RANDOM HARVEST (MGM, 1942) Warner Home Video

In 1942, MGM released Mervyn LeRoy’s Random Harvest; just one of the studio’s grand and glorious odes to an England that never was, based on a best-selling novella by author, James Hilton whose previous works, Lost Horizon and Goodbye Mr. Chips had both translated into the popular lexicon as gratifying motion pictures. Random Harvest really is a throwback to the Irving Thalberg era; Metro’s Raja, Louis B. Mayer electing to partly honor the precepts owed Thalberg’s extravagances from the mid-1930’s. Random Harvest has at least the look, if not the deportment of a movie overseen by Thalberg’s mighty and uncompromising hand. Throughout their joint reign over this Culver City empire, better known to the outside world as Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Thalberg and Mayer frequently clashed over Thalberg’s profligate spending on fewer pictures to make up Metro’s yearly quota. Thalberg reasoned – usually with uncanny clairvoyance – that less output with more distinction would net the studio even greater profits. At least in his time, this much was generally true. Even so, when the diminutive wunderkind unexpectedly died at the age of 36 in 1937, exiting the synagogue on the day of the funeral, Mayer is rumored to have nudged executive, Eddie Mannix, whispering the murderous line, “Isn’t God good to me?” Indeed, Thalberg’s passing left a void in the studio’s management Mayer was only too eager to fill with his own edicts as the undisputed monarch of the realm. Too much is written about Mayer as a tyrannical and oppressive influence, mostly by those who never knew or even met the man in person. And while it is nevertheless certain Mayer, in Thalberg’s absence, ruled Metro with an iron fist, it is as true he fully appreciated talent, even if he firmly believed his way was the only way to ensure the studio’s perennial profitability. In retrospect, the proof is in Metro’s longevity and profitability while Mayer reigned supreme, and the cataclysmic spiral into fiscal oblivion, steadily marked and charted by the various ineffectual regimes put into place after his forced exile from the studio.

Mayer could have cleaned house immediately following Thalberg’s death. He could have done away with those, devoted almost exclusively to Thalberg’s wishes that clashed with his own…except Mayer, for all his faults as a human being, was a superior administrator and could sincerely recognize the strength – as well as the profits to be derived by retaining such loyalists; every last one integral to the proliferation and maintenance of Metro’s supremacy at the box office. From this vantage, Random Harvest is yet another example – at least from the outside looking in – of how a change in top-level management had not impugned the studio’s ability to carry on in the grand manner on which its reputation with the public had been based. It was, after all, in keeping with traditions and that long-since dreaded word - ‘prestige’ - that, at least in Mayer and Thalberg’s heyday, meant far more to the cachet of a company than pictures that don’t make any money. So, Random Harvest came into being out of a necessity by Mayer – to prove a point: that he could still make the kinds of pictures Thalberg would have loved – even without Thalberg at the helm. And Mayer, apart from having the bountiful resources and personnel to carry it off, was as much a great admirer of the kinds of sentimental stories Thalberg also enjoyed; albeit, to be produced on a lesser budget not entirely imposed by wartime restrictions. By the mid-40’s Mayer’s dream factory had been around for well over a decade and had accrued the necessary resources to create their fantasy worlds from the stock supplies of a storehouse of acquired props and other previously used building materials. Rather effectively, Cedric Gibbons and Edwin B. Willis’ production design resurrects the nostalgia for all things British, while managing to concoct an alternative to its present war-torn reality; all of it spectacularly lensed in B&W by Joseph Ruttenberg.  

Despite fairly tepid responses from the critics in their day, Random Harvest proved a real bell-ringer for Metro, earning a pure profit of $4,384,000, marking it as their biggest hit of the season. In more recent times, the critics too have come around to recognizing the picture’s unique and spellbinding magic; a quiet rectitude emanating off the screen with a spark of romantic vigor that gradually builds into a thoroughly satisfying love affair between the two stars. It’s the passion for the work that shines through; also, the abilities of costars, Ronald Colman and Greer Garson to completely convince us of this highly improbable love story, set amid the changing cultural landscape of England’s slowly eroding aristocracy. Indeed, time itself has come full circle for Random Harvest, now considered an exquisite melodrama; a wartime weepy in the best vein and elegantly wrapped in the enigma of a thoroughly – far-fetched tale of woman’s suffrage. Hilton’s book, published in 1941, had appealed to a primarily female readership. The movie would make its own valiant gesture to reach out to both sexes, and, on the whole, succeed in broadening its appeal. How could it not, with winsome Greer Garson, riding the crest of newfound success begun with her debut in 1939’s Goodbye Mr. Chips, and continuing with a string of highly profitable tearjerkers, including Pride and Prejudice (1940), Blossoms in the Dust (1941) and the Oscar-winner, Mrs. Miniver, released earlier in the same year as Random Harvest. For a brief wrinkle in time, Garson’s screen appeal was almost Garbo-ian in tone. Metro had, in fact, been meticulous in crafting movies to showcase her Irish lucky charms; Garson’s image as the perennially devout woman to hearth and home, leading to her frequent on-screen teaming with the genteel and adoring Walter Pigeon as her soon-to-be/or already ensconced husband. Behind closed doors, Garson was actually more heatedly involved with actor, Richard Ney who played her son in Mrs. Miniver. Yet, unlike Garbo, Garson radiated genial warmth, the perfect quality for Hilton’s patient heroines; in this case, dance hall performer, Paula Ridgeway. At first, Paula takes pity on, but then almost immediately falls in love with an amnesiac/escapee from a nearby asylum in Melbridge.  Seemingly without effort, Garson’s performance morphs from motherly and protective to instinctual romantic; the transition never forced or awkward.   

And in her co-star, the ultra-sophisticated, yet fluently graceful Ronald Colman, she all but finds the strength to endure his character’s unintentional loss of affections. Colman, who had quickly gone from little known British émigré actor to A-list Hollywood star, primarily thanks to the dawning of sound, that unlike for so many had marked the kiss of death to their careers, in Colman’s case revealed a mellifluous and richly nuanced baritone, kept under wraps in the silent era, but absolutely ideal for the talkies.  Indeed, I can almost hear the echoes of Colman’s Sydney Carlton and that penultimate farewell “…a far, far better thing I do…” in A Tale of Two Cities (1935). The thirties enriched Colman’s prospects in Hollywood, even as his presence in such classics as Lost Horizon and The Prisoner of Zenda (both released in 1937) firmly established him as the epitome of a certain kind of benevolent English gentleman; the personification of that nation’s traditions and national heritage, then being fought for with the advent of WWII.  Colman is magnificent as the shell-shocked soldier who skulks off from the asylum after the armistice, greatly depleted and quite unaware he is actually Charles Rainier - heir to an industrialist’s fortune and ancestral estate. After another failed attempt made by his devoted doctor, Jonathan Benet (the magnificent Philip Dorn) to establish his identity, Charles casually walks away, in search of his own truth on a moodily fog-laden eve.

A chance meeting with Garson’s empathetic Paula on her way to the Tivoli Music Hall, passing through these chaotically crowded and celebratory streets of Melbridge, gives rise to a whirlwind romance and the sort of pastoral, emblematic and escapist retreat American movies in general sought to trademark as the English way of life; all cultured garden parties and staunchly enduring principles - stiff-upper-lipped morality, decorum and propriety – noblesse oblige. Paula rescues the amnesiac she nicknames ‘Smithy’ and conceals him from being sent back to the asylum by a well-intended tobacconist (Una O’Connor). Instead, she ushers Smithy into a local pub run by an exuberant keep; retired pugilist, ‘Biffer’ (Reginald Owen). In short order, Paula is ordered by the Tivoli’s stage manager, Sam (Rhys Williams) not to be late for her performance.  What to do? Charles is so very fragile. He ought never to be left alone. So, Paula takes this man she barely knows to her dressing room, bolstering his confidence with an ebullient one-sided ‘conversation’ in which she reveals a great deal more about her own character and personality. Leaving Smithy backstage to enjoy the show, Paula delights the crowd with her high-spirited and leg-revealing rendition of ‘Daisy’. Alas, as the returning soldiers who populate the audience join in for a verse and chorus of ‘It's a Long Way to Tipperary’ something stirs within ‘Smithy’. Unbeknownst to these revelers, Smithy has suffered a relapse and collapses on the floor.

The next afternoon, Biffer learns the man Paula is keeping hidden in his upstairs bedroom over the bar is actually the mental escapee everyone in the village is talking about. Biffer is staunchly loyal and agrees to guard Smithy’s secret. After a few days’ convalescence, Smithy’s outlook greatly improves. He speaks full sentences and his optimism and faith in humanity have been restored. Alas, Sam refuses to take him along, forcing Paula to make a life-altering decision. After briefly considering what it would mean to return Smithy to the asylum, Paula instead leaves the touring company without giving notice. She takes Smithy under her care, more determined than ever to see him restored to perfect health. Together, they make their way from Melbridge to the West Country – ‘the end of the world, lonely and lovely’ – the ideal retreat to mend a shattered mind. Paula invests every last vestige of her nurturing self to oversee Smithy’s complete recovery. Gradually, a romance blossoms between these two unlikely dreamers. And although Smithy is unable to unlock the portholes to his past, he finds himself making new and enduring memories with Paula. Befriending the country physician, Dr. Sims (Henry Travers), Smithy girds his resolve and proposes marriage to Paula. She, at first, resists, fearing he is only doing this to repay her kindness. But Smithy confides in Paula; she has resurrected more within him than a sense of loyalty and compassion. The two are wed in a quiet country church, Sims walking the bride down the aisle.

The skillful condensation of Hilton’s prose by screenwriters, Claudine West, George Froeschel and Arthur Wimperis nimbly cuts through many chapters in just a few brief scenes. Paula gives birth to a son, named John Smith after his father. In tandem with this good news, Smithy receives word that his application for a full-time position as a writer with The Mercury, a Liverpool-based newspaper has been received with great interest. Hurrying in the rain to make his appointment for the interview, Smithy is struck down by an automobile, awakening a short time later, relatively unharmed but with his pre-war memories fully restored. As he has virtually no recollection of the events that have transpired since the war, Smithy now gives his name as Charles Rainer and his address as Random Hall. Naturally, Charles’ relatives are skeptical of his return, though quick to rally at his side, recognizing him as the rightful heir to their formidable family’s estate and fortunes. The youngest of this extended brood, Kitty (Susan Peters) is not directly related to Charles, but finds him utterly fascinating nonetheless. Over time, she evolves these impressionable feelings into naïve young love.

In the meantime, Paula, having realized what has become of her husband, gets a job as Charles’ private secretary, rechristening herself as Margaret Hanson. In her present capacity, Paula neither intends to deprive Charles of his obvious happiness, nor his reunion with his rightful family. Nor does she set about to expose the fact they are already husband and wife. Appealing to Dr. Benet for guidance, the mood turns palpably romantic when Benet suggests Paula forget about her life with ‘Smithy’ and pursue a relationship with him instead. Yet, he is ever more kind-hearted than enterprising, offering Paula renewed hope, even though in doing so, it so utterly deprives him of his own chances to procure lasting happiness with the one woman he so clearly loves. Endeavoring not to dishonor the love she and Charles shared, though perhaps realizing it is utterly futile to cling to this dream, Paula has her marriage to ‘John Smith’ annulled. At the same instance, and despite their discrepancies in age, Kitty and Charles become engaged. Alas, in preparing the hymnals that will crown their moment of happiness together, Charles suffers a relapse. He is stirred by a distant and cloudy reminiscence; the haunting faraway look caught in his eyes convincing Kitty she has been desperately grasping at an imaginary life together that can never include her.  Maturely, Kitty breaks off their engagement, causing Charles to begin a deeper soul-searching excursion to take him back to Liverpool.

On this sojourn, Charles employs Margaret as his social secretary. As he plans to enter public life as a politician, Charles suggests they are both prisoners of their respective pasts, haunted by a cloudy history that can never be whole. Perhaps together, they might find a new path to move forward. Paula is taken aback by this sudden change in her fortunes, but conceals her joy. Indeed, in proposing marriage this second time, Charles remains aloof at best. While he firmly admits he would be lost without her, in the same breath he offers her nothing but passionless friendship in return for his hand in marriage. Paula is expected to play the part of devoted wife and hostess as the first lady of an elder statesman. Paula agrees to these terms, informing Dr. Benet of her plans to remarry Charles. In public, the ruse is imperceptible. Margaret and Charles are a handsome couple and the envy of their contemporaries. But behind closed doors, Paula realizes that to have remained alone was not the worst that could have happened to her; that, to be nearer still the man of her dreams, and yet not even considered as his lover, is far more painful. She is wounded, increasingly heart-sore and ever as unhappy as before, perhaps even more so. How could she have agreed to such a bloodless arrangement? Declaring her need to take some time for herself, Paula departs for Melbridge, to the inn where she and ‘Smithy’ first fell in love. It is only a stopover, as Paula intends to take an extended vacation to South America.

In the meantime, Charles is called by the home office to act as intermediary in a strike in Melbridge. His arrival is met with enthusiasm and he does, in fact, restore order between the workers and the mill. However, in choosing to walk the streets instead of taking a cab on route to the train station, Charles begins to suffer from recollections he cannot explain. A trip to the pub run by Biffer further jogs his memory, as does his remembering the tobacconist who nearly returned him to the asylum so long ago. Inquiring as to the location of the hospital, Charles is further haunted by memories at the front gates of the asylum which now stands in ruins, a relic from the post-war period. In the meantime, Paula prepares to depart from the inn. Charles, who has kept a mysterious key to a door he has never known tucked in his coat pocket, is now drawn to the country cottage he once shared with Paula. Trying the lock, Charles is astonished when the door opens. Paula, who has astutely surmised the unnamed and unseen man who came to the inn moments before her departure, making inquiries, was likely Charles, hurries to be reunited with ‘Smithy’ at the cottage. Charles memories are stirred into full flourish and he now recognizes Paula by name as his wife; the couple, tearfully reunited.

Random Harvest’s finale is perhaps a bit too idealized for today’s audiences, lacking the sentimental wherewithal to suspend their disbelief. Most certainly it represents a curious challenge for this foursome of aliases; Margaret/Paula and Smithy/Charles. While the novel spans whole decades of lost and regained memories, the movie understandably forgoes this luxury; its’ condensed narrative timeline suggesting an either/or solution to this lover’s quandary. Yes, Charles has come around to remembering Paula a second time. But has he also forgotten once again who he really is in this psychological game of ping-pong; ergo, is he Smithy again? Reentering Paula’s life as Smithy seems to suggest the couple can pick up where they left off nearly a decade before… if only Charles were not already a public figure with a new/old life as a well-regarded statesman from a very well-established English family. Stories about the sacrificing of time and place, surrendering to life itself – or, at least, as we know it from our primitive comprehension of the space/time continuum – always have been perennial favorites in literature, on stage and in the movies; Lost Horizon, Carousel, The Enchanted Cottage, and Brigadoon among such offerings.

Yet, the sacrifice is always muddled by the realization human beings are tangibly mortal, if imperfect and decidedly perishable creatures of habit, desperate to establish a more lasting and permanent world; arguably, a forever futile pursuit. As such, we cannot preserve our own longevity or legacy without an inevitable choice made in service to this sacrifice. Random Harvest’s ‘perfect’ finale suggests life can be resumed, even after an absence of some years, when love is ever-present to restore the eternal flame of passion. Glamorized implausibility has been the driving factor of a good many romance novels - both pulpy and legitimate; Hilton’s authorship, decidedly leaning towards these latter and loftier pursuits. Mervyn LeRoy’s movie straddles this chasm, the treacle ever more fancifully contextualized by the studio’s sumptuous art direction. And yet, Random Harvest never veers into such obvious displays of hearts and flowers; the screenplay, LeRoy’s direction and the solid acting throughout, conspiring to evolve a tender, moody and thoroughly satisfying tome for the emotionally wounded, though enduring lovers among these ruins in fractured time. Paula and Smithy’s reunion moments before the final fade to black satisfies our insatiable need to believe in fairy tales without betraying the sincerity or credibility in all that has gone before it. It is saying a great deal that Random Harvest was one of MGM’s biggest money makers of the year; perhaps, even more telling, it was never remade; the varying vintages in film-making since come and gone, unable to quantify, analyze or even begin to deconstruct – if only to resuscitate – its elusive mixture of pathos and passion.

Warner Home Video’s DVD is now well over two decades old. This transfer looks it too. Although the gray scale is solid with good contrast, on the whole, fine details tend to suffer, particularly during the foggy studio-bound night scenes depicting Smithy’s escape from the asylum and his penultimate return to Melbridge to resolve the strike. Film grain is nonexistent. Perhaps a bit of heavy-handed DNR has been applied to achieve these homogenized and smooth results. Compression artifacts are a non-issue and, except for minor speckling, there are no age-related artifacts. Overall, Random Harvest doesn’t look awful on DVD. But it would behoove the powers that be at the Warner Archive to line this one up for a brand new hi-def Blu-ray transfer in the new year, surely to restore and resolve the issues of absent grain and capture the more subtly nuanced textures in Joseph Ruttenberg’s moodily lit cinematography. The audio is mono and remarkably clean, free of hiss and pop during quiescent moments. Extras are limited to a few vintage short subjects and a theatrical trailer. Honestly, it is time for Random Harvest to make the leap to 1080p. Like so many of MGM’s perennially satisfying gems from the 30’s and 40’s, this one is deserving of the honor to be restored and represented in hi-def.

FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)

4.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3

EXTRAS

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