Being now almost now that eve of eves, means it is time to watch, yet again, my
favourite Christmas films – in fact one of my all-time favourite films whether it's Christmas or not! – Frank Capra's eternally satisfying and
edifying 1946 masterpiece, It's a Wonderful Life.
Supposing you agree with my estimation of the film's worth (and, if you don't,
kindly stop reading and go and do something more satisfying!), it's not
difficult to see why it works so powerfully on the heart and mind; it
does so – not accidentally – in the same way as does Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol: by touching on a restless sense of longing and a haunting fear of loss that is universal to humankind.
And if James Stewart – an actor too easily pigeon-holed as being a charming but lightweight player – ever gave a more nuanced performance than his portrayal of George Bailey, then I don't know of one, not even his barnstorming performance as the benign Jefferson Smith, Capra's All-American Everyman, in Mr Smith Goes to Washington.
And if James Stewart – an actor too easily pigeon-holed as being a charming but lightweight player – ever gave a more nuanced performance than his portrayal of George Bailey, then I don't know of one, not even his barnstorming performance as the benign Jefferson Smith, Capra's All-American Everyman, in Mr Smith Goes to Washington.
At the beginning of the film, Stewart is all wide-eyed optimism and
energised hope; filled with a desire to shake off the dust of the
archetypical American small town, Bedford Falls, and see the world. But
as the story progresses, he registers disappointment and disillusionment
not in a melodramatic way, but in a subtle – often unspoken –
portrayal of a man forced to accept the burdens of duty, the need to
trade-in his dreams in order to be able to stand by his family, friends
and neighbours.
From that turning-point onward, Stewart shifts his performance through a state of happy resignation with his lot in life to one of uncontrolled rage and nihilistic despair. That is when the heartwarming, some might say hokey, portrayal of small people nobly and courageously living out their small lives against all odds takes a darkly dramatic turn and the hero becomes a haggard, worn-down, tragic figure, ready to believe he would be better off dead.
From that turning-point onward, Stewart shifts his performance through a state of happy resignation with his lot in life to one of uncontrolled rage and nihilistic despair. That is when the heartwarming, some might say hokey, portrayal of small people nobly and courageously living out their small lives against all odds takes a darkly dramatic turn and the hero becomes a haggard, worn-down, tragic figure, ready to believe he would be better off dead.
What is, perhaps, most surprising about the film – and is evidence of
Capra's genius as an auteur – is the shape of the narrative, with
two-thirds of the running-time devoted to establishing the characters, major and minor, and ensuring that we, as viewers, have an emotional
investment in them all.
So it is that when George is given the gift of
being able to see what the world would have been like if he had never
been born, we care not just about George's own reactions to the
terrifying revelations, but also about all the other, by now beloved,
characters whose lives have been embittered, shriveled or destroyed by influence and interventions of this man who has come to sees his life as futile and valueless.
Stewart's central role is surrounded, supported and enhanced by his fellow players: Donna Reed as the ever-loving, ever-caring wife, Mary, and Lionel Barrymore – famous for years for his annual radio portrayal of Ebenezer Scrooge – perfectly cast as that other "squeezing, grasping covetous old sinner", Henry Potter.
Stewart's central role is surrounded, supported and enhanced by his fellow players: Donna Reed as the ever-loving, ever-caring wife, Mary, and Lionel Barrymore – famous for years for his annual radio portrayal of Ebenezer Scrooge – perfectly cast as that other "squeezing, grasping covetous old sinner", Henry Potter.
Then there's Thomas Mitchell as the absent minded Uncle Billy; Beulah
Bondi as George's mother; H. B. Warner as the town druggist, Mr. Gower;
and, of course, Henry Travers, as Clarence Oddbody the "angel second
class" who is a heaven-sent emissary determined both to prevent George
from committing suicide, and helping him see – despite all the vagaries and
setbacks – that it truly is a wonderful life, and, by so doing, win his angel's wings.
With its visions of Past, Present and a shockingly revisionist glimpse
into the future, along with the spirit of goodwill to all men, we are
definitely within the territory of Charles Dickens' celebrated "ghost
story of Christmas".
A Christmas Carol has inspired – or, if you prefer, spawned – hundreds of derivatives, but none has been more enduring or more deserving of celebration than It's A Wonderful Life.
A Christmas Carol has inspired – or, if you prefer, spawned – hundreds of derivatives, but none has been more enduring or more deserving of celebration than It's A Wonderful Life.
[This post is a revised version of one posted on 21 December 2018.]
