For each man, his own hands - Watch on the Rhine - 1943

Watch on the Rhine (1943) is a tale of resistance against fascism and the price of commitment.  In its drawing-room intrigue on the showdown between Nazis, enablers of fascism, those who resist, and those who are completely naïve about the evil forces around them, it focuses on the motivations, regrets, and fears of a single resistance fighter.  Paul Lukas, who won the Academy Award for his sensitive portrayal, is asked by Lucille Watson, his American mother-in-law, who gives his family refuge, about why he must always sacrifice for the cause against fascism?  Why not leave the job to somebody else?

“But why must it always be your hands?”

He answers, “For each man, his own hands.  He has to sleep with them.”

A day of reckoning comes to each person, for different reasons, and at different times.  What we see today in American society commonly, and not so furtively called The Resistance is also a fight against fascism, but it is taking the form of a social movement, with brave public protests, and sometimes with casualties, but for everyone there is a price to pay.  Watch on the Rhine has always been one of my favorite movies, and one of the aspects of the movie which I find so fascinating is the treatment of the Paul Lukas character.  He is both a hero, and a fanatic, and yet he is a most mild-mannered gentleman, loving and kindly to his wife and children, rather beaten and weary in middle-age, and by his own admission, fearful.  He is an unlikely hero, and his very gentleness and empathy, his being haunted over his resistance activities and what harm they do to his family makes him a very compelling character. But he has a backbone of steel and snaps into action like someone who never questions his own motives.

We have discussed Watch on the Rhine in previous posts: in this one centered on George Coulouris’ villain who is the greatest threat to Paul Lukas, and in this post on American idealism.

Ann Blyth performed with the original Broadway cast (not in the film), with Paul Lukas, George Coulouris, Lucille Watson, Frank L. Wilson, and Eric Roberts.  In my book on Ann’s career, Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star., I go into more detail on the stage play and its impact on American theatre – it was a tremendous hit.  The eloquent script was by Lillian Hellman, and its director, Herman Shumlin, also directed the 1943 film.

We meet the resistance fighter in the very first moments of the movie. He does not look anything like a fighter of Nazis. He is a timid, shuffling family man, shepherding his wife and three children to the United States border with Mexico. They are coming to the United States as refugees from a war-torn Europe. They are nervous about going through customs. We see among the stack of passports stamped by the official that four are identical, and the top one is different from the others. That one is a United States passport because his wife, played by Bette Davis, is an American citizen. The first thing he says when they step over the line into the United States, “And now you are in your own land, Sara, and that is good.” 

Just as the hero of the story does not look like a hero, the bad guys do not look like typical Hollywood Nazis. George Coulouris is a dapper Romanian ex-diplomat. We see him mostly in evening dress, and he is charming, well educated and well spoken. This movie shows us that the real evil are not the Nazis in uniforms, but the parasites among them who use those who are more powerful to get money, favoritism, and some of that power for themselves. Eventually, we get to see the local Nazi ringleader played by Kurt Katch, but he is not a smartly dressed in a commandant’s uniform. He is sloppily dressed in an old sweater playing poker. So far nobody looks as they should.

But he is really quite sinister because he is soulless and crafty. He sits in an office in the German Embassy in Washington, D.C. The Nazis are in the American homeland, close to the center of government. They are close to the bankers, the industrialists who support the regime. This Nazi shuffling cards is far more dangerous to our government than Panzer units.

We then see, in comparison, that George Coulouris is just a pawn. He is most certainly a danger to Paul Lukas, but he is fighting for his own rank and survival as well in a world of fascism. As we noted in our series of posts last summer (The Mortal Storm (1940),  Address Unknown (1944),  Storm Warning (1951),  Keeper of the Flame (1942), and Seven Days in May (1964)) that fascism is cannibalistic. Fascists always eat their own. We may see the correlation in our own time with the co-dependent, but adversarial relationship between Trump and Bannon, between Trump and Mitch McConnell, between Trump and every conservative Republican who needs him to put forth their agenda, but who will inevitably be stabbed in the back by him and possibly even share his fate if they do not shed their complacency.

The play, and the movie, is an examination of America’s innocence and naïveté not just about evil and our impending doom, i.e., entering the war, but the evil whirlwind that created it.

Complacency is the greatest evil in the movie. One of its representations is in the lovely Geraldine Fitzgerald, who plays George Coulouris’ wife, who hates him on principle but who puts up with him for much too long, until it’s almost too late. They sit in the garden as guests of Lucille Watson, themselves refugees from Europe, and Geraldine says, “I just lie still now and hope... Maybe something good will happen.”

There is the complacency of Lucille Watson and her son played by Donald Woods, who will have put Bette Davis and Paul Lukas in danger simply by having a sneak like George Coulouris in their home and giving him shelter; aid and comfort to the enemy, if you will, but also by not resisting. They have embraced American isolationism. They have not taken the moral step of resisting evil.

Paul Lukas resists evil at every turn, because he is practical and knows that fascism will devour his children and others if he does not fight it, and also because he is an idealist who believes that the world can be better. It is the fascinating picture of a sane fanatic, though he does worry, “Maybe now I am sick, too.”  He has risked all to fight the Nazis, given up his engineering career, put his family in danger numerous times, they must always be on the run, and are often hungry. Is this the picture of a responsible husband and father, a protector and provider? He struggles with this dilemma.

There is, despite its sober message, a great deal of humor in this movie, and inspiration. But it is the discussion of one’s personal commitment to ideals that is most interesting to me. There is much food for thought in this movie.

The play and the screenplay are very neatly and intricately constructed. The cast are all splendid. The arrangement of the characters on screen to show their power struggles, their weaknesses in relationship to each other is excellent work by Director Shumlin, and it is quite interesting to see that though this is his first motion picture, he was as adept at understanding the perspective of the camera as he apparently was the power of stage blocking.

We can also incidentally note that Lucille Watson was a conservative Republican and Bette Davis was a liberal Democrat, but they could both contribute their talent to this noble Hollywood film that challenges American ideals and American commitment.

When Paul Lukas remarks to Lucille Watson that each man must decide for himself the level of his own commitment, “for each man his own hands. He has to sleep with them,” Donald woods replies, “I guess that’s how we should all feel. But you have a family. Isn’t there someone else who hasn’t a wife and children?”

Lukas replies, “Each could find his own excuse. Some have bullet holes. Some have fear of the camps, and many are getting old. Each could find a reason; many find it. My children are not the only children in the world, even to me.”

There were at least three radio versions of this play and movie of which I am aware. The first, which contains only scenes, is part of the 15 minute Treasury Star Parade promoting the selling of war bonds. The host is Fredric March. Paul Lukas and Mady Christians, who played the Bette Davis role on Broadway, play their characters and also have a brief interview with Fredric March. It was done during the road show of Watch on the Rhine in 1942 after it closed on Broadway and just before the motion picture was made.

Another version was made for Screen Guild Theater October  1, 1944 to promote the film. It stars Paul Lukas, Bette Davis, Lucille Watson, George Coulouris, and Donald woods, who all appeared in the movie.

Yet another version was made for Academy Award Theater August 7, 1946 again with Paul Lukas as the only member of either the original Broadway play or the movie to appear in this particular cast.

The play, when it was first produced in 1941 before we entered World War II, was a lightning rod for discussion on our susceptibility to fascism, not just homegrown Ku Klux Klan clowns and German-American Bund rallies, but also brought speculation on our possible insidious adoption of authoritarianism to which Europe seemed so susceptible. Would foreign agents be able to introduce that kind of corruption here, using our own isolationism, our apathy and disinterest for political intrigue against us? The banker, the industrialist, the press, sit like automatons around the poker table and watch the soulless Nazi deal them cards. 

Lucille Watson and Donald Woods play host to a viper in their midst. Geraldine Fitzgerald stays with her husband, knowing he is evil, because standing up to him is too unpleasant. Then Paul Lukas, Bette Davis, and three kids straggle into the room after an exhausting journey of possibly 7,000 miles, thinking they are on a holiday in America, the safest place on earth. It would be difficult to pick out who in this cast of characters is the most gullible of all.  One by one, each in his or her own way, become resistors.  We don’t know the end of that story.

The play, incidentally, was produced again in Washington, D.C., this past February at the Arena Stage with Marsha Mason in the Bette Davis role.  Read the review here by John Stoltenberg.  The first paragraph indicates this story is still relevant:

Whatever this play meant to Broadway audiences when it debuted in 1941, just prior to America’s entry into a war of resistance to fascism abroad, what matters now is what it means to audiences just as America has entered a war of resistance to fascism here at home. Does Lillian Hellman’s principled script—now in a praiseworthy production on the waterfront at Arena Stage—stand the test of time? Does it warrant viewing, in other words, as a Watch on the Potomac?

Judging from audience response on opening night, the answer is yes.

"Watch on the Potomac," indeed.

Naive Idealism -- Part 11 of the State of the Classic Film Fan

It’s the idealism.  It’s the idealism (sometimes dismissed as propaganda, sometimes spurned as naiveté) that is most powerful about classic films and cannot be duplicated today.

We are in a more cynical age, where we mistrust idealism.  We also resent even the merest suggestion that a film might be preaching to us.  We don’t mind being preached to by hypocritical politicians, by hypocritical television advertisers who think they are telling us what we want to know or confirming our worse fears to induce us to buy their products, and by actual preachers whose personal wealth puts them in the camel-through-the-eye-of-a-needle category.

But if a movie tries to make us rally around a simple concept of decency, honor, and patriotism – by suggesting that we are all decent, honorable, and patriotic – the modern audience that does not like classic films hoots in derision (or worse).

“One might suspect their morality,” says the haughty Nazi officer of the compromised crowd of partygoers at the German embassy in Watch on the Rhine (1943).

I love that movie, loved it since I was a teenager, and marveled at its message of idealism in action.  “So the time has come,” Paul Lukas, the professional antifascist says, “This time it is of the utmost importance.”

So it is.  We finally vote this coming Tuesday.  This nation has not been in such crisis in decades, or in such danger since 9/11.  Some weeks ago, we discussed several movies in a series about fascism as represented in classic films: The Mortal Storm (1940),  Address Unknown (1944),  Storm Warning (1951),  Keeper of the Flame (1942), and Seven Days in May (1964).

Eight years ago, I wrote another pre-election day post, a two-part series on Gentleman’s Agreement (1949), part 1 here and part 2 here.  In this passage from that series, I remarked on the surprising nastiness of the 2008 campaign year:

How interesting that today much of the former open vehemence of prejudice has shifted from the now socially unacceptable derision against race or religion to the more socially acceptable ridicule of political affiliation.

“Conservative” and “liberal” are used today like dirty words, accusing labels, where the opposing political party, or politician, or even individual voter, is vilified with a degree of condescension, arrogance, and meanness that would appall most of us were it applied against a person’s race or religion.  It is no longer enough to simply disagree.  We must condemn. 

How naïve those words sound today, like those old movies that espoused idealism.  Our level of political and social discourse has sunk far lower; open bigotry is accepted by society and unquestioned in the media.  I could not imagine then that the fascists who reviled, taunted, and condemned Barack Obama for his paternal African American heritage would continue to do so for his entire two-term presidency, unchallenged by a media that reveled in any controversy fired by lies.  I certainly did not imagine that an evil, idiotic piece of filth like Donald Trump would ever become his party’s nominee for the highest political office in this country and the leader of the (formerly known as) free world. 

This is the 11^th part of our year-long monthly series on the state of the classic film fan.  In my first post in January, I specifically referred to Donald Trump, in affirming our American idealism as such that he could not possibly be elected president.  From that post in January:

Today, we address the juxtaposition of classic films on the turbulent world in which we live today.  Are they merely an escape from a louder, cruder world?  Or, do they provide us with mental and emotional sustenance to cope with our modern, angry society?  Probably both, but that depends on the classic film fan.

So we find ourselves, we classic film fans, at a crossroads.  Are our old movies a model, or an escape?  In my youth, they were a model; for I had nothing to escape from that I was aware.  Now, in middle age, I don’t know.  My earlier confidence that Trump was not a threat to the vigor of our democracy was clearly foolish.  I did not imagine that so large a number of people in this country could be so devoid of intelligence or integrity to support him; nor a media so lazy, greedy and corrupt that it failed its duties as the Fourth Estate; nor a Republican party so eager to roll over and play dead. 

Frank Capra’s Prelude to War, the first in his World War II Why We Fight series would, understandably, be labeled as propaganda today, but it was a powerful teaching tool that easily instructed a populace about to face the greatest evil of modern times on why it would have to risk death doing so.  The film quoted politicians, scripture, the words of Confucius, and from the Koran, and talked about Americans as a diverse society free and strong because of its diversity.  It just assumed its audience agreed.  Such “propaganda” dragged conservative isolationists to the table, and to the fascists among us – certain Jew-haters and industrialists – it made them shut up.

Their brand of wickedness was no longer fashionable. 

How did it get to be fashionable again, and make idealism passé?

I love the old movies that lead off with a paragraph scrolling before the first scene.  We don’t have that anymore; nobody likes wordiness, or the feeling that they are being preached to.  Watch on the Rhine begins with these words:

In the first week of April 1940 there were few men in the world who could have believed that in less than three months, Denmark, Norway, Belgium, Holland and France would fall to the German invaders.

But there were some men, ordinary men, not prophets, who knew this mighty tragedy was on the way.  They had fought it from the beginning and they understood it.

We are most deeply in their debt…

Such unabashed idealism, so unashamedly taking sides against fascism, without reserve.  Of course, the movie, unlike the play on which it was based, was produced during wartime, so it took little courage to point out our enemies for what they were, though Warner Bros. had a better track record on that that the other studios.

Another movie, Meet John Doe (1941), which we covered here, was even more courageous for picking out a fascist villain that was purely American: a businessman who wanted to take political control for personal gain.  Sound familiar?  James Gleason, in a wonderful scene of slightly drunken disgust, implores the very naïve Gary Cooper to open those beautiful eyes of his and see what is painfully apparent:

“You’re mixed up with a skunk.  A no-good dangerous skunk…

I get mad for a lot of other guys besides myself.  I get mad for a guy named Washington, and a guy named Jefferson, and Lincoln.  Lighthouses, John, lighthouses in a foggy world…”

The fascist businessman is…

“…trying to worm his way into the White House, so he could put the screws in, so he could turn out the lights in those lighthouses…”

Leave it to Frank Capra to have the guts to risk calling the common folk a bunch of saps, and then raising them to herculean majesty when they see their error, and put the brakes on evil.  The little guys convince Gary Cooper to carry Barbara Stanwyck off the snowy rooftop and back to safety and a new fight, as James Gleason, cynical and yet idealistic, and thoroughly righteous member of the Fourth Estate taunts the businessman fascist,

“There ya are Norton, the people.  Try and lick that!”  And the movie ends with ringing of church bells and the triumphant swell of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony.

No, that sort of thing wouldn’t happen today in a movie.  We’re too smug. 

I wonder what the demographic is among political affiliations among classic film fans?  From what I have observed on blogs and social media, old movie buffs are a wonderfully diverse group, where both liberal and conservative voters are equally drawn to classic films and can unite in our appreciation of their artistry and value to our culture. 

“But I do not believe for a moment that he will be elected president.”

That was my comment in January.  I did not think that by November I would be so ashamed of my country for laughing at a vulgar joke, for allowing a faction of stupid bigots to forsake common sense and common decency in order to vent their vileness.

In my complaint that modern critics found Gentleman’s Agreement too preachy:

Casablanca is also dated and preachy, but its bad guys were the Nazis, so we don’t mind speeches against them.  In Gentleman’s Agreement, we are the bad guys, or we could be if we’re not careful.  That’s the difference.

Now I wonder if there isn’t a very large segment of our population—Trump supporters—that would, if they were shown Casablanca for the first time, cheer for the Nazis?

We’ll see on Tuesday.  As Paul Lukas, the professional antifascist, says in Watch on the Rhine when he fears the greedy George Coulouris will sell him to the Nazis for a price,

“We will wait, and we will see.”

If the outcome is bleak, will classic films continue to inspire courage and decency, or just serve as an escape from a society decomposing?

I suppose I am waiting naively, idealistically, for the happy ending, the ringing of bells, and the soaring strain of Beethoven's Ninth in the background.  But it will never come again.

**************

Past posts in this series here:

Part 1 of the year-long series on the current state of the classic film buff is here: A Classic Film Manifesto. 

Part 2 is here: Cliff Aliperti’s new book on Helen Twelvetrees.

Part 3 is here: An interview with Kay Noske of Movie Star Makeover.

Part 4 is here: Evolution of the Classic Film Fan.

Part 5 is here: Gathering of the Clan at Classic Film Festivals.

Part 6 is here: John Greco’s new book of film criticism: Lessons in the Dark.

Part 7 is here: Tiffany Vazquez, new TCM host.

Part 8 is here:  Planet of the Apes at the Cineplex.

Part 9 is here:  Aurora & Classic Movies and More Interview.

Part 10 is here: A Canadian's Perspective: A Visit from Paddy Nolan-Hall.

*********************

The audio book for Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is now for sale on Audible.com, and on Amazon and iTunes.

Also in paperback and eBook from Amazon.

A Classic Film Manifesto

There is a moment in the movie Watch on the Rhine where the lead character, Paul Lukas, explains to his baffled American in-laws in the safety of their American home why he became an underground fighter against fascism in Europe in the years leading up to World War II. He states, “I can no longer just look on.  My time has come to do more.  And I say with the great Luther, I must make my stand.  I can do nothing else.  God help me, Amen.”

Following his example and from the safety of my own American home I would like to contribute my own manifesto as a guide to living in these turbulent times. This post is going to be an editorial—really something of a rant—and not a review of a classic film, though classic film is at the heart of this piece.

Like Mr. Lukas’ character who found he must address the evils of fascism rather than ignore them, so I come to a point in this blog where I must address the current campaign of Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump.

This is actually the first of a 12-part series about the world of the classic film fan that will continue throughout the year, one post at the beginning of each month.  I’ll be discussing blogs and bloggers, books by bloggers, and the interesting evolution of the classic film buff from the 1950s “revival houses” to the 1970s nostalgia boom, to the present day where I think we stand at a crossroads.  We may well have reached our peak.  There will be fewer of us in future.  More on that later.

Long post ahead.  I promise, future entries in this series will be shorter and without the irritable tone you will find herein.

Today, we address the juxtaposition of classic films on the turbulent world in which we live today.  Are they merely an escape from a louder, cruder world?  Or, do they provide us with mental and emotional sustenance to cope with our modern, angry society?  Probably both, but that depends on the classic film fan.

Back, regrettably, to Donald Trump.

I confess that for many weeks I have tried assiduously to avoid looking at or listening to Trump whenever he appears on TV either in an interview or as one of the noxious sound bites that are an excuse for reportage in these days of immature and shallow, sensationalist media.

When I see Trump, I cannot help but think of Burt Lancaster’s line in his character as a corrupt judge during the Nazi era in Germany in Judgment at Nuremburg (1961)  when he acknowledges and mourns that he had turned his life to “excrement.”

For millions of Americans, my conjecture that Donald Trump is a dumb-ass pig and a rapacious con man is not going to come as news. Indeed, we live in a land and in an era where everything that is uttered is carried instantly across social media, a record forever of our mistakes even more than our triumphs.  Nothing remains hidden anymore, and the worst gets more press than the best.  Trump knows this.  He’s quite canny about surfing the grime, knowing that it gets him the spotlight, what he most craves.

But I do not believe for a moment that he will be elected president.

My concern is that others in the future, perhaps in the next presidential race or the one after that, will observe the template he is laying down and be so impressed by the success he is making at receiving easy publicity that they will try to follow his lead and duplicate his campaign – but by then they will have perfected the art in an America so worn down by nonsense that they might actually win by default.

Precedent is a very important concept in our free society. Judges make rulings largely based on precedent. What has been done before is a bedrock, a foundation to what will come after. I would like to suggest that this is a good time for those of us who are familiar with classic films to take our love of them out of our living rooms, out of our film festivals, out of our treasured collections and go public.

“I am an antifascist,” Lukas announces to his stunned American in-laws.  His wife, Bette Davis, tries to educate her mother, Lucille Watson: “The world has changed, Mama, and some of the people are dangerous.  It’s time you knew that.”

We know full well today the world, even our own neighborhoods, are dangerous.  What we need to realize is that we are empowered to change that.  We fight evil predominantly with knowledge—that’s the first line of defense—and fans of classic films know that evil is nothing new and can be faced with courage, and humor, and remarkable resiliency.

I wish we could spread our knowledge and share our appreciation and understanding of classic films not as a clique, not as the term (which I find condescending) of “old movie weirdoes.” I wish we would stop regarding classic film as a hobby that marks us as nerds and start regarding it as an educational tool and social primer to bring substance back to our society.

That sounds idealistic and naïve, but I’m serious.

We are living in an era where we have massive amounts of information at our fingertips, but we have no intelligence or in-depth analysis of it. We have a generation of young people who are so bombarded by media by sound bites, by flashing images that they see on television or the cinemas, that are constantly bleeding from cheap ear buds into their ears wherever they go, wherever they are and it is all shallow and temporary.  It is all noise and nothingness.

When a candidate such as the vile Donald Trump plays to the worst impulses of the stupidest and meanest segment of our society, chest thumping and becoming the frontrunner of a respected political party whose great heritage has been completely plowed under, we must face the fact that our society is suffering from everything that could possibly kill it.

Some newcomers to classic film, perhaps even some long-time lovers of classic film, will watch an old movie from, philosophically, a safe distance. We see the movie soundstage Nazis and we think (as we scarf our snacks) how awful they were, how wonderful it is that Humphrey Bogart saved the day. Or we watch films about the Depression and instead of thinking in depth and feeling in depth about the horrors of poverty and 25 percent unemployment, we only chuckle at the prices on the window: 5 cents for a hamburger, we guffaw.

Gary Cooper in Meet John Doe (1941) pegged the filthy American-style fascists seeking political control represented by Edward Arnold:  “Your type’s as old as history.  If you can’t lay your dirty fingers on a decent idea and twist it and squeeze it and stuff it into your own pocket, you slap it down.  Like dogs, if you can’t eat something, you bury it!”

The films were so innocent and unrealistic then, some condescendingly think.  Yet they knew so much more than we do and they expressed it so simply.

Serious classic film lovers know that old movies are fun, from the raucous comedies to melodramas to war movies to the 1950s sci-fi movies—they’re all a lot of fun. But we also know that they are an education.  They show us a window into a world that is gone, and we take lessons from it. And sometimes we take comfort from it. There are those of us who, out of work and looking for a job will find comfort watching some of those old Depression movies, how they coped: Jean Arthur smashing her piggy bank and the fur coat that landed on her head; Jane Darwell and Henry Fonda on Route 66 in the Grapes of Wrath; even the lessons learned from William Powell, a wealthy man’s son who pretends to be a butler because he is been taken for a “forgotten man” by the ditzy Carole Lombard.

I have spoken with people in their thirties – who should be old enough to know better – who found The Grapes of Wrath to be a lousy movie because it is so “unrealistic”.  A moronic assessment, to be sure, but at least they’d seen it.  Most younger people will never see a classic film because they will never stumble onto one by flicking channels.  Unless they have TCM, or a “retro” station on their cable service, they may never see a classic film.  According to statistics, that is becoming less and less likely.

A recent report, found here, about cable TV “cord cutters” includes this interesting set of statistics:

… younger-skewing crowd known as "cord-nevers" — represents about 9% of American adults. They have never subscribed to TV channels offered by a cable, satellite or telecommunications provider. The Pew study found that young adults, those ages 18 to 29, are the least likely to pay for cable or satellite TV.

Much of modern day film entertains through sensory stimulation – heart-pounding special effects and fast action.  We feel what it is like for the superhero to fly.  We are taken on an amusement park ride.

But the commonplace folks of everyday life are not represented.  They are less interesting to filmmakers, perhaps.  Would we see The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), Margie (1946), or the Maisie series made today?  Too tame.  Too slow.  The characters are too ordinary. 

The main thing that classic films give us, because of the way the scripts were written and because the way they were filmed, is a feeling of empathy and ability to feel for others. Despite our distance from the Golden Age of film, we can still understand and feel for the characters.  So many decades later, we watch these characters and identify with them.  We don’t need to go through it ourselves—indeed, we cannot.

Unfortunately, I fear that today’s audiences, especially among younger people, are lacking in empathy and also in imagination. Films today, because of technological advances, do not need to rely on our imaginations.  They are meant not to make us empathize with characters, but to put us in a situation where through computer-generated graphics we are the ones having the virtual experience.  Quiet, thought-provoking films have taken a back seat to blockbusters that dispense thrills.

It is as if filmmakers today think that people could not possibly understand the characters’ fears and motivations unless we are the ones taken on the thrill ride, we are the ones being scared and horrified, we are the ones being titillated, we are the ones who are forced to experience what the characters suffer. It becomes always, nauseatingly, about us and not about others.  The perspective of our film experiences today, as with social media, has become disgustingly narcissistic.

I would love for classic films to be taught at the high school level. I believe that such a course should be taught by instructors who understand and appreciate classic films, who are able to interpret them to young people—for they will need to be interpreted. We cannot simply plug a kid down in front of an old movie and say, “Watch this,” and expect them to get lessons from it or even enjoy it.  Just because we like the character actors and noir and the musicals and the old pie in the face doesn’t mean they will be at all charmed.  Just exposing this art form to a generation that has less and less a chance of ever seeing it will be a positive step. 

Nor is this about turning out a new crop of classic film lovers.  Students learn algebra and science as disciplines to master, tools for survival in a technological world, and possibly enriching their lives.  Familiarity with previous eras of pop culture should be just another aspect of a well-rounded education.  Social studies, history, geography—using classic films as a classroom teaching tool is about helping them to connect with the past through an examination of pop culture through its most effective form. 

Most younger people will need help, explanations for what is happening, just like reading footnotes at the bottom of the page of a play by Shakespeare.  For kids who smirk at the sight of a wall phone in their grandma’s kitchen, or who have never seen a typewriter, then the meaning of 1930s slang, or the significance of the terror of an approaching telegram delivery boy is going to go right over their heads.

They may even need to learn empathy—or tolerance at least, for characters whose motivations and emotions are expressed differently, for people who look and dress and speak differently from them, and for a world that no longer exists.  There were different rules of behavior once.  In a world where there are few now, that alone will be baffling.  Some things they see in that old movie world will be offensive.  I doubt more offensive than Donald Trump, so they should be able to bear up.

At the very least, they will need to learn patience with a slower pace of entertainment.

So much talking went on—usually in full grammatical sentences.

I recall that in 1980, Alistair Cooke, host of Masterpiece Theatre, in his introduction of a five-part series on Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice starring David Rintoul and Elizabeth Garvie, ruminated that most younger readers found Jane Austen remote and unappealing, largely, he felt, because the world of her quiet families coping with Regency period mores was long dead. 

It was a good series, very well done.  However, the 1995 version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle set fire to the small screen and helped to generate an enormous resurgence of all things Jane Austen.  Suddenly, out of the proverbial hedgerows, came millions of new fans, the re-release of her novels, more movie and television adaptations, fan fiction and costume balls.  Jane Austen has become an industry.

Because her remote world was brought to life again.  Viewers empathized, understood, “got it.” 

It should be a lot easier for us to touch the world of the 1930s because of the films that decade produced—an advantage the Regency period did not have.  Even if that world is viewed in black and white.

I like to think such a renewed appreciation for classic films among the general public and a younger demographic is possible.  But whether or not that occurs, at the very least, newcomers to classic films will learn that history is an endless repetitive cycle of challenges.  We need not fear them.  We are up to the test.

Going back to Donald Trump.  Among his many odious suggestions, is to ban Muslims from entering the country, to confine the ones here already in prisons.  He throws these stink bombs like a bratty junior high student trying to get attention.

When I was young—I think I was in high school, I read an English translation of Hitler’s Mein Kampf. I read it because I had read a great deal of World War II history by that time, indeed, my parents were a product of that generation so I grew up being more exposed to it probably a lot more than kids do now, and I wanted to see for myself what this so-called evil mastermind had written. I sat down with the book with some trepidation, preparing myself emotionally for what I thought would be an unpleasant and perhaps even horrific experience, kind of like the way you steel yourself to watch a scary scene in a horror movie. You want to see it, but you don’t want to see, so you kind of have to nerve yourself.

What I read shocked me, but not because it was scary—but because it was so mind numbingly stupid. This was the enormous lesson I learned, that opened my eyes. Hitler was a jerk and a moron. Like a loudmouth at a bar.  He was no mastermind.

The book was very poorly written.  It rambled and it was full of self-congratulatory chest thumping, like the sound bite of a modern day politician who regurgitates empty slogans that are not answers.  I thought to myself, if Hitler was this stupid that he could not even convince someone my age (high school or so), then how could he possibly get so many followers to do such terrible things?

But the films made by his propaganda machine, including Triumph of the Will (1935), show us the theatricality of his mass seduction.  One can see how a Pied Piper can lead the simple minded, the evil masterminds, the greedy parasites, and the angry common man together in a “Mephisto Waltz.”  It has happened so many times through history.

There are so many stupid, gullible people out there.  Oh, yeah.  We know who they are, they show up in our Facebook and Twitter feeds.   Unfortunately, they don’t know who and what they are. 

They are usually not well read (which I think is even more important than formal higher education), they have no moral compass and the best way, as the Nazis proved, to achieve power is to tell people that they are victims and that they need to take revenge. Hate is a high to them.  Most of them don’t even realize they’re being used by the ones at the top—whether it’s German citizens in the 1930s, or the zealous owners of automatic weapons in 2016 United States being whipped up by the NRA—that traitorous sect of fascists, with congressmen in their pockets, a danger to our liberty and freedom. 

Paul Lukas in Watch on the Rhine has another sentiment that he expresses when he tells about escaping the Nazis after an act of sabotage.  He says, “I do not tell you this story to prove that we are remarkable, but to prove that they are not.”

Hitler was not a superman; he was a dumb-ass jerk who appealed to a lot of dumb-ass jerks because he was like them. To be sure, he had many evil masterminds on his staff; Goebbels for instance, and people who knew how to write better than he did, how to enforce, and how to manipulate the public through propaganda.  The same tactics are used today, through websites and social media.  His gang’s only refuge when they were faced with their inevitable loss was suicide.

Like the suicide bombers and gunmen of today. They are just as ineffectual in the long term.  They will never win, but they will try to do as much damage as they possibly can for their own warped sense of temporary glory and revenge. 

That is the common denominator between fanatics of all stripes, foreign and domestic: they are stupid, they are frustrated by their impotence, and warped by their resentment. 

Trump, conversely, has no beliefs to incur fanaticism of any kind; he is a user of others.  He hopes to springboard himself off the oafs he pretends to defend but for whom he has undisguised contempt, all those morons who have nurtured and churned up such evil in their hearts that they want to justify that evil by backing a man who they think will legitimize it. If someone like Trump gets to be president, then all the sick feelings they are feeling, all the evil things they’re saying and doing will, to them, be justified.

Frank Capra produced his Why We Fight series during World War II to educate men entering military service to give them a background, the foundation of why they were fighting. He talked about ideals being “lighthouses in a foggy world,” from men like Washington and Garibaldi, and there were quotations from the Bible and from Confucius and from the Koran about how men should live in peace.

We are told repeatedly in school and in the media that if we do not learn from the past, then we are doomed to repeat it.  That has become a hollow platitude.  We can’t learn from the past if we don’t actively study it.  Youngsters cannot be expected to learn from a past they cannot remember. 

Classic films show us as the best educational tool possible that we’ve been here before. Populist campaigns of Trump’s type are nothing new. Hard times are nothing new.  War is nothing new.  Bigotry is nothing new.  Fanaticism and fascism are nothing new.  And for those who are disinclined to read history, a classic film is a wonderful way and a simple way to teach people first about history, second about empathy—something we are sorely missing today, and third, perhaps the most important ingredient, idealism.

Undoubtedly as a backwash of the political upheaval of the 1960s and 1970s the changes in our society, the assassinations, the corruption, we have become an extremely cynical nation. We did not start out that way. We could not have separated from the British in a terrible war if we were not idealistic. We could not have founded this nation on the beliefs expressed in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights if we were not an idealistic nation.  We could not have fought a horrific Civil War if we were not an idealistic nation, and we could not have gotten through the horrors of the Depression or World War II if we were not idealistic. Idealism is what made us great. Idealism is what made this country the most amazing democratic experiment the world has ever known, and the hope and the salvation of millions.

We have lost our idealism. It’s fashionable to be cynical and sarcastic. Our sarcasm is everywhere, it’s choking us. Snark has replaced wit.  Check any sitcom you want on TV, it’s usually three or four people sitting on a couch making digs at each other for 22 minutes. Check the music videos, check the rap and rock music, check the foulmouthed comics—everything is a stab, there is no idealism left in us. And that is what is killing us.  That is what makes someone like Trump come out of the woodwork like a cockroach and get more media attention than a fool like him deserves.  In our new warped sense of values, he represents ratings.  Idealism is no longer palatable to the American public.  It is mistrusted.  It is cornball.

My suggestion to teach classic film in the high schools is will be considered a lightweight solution to a big problem.  Maybe even a joke, but I’m not kidding.  Provided we have knowledgeable teachers able to interpret the history of the eras the films were made to them, I think this is a good start to teaching younger people the most important lesson they may ever learn: your world is not the world.

I’ve been very impressed reading the blogs of many classic film bloggers and they seem to display a passion and a knowledge of the social background of these films and a desire to learn more. So many bloggers do such great research on the backgrounds of their films because they know that the era is just as important as the flickering image.  Many of them are young.  I would hate for their intelligence and empathy and imagination to be dismissed as a hobby, labeled as a clique of supposed nerds, self-branding as “old movie weirdoes.” 

Classic films give us depth, a sense of context. They give us an anchor to our heritage. We learn from our parents and we learn from our grandparents and we don’t have to stop learning from them after they’re dead. Their generations still speak to us and we can learn from them, all their faults, all their problems, everything they did wrong and everything they did right.  We need to see where they messed up, and where they nailed it.  We’re lucky to have the entire twentieth century covered, at our fingertips.  If there’s one thing that classic movies teach us is that as a society, we’ve been here before.

How can we lose our way when we’ve been here before?

Lionel Barrymore remarks in You Can’t Take it With You (1938): “Lincoln said, 'With malice toward none, with charity to all.' Nowadays they say, 'Think the way I do or I'll bomb the daylights outta you.”

We’ve been here before.  We can handle this. In times of trouble, that’s a great comfort. 

Let’s use that wealth of knowledge, that wealth of understanding and empathy that classic films give us to enrich our lives.  Here are the voices of our parents and our grandparents and our great-grandparents. Listen.  We don’t need to lose our grip on our senses, on our nerves, or on our democracy, not if we remember who we are, and where we’ve been.  Where we are going will depend a good deal on that.

As Gary Cooper says in Meet John Doe, urging his radio listeners that to become idealistic is the best way to ward off fascism—“Let’s not wait until the game is called on account of darkness.”

I am not an old movie weirdo.  I like classic movies in much the same way I enjoy classical music.  There are only a couple public radio stations in my area that play classical music.  It is represented on public television only occasionally.  Just because modern American society doesn’t make it easy for me to have access to this music, doesn’t mean that Bach is irrelevant.

And nor does liking it make me a “weirdo.”   Some schools, either on the junior high or high school level, either in the form of band class or a visiting chamber music quartet will attempt to introduce students to classical music, even if only for a single class in a single semester.  Some schools do much more.  Is that weird?

No.  It’s considered culture.  Then it should not be weird to show them The Crowd (1928), or Fury (1936), or The Oxbow Incident (1943).

Trump?  This too shall pass.  We know that phrase.  But pass unto what if we allow his type of candidate to become the norm?

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Next month in part 2 of this series: come back for a review of film blogger Cliff Aliperti’s new book on Helen Twelvetrees: Helen Twelvetrees, Perfect Ingenue: Rediscovering a 1930s Movie Star and Her 32 Films and how today’s classic film bloggers, with all the resources available to them, are equal to the best film historians and critics.

Next week—back to the movies.

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"Lynch’s book is organized and well-written – and has plenty of amusing observations – but when it comes to describing Blyth’s movies, Lynch’s writing sparkles." - Ruth Kerr, Silver Screenings

"Jacqueline T. Lynch creates a poignant and thoroughly-researched mosaic of memories of a fine, upstanding human being who also happens to be a legendary entertainer." - Deborah Thomas, Java's Journey

"One of the great strengths of Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is that Lynch not only gives an excellent overview of Blyth's career -- she offers detailed analyses of each of Blyth's roles -- but she puts them in the context of the larger issues of the day."- Amanda Garrett, Old Hollywood Films

"Jacqueline's book will hopefully cause many more people to take a look at this multitalented woman whose career encompassed just about every possible aspect of 20th Century entertainment." - Laura Grieve, Laura's Miscellaneous Musings

"Jacqueline T. Lynch’s Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. is an extremely well researched undertaking that is a must for all Blyth fans." - Annette Bochenek, Hometowns to Hollywood

Ann Blyth: Actress. Singer. Star. 
by Jacqueline T. Lynch

The first book on the career of actress Ann Blyth. Multitalented and remarkably versatile, Blyth began on radio as a child, appeared on Broadway at the age of twelve in Lillian Hellman's Watch on the Rhine, and enjoyed a long and diverse career in films, theatre, television, and concerts. A sensitive dramatic actress, the youngest at the time to be nominated for her role in Mildred Pierce (1945), she also displayed a gift for comedy, and was especially endeared to fans for her expressive and exquisite lyric soprano, which was showcased in many film and stage musicals. Still a popular guest at film festivals, lovely Ms. Blyth remains a treasure of the Hollywood's golden age.

The eBook and paperback are available from Amazon and CreateSpace, which is the printer.  You can also order it from my Etsy shop. It is also available at the Broadside Bookshop, 247 Main Street, Northampton, Massachusetts.

If you wish a signed copy, then email me at JacquelineTLynch@gmail.com and I'll get back to you with the details.

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My new syndicated column SILVER SCREEN, GOLDEN YEARS, on classic film is up at Go60  or check with your local paper.