Recalling the film history that inspired National Review
Celebrating National Review’s 70th anniversary should not neglect the art context of its appearance in the culture. Not to say that movies directly influenced founding editor William F. Buckley Jr.’s journalistic decisions, but it is important to know what specific social influences affect contemporary thinking. A look back at the films of 1955 is a perfect way to understand the magazine’s position and its influence, which helped shape conservative thought and language.
Post–World War II American film culture saw the impact of international cinema in the burgeoning art-house, foreign-language film theatrical distribution circuit, awakening public sentiment alongside nationwide responses to the era’s new political climate: the communist threat, the atomic bomb, and the rhythmic, visceral, cross-racial jolt of rock ‘n’ roll. Here are the films that helped American minds define individual conservatism in 1955 (and maybe now).
The Long Gray Line — John Ford personalizes the story of West Point through the eyes of Marty Maher (Tyrone Power), an Irish immigrant who spent 50 years at the institution. His rise from cook to noncommissioned officer, during both world wars, reflects how American identity was formed by duty, service, and, most amazingly, Maher’s realization that our experience with others defines our spiritual life, especially as Americans. Years after its release, scholar Tag Gallagher said of the film, “In showing us what ‘made’ Eisenhower — the picture enlightens us about what made us. West Point’s justification is that it works.”
Journey to Italy — Roberto Rossellini’s travelogue through a troubled marriage (Ingrid Bergman and George Sanders) set the standard for future mores about romance, sexuality, faith, and mortality. Its frankness startled 1950s moviegoers and shaped the insight of successive generations dealing with everything from divorce to the Pill, mortality, and the existence of God.
It’s Always Fair Weather — Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen’s clever, profound musical about three former GIs (Kelly, Dan Dailey, Michael Kidd) who reunite a decade after World War II’s end. Dancing and singing in ultrawide CinemaScope splendor, they confront the realities of American friendship and the Sartrean self.
The Night of the Hunter — Charles Laughton turned German Expressionist style into a children’s fable in this film, which features two orphans who elude a demonic killer (Robert Mitchum) then find protection from a God-fearing matriarch (Lillian Gish). It is a unique work of modern Americana about temptation and innocence, and a political allegory, if you like.
Summertime — David Lean’s intimate epic about an American spinster (Katharine Hepburn) whose trip to Venice becomes her sexual awakening. Her romance also replicates the West’s realization of its global circumstance — a moral discovery that is both erotic and visually spectacular.
Ordet — This Carl Dreyer film (a.k.a. The Word) contrasts a Danish family’s traditional belief with modern philosophy. The mundane tale’s simple purity is astonishing, and the climax is the most literally miraculous ending since Frank Borzage’s 7th Heaven.
Rebel Without a Cause — Nicholas Ray interprets the ascendant teenage generation’s identity crisis. James Dean in red, white, and blue jeans is misunderstood by everyone except Natalie Wood and Sal Mineo, who share his outcast yearnings. It was an instant prophetic myth.
The Man with the Golden Arm — Otto Preminger uses a Hollywood exploitation premise about a drug-addicted musician (Frank Sinatra) to probe the social and psychological turmoil of urban America emerging from another war, this time in the culture and on the streets.
The Prisoner — Peter Glenville directs Alec Guinness as Cardinal József Mindszenty, the Hungarian Roman Catholic martyr whose fate was previously depicted in Felix Feist’s 1950 Guilty of Treason. This upscale version confirms the anti-Nazi, anti-communist tyranny that haunted the era’s political awareness.
Kiss Me Deadly — Robert Aldrich’s paranoid fantasy about crime and the bomb pushed the era’s social unease to such comic extremes that it should have finally finished off film noir style. Its shock — the best Sam Fuller movie Fuller never directed — was an awakening until Hollywood brought film noir back as a soporific.
Blackboard Jungle — Richard Brooks directs a fortuitous exploitation movie about an earnest teacher (Glenn Ford) dealing with high school juvenile delinquents. Brooks meant to come to terms with social and cultural changes in urban America but was just lucky enough to graft a pop tune over its opening credits and cast non-teenager Sidney Poitier to signify racial subtext with scene-stealing star power.
Marty — Delbert Mann acknowledges the impact of media rival television by adapting Paddy Chayefsky’s sentimental pseudo-realist teleplay about a homely Bronx-Italian bachelor (Ernest Borgnine) finding a schoolmarm mate (Betsy Blair). Tearjerker sincerity takes the place of sophistication, but this was before Hollywood’s class condescension became insultingly obvious (i.e., The Sopranos about New Jersey Italians).
These films — as well as The Deep Blue Sea, To Catch a Thief, Oklahoma!, All That Heaven Allows, The Man from Laramie, Artists and Models, The Far Country, Bad Day at Black Rock — plus their themes and issues, tell us about not only the world National Review first responded to but also the world we come from.
Consider the little-known A Man Called Peter, Henry Koster’s biopic about Peter Marshall (Richard Todd) who became chaplain of U.S. Senate in 1947. It takes a cooler tone than Koster’s earlier religious fare (The Bishop’s Wife, Come to the Stable). Call this the “God and Man in Hollywood” genre, pace Mr. Buckley. Not quite on the same level as Ford’s West Point epic, but by avoiding kitsch, it never insults a believer’s intelligence.
From this retrospective, imagine what kind of publication could originate in the uncertain times of this year’s One Battle After Another, Sinners, Frankenstein, and Weapons. It would be unworthy of readers. To understand our politics, we need to know our cultural history.