THEY WERE EXPENDABLE: Blu-ray (MGM 1945) Warner Archive Collection
Conceived in
irony, released in haste and shot almost entirely in Florida by the great
Joseph H. August; one of the truly momentous, though catastrophically overlooked
masterpieces as yet to be rediscovered by the public, They Were Expendable (1945) holds the dubious distinction of being
director, John Ford’s rabble-rousing/flag waver to have missed the end of the
war by only a few months; thereby blunting both the picture’s timely popularity
with audiences, then eager for escapism of a different sort, and its’ timeless
appeal ever since as an understated retrospective on an all but forgotten
chapter in WWII, told with unvarnished sentiment as only Ford could. Right off
the bat, Ford gets us interested in all those young, impressionable clean-cut
American faces, so many – too many, in fact – never to return from these
gallant hours; their hopeful promise cruelly, repeatedly snuffed out by a foe
left autonomous and strangely absent from the fray. Like a ghostly apparition,
we never encounter ‘the Japs’ except in long shot in They Were Expendable; thunderous shelling from secret destroyers at
a distance or raining down depth charges from kamikaze dive bombers.
Based on William
L. White’s jingoistic novel, They Were
Expendable takes one of the war’s unbridled U.S. military blunders - Gen.
Douglas MacArthur’s near escape from Corregidor to Cagayan De Oro in March,
1942 - and manages to find, a nugget of wisdom, a kernel of truth, and, more
than a ray of hope from its hellacious surrender and fall of the
Philippines. Once again, Ford’s
passionate direction elevates what otherwise might easily devolved into
typically hackneyed hokum with an injurious propaganda slant; Ford, thoroughly
invested, if chronically prone to groundswells of heartfelt empathy for these
fighting men, blind-sided by patriotism, forced to endure and sacrifice for an
already lost cause; Ford, electing himself the patron saint of all such lost
causes, suffering right alongside co-stars, Robert Montgomery and John Wayne,
even as the casualty lists mount with the names of the fallen. The workaday
approach to the drama, authentic rather than artificially exalted for the sake
of movie-land schmaltz, is offset by some exceptionally orchestrated action
sequences, given girth and presence with the complicity of the U.S. Navy and a
screenplay so transparently written with the voice of experience by retired
U.S.N. Commander, Frank Mead (with un-credited assists from Norman Corwin, George
Froeschel and Jan Lustig).
I have read
far too many retroactively written reviews, claiming rank sentiment, dull drama
and (choke) bad acting, to be the scourges in this forgotten Ford gem; the
inadequacies and blame, frankly, one-sided and pontificated mostly by
navel-gazers from their comfy armchairs, cozy nooks and writing desks;
unknowing and equally as unaware of how truly staggering the losses in Bataan
were, and, how exceptionally Ford and his cast have managed to touch upon the precepts
of a more honorable nobility that gives the tired ole cliché ‘war is hell’ a genuine run for its
money. They Were Expendable is a
movie mostly devoted to the lulls between combat; the intimacies gently
(occasionally, desperately) divvied by this band of brothers, despite
heart-palpitating dread and thought-numbing self-sacrifice, worn on the
sweat-soaked, rolled up sleeves of this motely, brutalized and ‘expendable’ brood of military personnel
who, despite their lack of vision for the overreaching arc in Washington’s
grand campaign in the Pacific, are nonetheless thoroughly committed to see the
cause – whatever it may be – through to completion, or die with the strength of
their own convictions unbowed. Too many war movies forget the horrors of the war
are better illustrated in close-up rather than long shot; Ford and
cinematographer, Joseph H. August looking deep into the wounded stares of actors
who intuitively possess a genuine sense, not only of their own stature as
actors, but astutely are able to assess and embody the content of their
characters with class, and, with the ability to transmit a more personalized
sense of angst in their do or die, frequently, without ever moving their lips.
Dialogue in They Were Expendable is sparse, perhaps
because Ford himself was a man of few words; or more to the point, as Ford has
placed the faith of his own convictions in long pauses of silence; allowing the
echo of gunfire and falling bombs to take their terrible and haunting toll on
the soundtrack, only occasionally augmented by Herbert Stothart’s syrupy
underscore. Stothart, a warhorse composer at MGM, offers up a restrained,
though occasionally too familiar orchestral underlay; cues to compliment Metro’s
moneyed resolve to make a ‘big picture’
with A-list ‘class’ but also afford its’
eminent director the run of their resources to create as fine and subtly
nuanced a picture as his stoic little heart will allow. I am reminded of Ford’s
own comments made on another picture, when asked by his cinematographer if he
preferred to shoot a close-up, Ford casually suggesting, “What for?…they’ll only use it.” Indeed, in a John Ford picture,
a close-up always stands for something; a punctuation of a character’s internal
resolve or a monumental minute of self-realization only capably transmitted to
the audience via the internal workings behind a skilled actors’ eyes. A lot of They
Were Expendable takes place in the shadows of life; the actors photographed
from behind or in moonlit/candlelit silhouette; Ford using the interplay of
light filtered through bamboo Venetian blinds or lazily rotating ceiling fans
in the Officer’s Hall to vivisect a more critical comprehension of what makes
these men of action tick.
What motivates
Lt. John
Brickley (Robert Montgomery) in his clear-eyed/careworn sense of duty or
restrains and softens embittered Lt. (J.G.) 'Rusty' Ryan (John Wayne) –
separating the soldier from the man, later to humanize and elevate both from darkest
despair, enough to make us care about what happens to the burgeoning/thwarted
romance between Ryan and ‘nurse’, Lt. Sandy Davyss (Donna Reed). For all his pathos and passion, Ford utilizes
the close-up more readily than he is usually given credit, never once suffering
a misstep into contrite tomes for the heroic living or glorified dead. When
silence can say more, the screen is enveloped by a deafening profoundness no
amount of clever prose can succinctly rival. When levity is needed it is given
- carefully parceled, so as not to undo or break with the Fordian traditions already
well-established; threads of male-bonded collective regret running with artery-like
precision from the very first introductory frame of Ford’s storytelling to the
magnified culmination of its assets brought into a full-faculty summation
without all that needless and perfunctory, moralizing finality in the very last.
The more one
pauses to reflect upon Ford’s artistic conservatism in this picture, the more
exponentially admiration grows to see such big names as Montgomery and Wayne
pulling their weight in this rather weighty ensemble piece; frequently taking a
backseat to the stellar supporting cast; Donna Reed, Ward Bond, Jack Holt,
Marshall Thompson – and notably, Cameron Mitchell – along with others;
genuinely perceived as the ‘whole show’ rather than the absolute reason for its’
being. Ford’s emphasis is on the innate value of teamwork, focusing the
artistry of his camera on that usually intangible masculine rectitude. Ford is
ever so subtle in his analysis of it under extreme pressure – those who break
and those who merely bend – employing a refreshingly matter-of-fact tenacity to
stay the course of their duty to its inevitable last gasp, or until that
defending moment of absence when life itself is prematurely snuffed out by
mitigating circumstances beyond everyone’s control.
It ought to be
pointed out that They Were Expendable
is a work of fiction rather than fact; using the premise of America’s early
defeat in Bataan only as a skeletal framework to depict events which actually
did not take place during the war. It may be argued author, William L. White
was functioning on more altruistic principles and from a vantage of limited
resources (a lot of what went on during those early years remained ‘classified’ for many thereafter)
believed to be true at the time of the novel’s publication. However, by the
time John Ford set his cameras to work near Key Biscayne, there was little
doubt a lot of the book had been padded out by White’s artistic license. Robert
Montgomery’s John Brickley and John Wayne’s Rusty Ryan are loosely based on
Medal of Honor recipients, John D. Bulkeley and Robert Kelly respectively, but
with major alterations by White to serve the dramatic arc in his storytelling.
It should also be noted Ford did not direct this picture in its entirety.
Having fallen from a scaffold midway through production, and laid up with a
broken leg, the director relied on Robert Montgomery’s own wartime expertise as
the commander of a PT boat to temporarily take over the more elaborate shooting
of key action sequences. Montgomery’s skill would prove so fluid and
complimentary to Ford’s own sense of style that within a few short years he
would begin to make a seemingly effortless transition into directing feature
films and later, television. They Were Expendable
receives a major boost to its authenticity by securing extensive resources from
the U.S. Navy Dept.; Ford and his company given unprecedented access to 80-foot
Elco PT Boats as well as additional naval aircraft stationed in Miami, Fort
Lauderdale and Key West, fashioned to resemble Japanese aircraft in the movie.
They Were Expendable begins in Dec. 1941. Under the
command of Lt. John Brickley, the 3rd Motor Torpedo Boat Squadron is
sent to Manila Bay to defend the Philippines against a potential Japanese
invasion. Ford establishes a sense of complacency during these early scenes;
the men - Boats' Mulcahey C.B.M. (Ward Bond), Ens. 'Snake' Gardner (Marshall
Thompson), Ens. 'Andy' Andrews (Paul Langton), Seaman Jones (Arthur Walsh), Lt. (J.G.)
'Shorty' Long (Donald Curtis), Ens. George Cross (Cameron Mitchell), ‘Slug’ Mahan (Murray Alper), 'Squarehead' Larse (Harry Tenbrook) among
other impressionable faces in the crowd, have grown bored with their stalemate;
as yet, unknowing of the horrors of war. After all, what the hell did they join
up for if not to fight? Now, their commission in Manila seems to hint their
deadlock is at an end. However, upon their gallant arrival into port, instead
of a welcome, Brickley is ridiculed by the local military commanders who
do not
believe small torpedo boats can be effective against the Japanese war machine.
Lt. Rusty Ryan concurs with the assessment. He grows sullen, holding Brick
accountable for their shortcomings thus far. Alas, Rusty’s request for a
transfer to a destroyer is rendered moot with news of the attack on Pearl
Harbor.
Brick is
fiercely devoted to his squadron, recognizing its capabilities. Assigned by his
superior, Admiral Blackwell (Charles Trowbridge) to messenger duty, the 3rd
squadron is pressed into combat after Japanese warplanes descend on Manila Bay
in a surprise bombing raid. Brick’s men manage to distinguish themselves by
putting out to sea and downing three Japanese planes. It is a bittersweet
victory however. For upon their return to base camp, Brick and his men are met
with the fiery decimation inflicted by the bombings. Admiral Blackwell is ordered
to pack up and move out. Brick and his men are sent to Sisiman Cove on the
island of Bataan where once more they find themselves relegated to messenger
service; a bitter blow to their pride. Can’t the navy see their worth?
Apparently not, until Blackwell informs Brick he needs a pair of his PT boats
to carry out a reconnaissance ‘seek and destroy’ mission on a Japanese cruiser,
presently shelling several key installations at Bataan. Brick chooses his boat
and Rusty’s for the assignment. Alas, before they can put out to sea, Brick
takes notice of Rusty’s bandaged hand. Diagnosed with blood poisoning, Rusty’s
commission is revoked. Instead, he is sent to the local hospital to await
emergency surgery that will spare his arm from amputation. Under the care of
bright-eyed nurse, Lt. Sandy Davyss, Rusty begrudgingly resists falling in love
with his amiable caregiver, but is seen to reason by ‘Ohio’ (Louis Jean Heydt);
a fellow officer recovering from a head wound, who convinces Rusty he is
wasting precious time on his own ego rather than making hay with Sandy while
the sun shines.
Interestingly,
Ford stages virtually all of the vignettes devoted to their burgeoning love
affair perpetually at twilight or late evening, perhaps to heighten the
romantic mood, but moreover, likely to provide isolated moment by contrast to
emphasize and counteract the inevitably doomed prospect after Brick is recalled
into battle. Inquiring after Rusty’s health, and informed by Sandy his finger
is still very fragile, having been cut to the bone, Brick nevertheless cannot
wait any longer for the return of his right-hand man. And Rusty, despite his
transparent affections for Sandy, is a navy man first and foremost; ingrained
with a sense of duty to God and country first and an itch to distinguish
himself in battle. Bludgeoning the Japanese stronghold with all the military
might they can muster, Brick and Rusty’s strategic assaults gain momentum, but
incur many casualties along the way, including Ens. ‘Andy’ Andrews. Wounded,
though seemingly spared after a hellish confrontation at sea, Andy is rushed to
the local army hospital where Brick and Rusty are informed by the attending
physician (Vernon Steele) it is virtually impossible to save his life. The most
that can be done is to offer him rest and comfort while he slowly succumbs to
his injuries.
Instructed to
make light of the situation, Rusty, Brick and the rest of the men attend Andy
at his bedside, offering ebullient, false, though nevertheless sincere words of
encouragement. Andy is optimistic and
grateful for their visit, but afterward has Brick stay behind – confiding he
knows he is going to die. Andy’s farewell is one of the most memorable moments
in They Were Expendable; Ford,
depriving us of the usual movie-land mawkishness; Andy, frank and without
tears, gently asking Brick to mail two letters for him; one to his mother, the
other to a sweetheart he had intended to marry at war’s end. The poignancy
herein is derived not entirely through affecting performances given by Robert
Montgomery and Paul Langton, but, in fact, by Ford’s moodily lit set and
staging; stark outlines of these departing friends, trailed by their own
elongated shadows glistening against a cobblestone tunnel until, like mirages
in a desert landscape, they suddenly dissipate and are no more; a supremely
impressionistic compliment for death.
Blackwell
gives Brick and Rusty a cryptic assignment, later revealed as to provide safe
conduct for General Douglas MacArthur (Robert Barrat) to the island of Mindanao.
Desperate to say his goodbyes, Rusty attempts to explain the depth of his
affections to Sandy by telephone. Alas, the call is repeatedly interrupted;
then, permanently cut off by urgent communications between two, four-star
generals. Brick and Rusty’s squadron of four PT boats pull out of harbor. Only
three arrive at their destination, forcing Brick to send out a search party.
Eventually found, but having incurred irreparable damage, Rusty’s fleet is
whittled by half. The timing could not be any worse, as Brick is now ordered to
intercept and destroy a Japanese cruiser on route to Corregidor. Under siege,
Rusty and Brick hit the Japanese cruiser with everything in their arsenal and
eventually triumph over its seemingly insurmountable firepower. Although both
boats survive the mission, Rusty’s is later blown to bits during an aerial
attack.
When news of
the gruesome surrender of 36,000 American soldiers at Bataan reaches the
outpost, with the Japanese rapidly advancing on Corregidor - the last American
stronghold in the Philippines - Gen. Martin (Jack Holt) orders Rusty and Brick
to retreat to Australia where they will begin training a new force of torpedo
boats. Despite assurances they will be reunited with their squadron at some
later date, both Rusty and Brick wisely assess they have come to the end of
their long-standing alliance with these brave men under their command. They
will likely never meet again. Having earlier befriended ‘Ohio’ and another
officer, Major James Morton (Leon Ames), Rusty and Brick prepare to be evacuated
on the last plane out. At the last possible moment, Ens. Gardner and Cross take
Morton and Ohio’s place. The plane lifts off, the men of 3rd
squadron left to an uncertain fate as they quietly observe their last chance at
freedom depart into the skies.
They Were Expendable remains an impeccably crafted
wartime melodrama. John Ford’s documentarian approach is slightly at odds with
MGM’s verve for superficial sheen and glamour. Indeed, even when the stars get
their faces dirty, their limbs sprained or their hair tussled and sticky wet,
they cannot help but epitomize robust and hearty masculine virility of the
Central Casting Hollywood-ized movie lore strain. Those who seek more bloody
realism from their art should look elsewhere. They Were Expendable is a morality play with its stars kept
securely out of any real harm’s way. The drama is slightly offset by having two
major stars vying for the lead; John Wayne, typified as that prepossessing
monument to American valor, somewhat dwarfs Robert Montgomery – both in
physical stature and performance. Indeed, Wayne’s role is the flashier of the
two. Perhaps recognizing this, Ford has favored Montgomery with more close-ups and
more dialogue. After all, a little Wayne goes an awfully long way, but a lot of
Montgomery proves an efficient counterweight to make both men appear as equals
on the screen.
It would
remain a source of constant consternation for Wayne that he waited out the war
years playing such larger-than-life he-men of the fighting corps on various
soundstages while many of his contemporaries actually joined the fight for real.
In more recent times it has become rather fashionable to chastise and condemn
Wayne for his absence from the conflict. Indeed, there are several accounts of
John Ford razzing Wayne on the set of They
Were Expendable and one documented incident reaching the private memos of
producer, Herbert Yates: Wayne storming off the set after a particularly
violent exchange of words with his director. For the record, John Wayne did not
dodge the draft under surreptitious circumstances. Rather he was repeatedly – and legitimately –
denied by third party interventions not necessarily made on his behalf or with
his own interests at heart; studio heads, eager to cash in on Wayne’s meteoric
stardom by keeping him busy states’ side, churning out a whopping thirteen
war-themed movies between 1941 and 1945 – all of them fattening the coffers of
Argossy, Republic, RKO and MGM. 3-A and 2-A deferments applied for on Wayne’s
behalf benefited Wayne’s career immensely; filling a gap left behind by other
major stars like Clark Gable and James Stewart, who served their nation with
distinction on the battlefront in Europe.
I suspect if They Were Expendable has a flaw, it is
owed to the rest of the supporting cast, giving uniformly solid performances;
though wretchedly, without the indelible presence of a Victor McLaglen or
Claude Rains among the bunch. In retrospect, one of MGM’s significant failings
as a studio was they tended to regard second string contract players as simply
that; background fodder, and, as such, rarely endeavored to establish a roster
of immediately distinguishable talents to fill these ‘bit’ roles; as say other
studios did with an enviable ragtag of familiar faces; Rains, McLaglen, Sidney Greenstreet,
Nigel Bruce, Peter Lorre, S.Z. Sakall, Basil Rathbone, Oscar Levant, John
Williams, Donald Crisp among them. They Were Expendable might have
benefited greatly from at least a couple ‘brand’ name second-tier performers
cropping up now and then. For example, I can definitely see how Donald Crisp
might have been a superior Admiral Blackwell, or S.Z. Sakall or Nigel Bruce lent
their iconic verve for relief to the parts of Slug and Doc, barely delineated
by Murray Alper and Jack Pennick. Donna
Reed distinguishes herself as the bright-eyed/no-nonsense nurse who cannot help
but wear her heart on her sleeve for all these gallant men – “they’re all such nice boys” she
tearfully muses after a quiet dinner party.
In his own
endorsement of the picture in 1945, film critic, Bosley Crowthers noted “It is in no wise depreciatory of Metro's They Were Expendable to say that if
this film had been released last year—or the year before—it would have been a
ringing smash…Now… it comes as a cinematic postscript to the martial heat and
passion of the last four years.” Indeed, timing in Hollywood is everything
and They Were Expendable was hardly
the bell ringer of the season. Nevertheless, it remains an exemplar in the
Ford/Wayne catalog as a valiant and unapologetic crowd-pleaser,
imbued with light comedic touches that never alter or impugn the sincerity or
severity of the story being told. They
Were Expendable is serious stuff, told with frank, occasionally stern
honesty and a decisive gallantry that captures the essence of men’s mettle
pitted against the uncompromising métiers of courage-testing/morale-breaking
war.
I am beginning
to sound like a broken record when it comes to reviewing Warner Archive
Blu-rays, as They Were Expendable is
another superb achievement in 1080p mastering, easily besting the deplorable
DVD released back in 2000. Dare I say more? I love WAC! The DVD suffered from
egregious edge effects, gate weave and wobble, and, some finicky nitrate
shrinkage. Only the latter shortcoming, for which nothing less than a complete,
meticulous and exorbitantly costly restoration would have sufficed, remains on
view and even then, so minimally it can easily be set it aside. Prepare to bask in Joseph H. August’s
magnificent B&W camerawork. We are seeing a refined level of detail and
grain here as never before, except perhaps at the 1945 premiere. Contrast is
bang on with deeply saturated blacks. But it’s the overall clarity and
razor-sharpness of the image that completely blows the lackluster DVD out of
the water. Gone are the age-related ravages of time. Without question, the
Blu-ray stands at attention, having gained mine along the way. Gorgeous and so
near perfect we might as well label it as such. You are going to love – LOVE –
this disc. It’s that simple. The audio is sourced in mono from restored elements
and carries unexpected ballast during the action sequences. Even with all its
cumbersome limitations to produce, that ole Westrex recording technology truly
was a marvel. As on the DVD, save a theatrical trailer, there are NO extras on
this Blu-ray. But once again, WAC has spent its time and money wisely, and, the
efforts born herein plainly advance and take their place among stellar
achievements. This is a fantastic disc, sure to please for decades to come. Buy
today. Treasure forever. Now, if we could just get WAC to give us a new Blu-ray of Mervyn LeRoy's utterly magnificent, Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo...hmmm?!?
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
5
EXTRAS
0
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