Where has this movie been all my life?? Actually, that’s a pretty easy question to answer: growing up Jewish, I didn’t watch Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life annually on Christmas, and viewed it for the first time just a few days ago. Suffice to say, I had fairly low expectations—the tongue-in-cheek moniker that’s often applied to Capra (Capra-corn) had me fairly wary of his work in general, let alone one about angels descending to earth. Well, color me shocked: I loved every second of it. One could use It’s a Wonderful Life to teach their children values—compassion, selflessness, loyalty, and self-respect, among many others that the film preaches without being, well, preachy. And let me dispel the notion that it’s a “Christmas” movie in the truest sense of the term. I certainly see why it’s become a ritual for many families, sure, with its well-deserved, poignant ending and its strong core principles. But one needn’t be observant, or religious in any way, to fall under its spell.

It’s a Wonderful Life opens with an overhead shot from the heavens: Clarence Oddbody (Henry Travers), an angel aspiring to obtain his wings, is being treated to a portrait of the life of George Bailey (Jimmy Stewart), who’s contemplating taking his own life. Clarence is told that the elusive wings can be his if he shows George what a terrible mistake he’d be making, and through flashbacks, we begin to see why. From early in life, when George saved his brother from drowning in a freezing hole in the ice after a sledding mishap—which cost George the hearing in his left ear—he put the needs of others ahead of his own, and hated to see anyone unhappy. From stopping a shopkeeper from accidentally poisoning a child, to refusing to sell his late father’s savings and loans business to scrooge clone Henry Potter (Lionel Barrymore) despite the business’ lack of profitability, Bailey lived true to his principles. Capra gracefully paints the portrait of a man whose combination of sophistication, intellect, and quick wit could have made him rich as can be, but simply refused to let anyone down, and thus gave up any hope of wealth. No scene is more emblematic of Bailey’s noble sensibilities than when his brother Harry (Todd Karns) returns home from four years away. George had been running the savings-and-loans with the understanding that Harry would take things over when he got back, but at the train station, Harry springs the news: he’s engaged to be married, and his father-in-law has offered him a job elsewhere, a job that his wife desperately wants him to take. In a staggeringly brilliant piece of acting by Stewart, a brief shadow flashes across George’s face, a moment of disappointment that his dreams of leaving Bedford Falls are hanging in the balance. Harry, sensing this, nervously says that he hasn’t accepted the job yet, and that they could talk about it. But as quickly as it appeared, the shadow passes, and George smiles broadly, slaps his brother across the back, and whoops, “what am I doing, congratulations! Let’s celebrate!” The scene, which could have easily been cloying and unconvincing, feels 100% genuine, in large part to Stewart—who is absolutely dazzling throughout—but also because Capra has so smoothly built up George’s morals and integrity that it would have felt unnatural if he’d done anything else. Still, that doesn’t ease the tug we feel at our hearts, that George may never escape his struggles despite his warmth and skillset.

We see more of George’s goodness in his relationship with Mary (Donna Reed), an attractive-but-unspectacular lady from town. George gradually falls in love with her, as he realizes that most Bedford Falls women, such as Violet Bick (Gloria Grahame) are uninterested in the simple pleasures that float his boat: nature, walks, freedom. Violent’s repugnant reaction when George suggests a romp through the hills—she merely wanted to get dolled up and prance around town on his arm, looking pretty as can be—serves as a wakeup call that his worldview and that of most others are incompatible (in this way, Violet, an otherwise minor character, serves as a key cog in dissecting George’s love for Mary, and how he sees life as a whole). After George and Mary wed, they have four children, and while their house is full of love, they live paycheck-to-paycheck on George’s meager returns from the savings-and-loans, which is being bullied by Potter’s monopoly on the town’s business interests (Potter, a former board member of the S & L, loathes George for his selflessness, and wants nothing more than to drive him to desperation and out of business). Mary’s love for George is untarnished by their lack of money, and that makes her a perfect mate: her appreciation for his strong points shines through during a rare blowup at their home about 3/4 of the way through, when an accounting error by George’s Uncle Billy (Thomas Mitchell), his second-in-command at the S & L, leaves them tapped and at risk of losing everything. Forced to his knees, George swallows his pride and begs Potter for $8,000, only to be laughed at and kicked out. At wit’s end, George loses his temper, snapping at Mary and the children, and storms out into a blizzard, leaving his family behind in complete shock. Mary’s miserable, befuddled look, her complete uncertainty of how to respond, speaks volumes about her pain at seeing her noble husband, for the first time, really lose it.

This entire setup could have been unbearably schmaltzy, a cup of feel-good cheese soup. After all, how many times can one sing the praises of a single man? And to top it off, we’re then treated to see Clarence guide George through what life would have been had he never existed! Yet It’s a Wonderful Life strikes nary a wrong note. As we see George slowly realize that Clarence isn’t a figment of his imagination, that this really is the world as it would have been without him—Harry dead instead of a celebrated war hero; Bedford Falls in decay and renamed Potterville; and most tragically, Mary an unmarried librarian with no love in her life—it’s impossible to not be deeply moved and reflect upon our own humble existence, and wonder who we’ve touched without realizing the extent. When George emerges from the fog and dashes home to his family, his vigor renewed and unbridled optimism restored, to discover that the entire town had banded together to erase his debt, it feels completely justified. Has any movie ever deserved such an uplifting ending as this one?  It’s a Wonderful Life may be Jimmy Stewart’s very best work, and that’s saying something—this is the star of Rear Window and Vertigo, the man who turned in first-rate supporting performances in After the Thin Man and The Philadelphia Story, after all. But every enunciation and facial expression is executed perfectly, and it’s difficult to stay dry-eyed for long stretches of this masterpiece in large part to him (which is not to sell Capra’s first-rate direction short). Despite being a non-practicing Jew, I may make a regular viewing of It’s a Wonderful Life a regular part of my Christmas Eve as well.

93/100

Though Leo McCarey is best known for his screwballs, his greatest skill appears to be the drama. Make Way For Tomorrow (1937) is one of my all-time favorite films, and this underseen gem from 1935, featuring Charles Laughton as the dignified butler Marmaduke Ruggles who ultimately yearns for an identity of his own, is alternately charming and deeply touching. Ruggles of Red Gap opens with the discovery that the Earl of Burnstead, George Vane Bassingwell (Roland Young), has lost his loyal servant Ruggles in a poker game. The winners? The Floud’s, a late-middle aged couple from Red Gap, a small town in rural Washington: Effie (Mary Boland) and Egbert (Charles Ruggles; ironic, or something). Desperate for some sophistication in her saloon-driven Western town, Effie brings Ruggles back to stay with and serve them, hoping his impeccable manners and pristine ways will rub off on Egbert, a hard-drinking, mustachioed cowboy sort, and the town as a whole.

One of McCarey’s gifts is how he deftly spreads the sentiment around. Here, Ruggles may be the centerpiece, but Effie is perhaps the most interesting and sympathetic character. Here’s a woman who fashions herself an elderly bourgeoise-in-training, who wishes for nothing more than to possess extreme grace and to host lavish dinners and cocktail parties…but she’s completely lost on how to act, beyond insisting that her sloppy husband ditch the plaid jackets and buy some proper suits. There’s a wonderful moment where Ruggles fails to show up to orchestrate a dinner party, and an overmatched Effie stammers, stumbles, and ad-libs while 30 guests look on in bemusement. It’s both quite funny, especially with Egbert staggering around rebelliously—a common occurrence—and moving: Effie’s chosen to settle in a place where her wants are completely at odds with the town’s ways, and it’s too late for her to really learn them herself or to put down roots elsewhere. If McCarey’s social commentary on class disparities and lifestyles isn’t exactly Buñuelian, it certainly makes it points: some things can’t be taught, and some things are unacceptable in certain parts of the country, and the world.

And Ruggles? He fits into this equation neatly, also discovering that trying to be someone you’re not is tougher than it first appears. Ultimately, however, he finds the courage to break with family tradition and set off on his own path, and eventually earns a satisfying—and much-deserved—acceptance from the people of Red Gap (Egbert among them, though he shows it’s not so easy to change ones stripes, especially when it might affect the flow of whiskey and back-slapping with the boys). Ruggles of Red Gap is always entertaining, sharply written and directed, and features superb performances from all three leads. Its mix of comedy and drama is smoothly handled by McCarey, and warrants more attention than it’s received in most film circles. And if it’s not quite Make Way For Tomorrow…really, what is?

77/100

I’ve now seen three Joseph Losey films, with The Prowler following The Boy With Green Hair (1948) and These Are The Damned (1963). The best phrase I can think of to describe my reaction to his work is harmless indifference. I like Losey’s directorial creativity from a thought process standpoint, but the finished product seems to be a mediocre expression of a talented mind. The Prowler, for instance, opens with the attractive Susan Gilvray (Evenlyn Keyes) soaking in the bathtub in the evening. She glances out the open windows, screams, and closes the blinds. Losey then cuts to two policeman—Webb Garwood (Van Heflin) and Bud Crocker (John Maxwell)—knocking on the front door of her palatial California home, investigating her call of a stranger skulking about on her front lawn. This is important: as The Prowler progresses, we quickly begin to question whether or not there even was a prowler at all. Was Susan, the wife of the famous radio DJ John Gilvray (Sherry Hall)—a man whom she, and we, hardly ever see—simply clamoring for attention? Was her loneliness causing her eyes to play tricks? Or did she really see something? The Prowler gradually evolves into a depiction of lust, emotional & sexual insecurity, and just how far people will go—and where their boundaries lie.

All this makes for a pretty cool setup, which makes the perfectly-passable-but-fairly-bland end result all the more disappointing. There’s just a lack of energy to the entire proceedings: the final 20 minutes in a dusty ghost town are fairly strong, but mediocre acting keeps them from having any major clout. Heflin in particular is a weak choice for a leading role: his facial expressions seem to be permanently etched in either some sort of smirk or a look of disgust. Losey’s script is fine, but doesn’t really draw the audience in, or inspire compassion for any of the characters. As a result, even The Prowler‘s best sequences lack any deep emotional heft. This all sounds a bit harsher than it should, really—The Prowler is entertaining, brisk, and certainly not a shallow work. But it leaves the viewer with this lingering feeling of what could have been.

56/100