Film in Our Time

The end of the war brought an unprecedented boom in the European film industry, and so Hollywood has been compelled to hear criticism from within and without. It has submitted meekly to castigation from overseas critics largely inspired by an excess of nationalistic pride. More surprisingly, it has lost its head and in the midst of an acute spell of inferiority complex it has ground out a very coarse grain of thrillers, "naughty" comedies, and Westerns, many of which are unworthy of whatever tradition sophisticated Hollywood may acknowledge in a weak moment. To imagine that the shrewd movie bosses, always with both eyes on the box-office, could ever misjudge their audiences is indeed difficult, but I think that they have—and badly . . . For once in their cynical lives they have aimed too low.

Now from the preceding remarks one could justifiably query this article's validity as a defence of the American film industry, but the complaint given to suggest that the most recent fare from Hollywood is an exaggerated example of admittedly ever-present weaknesses. It is not a true reflection of the general standard of the industry. I am basing this article on the output of a sane Hollywood, paradoxical though this phrase may be, a Hollywood which will reappear very soon, when the old cocksure self-confidence has overcome the present self-conscious restrained attitude.

Laurels To Hollywood Commercialism

I hand Hollywood the rather greasy palm in the commercial cinematic competition because Hollywood above all else is honest with itself. Unlike the British film industry, it does not produce one pearl and much paste and claim that the lot is the genuine oyster. It rarely strives consciously to be artistic—when it does it flops—for its executives are shrewd enough to know that a materialistic people like the Americans have little capacity either for producing or appreciating a film of piercing artistic inspiration. Instead they rely on a consistent standard of competency on which the average movie-goer of today can rely. The Americans have achieved much by this honest recognition of their limitations—and have not received the praise they have deserved. A "Way to the Stars" is all very acceptable when it comes, but I thank heaven above for sparing me from the acutely class-conscious efforts of the British film in between the master-pieces—the pattern is depressing and unoriginal—Oxford-accented heroes, 'ingratiating servants, tacit suggestions of the superiority of the English way of life, the interplay between the upper class and the lower class, and, worst, of all, minor characters who look and talk as if they had just been borrowed from the local repertory show. They make an unpleasant contrast to the accomplished American minor character players. These are true artists, craftsmen in their own right, restrained, natural, giving the impression that they have been pressed into service as they strolled around the set chewing gum. Men like Frank Faylan, William Bendix, Gene Lockhart, and Dan Duryea are counterparts of genuine hunks of humanity known in our own life. Women may recoil from the fish-like expression of Duryea but that is the very proof of his reality as a character—the instinctive reaction of any normal person who might happen to meet him unexpectedly.

To regain the main road again, I must reiterate my gratitude to the Americans in providing an entertainment to which I can generally turn confidently when the Press has informed me that there are no masterpieces around demanding to revive my Hollywood-drugged soul.

Up with Yankee Hoomour

American humour has no counterpart in present-day cinema. Indeed, the honesty of the American film has been very largely due to its humour. The wise-crack so beloved of Hollywood has very often been deliberately aimed at allegedly sacred national institutions in order to please an international audience—so we find Bing Crosby stating in the "Emperor Waltz" that he is "a Presbyterian, a commercial salesman, and a member of the 'Junior Chamber of Commerce'," with such an earnest note in his voice that Smiles of derision bubble upon the lips of the audience [bubble-gum?—Ed.]. Perhaps one of the main reasons why American humour is unsurpassed is that it is the humour of the new world—it is irreverent. It does not, as does the English manner, mock existing institutions with the implied proviso that they really are the best you could hope for, so that the audience is [unclear: luued] into remarking upon the "honest candour" of British films. Rather do they openly attack anything which to them is founded upon a false base—so we find Danny Kaye in "The Secret Lives of Waltr Mitty" relentlessly exposing the various legends of the deep south, the impossible heroic hero and the casual reticence of the English with ingenious mimickery of a Texan gambler, cocking his thumb at the old melodrama of the sea captain who stayed at the wheel despite all mishaps—

"Come down Cap'n"
"I'm all right, I've only broken my arm"—

and gleefully satirising English reticence in the RAF officer who upon being faced with the seductive query of a rhumba girl—"You like me, huh?"—replied as he gazed longingly at the maiden—"Rather!"

No Screen For Problems

In the screening of social problems the Americans are not so honest as in other matters. However, much the same could be said about most other film-making countries. Nevertheless, despite studied avoidance of sensitive issues, e.g., the negro question, Hollywood has at times shaken off its qualms and produced a "Grapes of Wrath"—the pitiful saga of the exploited fruit-picker in California—a picture which it would be very difficult to excell in acting ability, direction and general purpose. One might counter perhaps with "Love on the Dole" but the final taste in the mouth left by the latter was one of depression, of morbid submission to the conditions surrounding the characters while "The Grapes of Wrath" ended on a note of challenge with more than a hint of rebellion.

My generalisations proceed from a weekly attendance at the theatres [or cinemas?—Ed.] and from the impressions constantly received from viewing the different films of different, countries. The first essential of art' is verisimilitude, i.e., the device of art should truthfully represent what it sets out to portray. Bearing this essential in mind I think that despite its lapses into nauseating sentimentality, crude melodrama and bedroom comedy, Hollywood achieves a more reliable standard of performance than any other film center. Sometimes it even embellishes its consistency with a masterpiece In the European Tradition. Someday perhaps it will summon up enough courage to give the critics what many of them have sought—a searching exposition of the negro question.

B. J. O'meagher.