominate him as Shinbone’s delegate in Washington. But he’s uneasy with how the town is celebrating him more for his one violent act than for his legal work. However, Doniphon pays him a secret visit to tell him his showdown with Valance didn’t quite happen the way he’d remembered it did…

I liked this a little better than I thought I would. Both John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart seem to be playing caricatures of themselves at first – Stewart as the idealistic do-gooder, and Wayne as the sharpshooting macho cowpoke. Doniphon’s habit of calling Stoddard “Pilgrim” even made its way into countless “John Wayne impressions” for years after – I recognized it as a trope impressionists used back when I was a kid. And director John Ford had to forgo his usual epic location shoots and filmed the whole thing on a backlot. Wayne and Stewart were also starting to get a little long in the tooth for their parts, and in fact many believed Ford had filmed in black and white to hide their ages.

But both men still end up doing decently enough, as does Vera Miles; she gives Hallie a good deal of spunk and sass, and a forthrightness that convinced me that Hallie was genuinely starting to warm to Stoddard as opposed to it being a script convention. And let’s face it, both John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart looked old even as younger men, didn’t they?