OUR VINES HAVE TENDER GRAPES (MGM, 1945) Warner Archive

Few films so completely tug at the heart as Roy Rowland’s Our Vines Have Tender Grapes (1945), an intimate portrait of bucolic tribulation and triumph.  Based on George Victor Martin’s novel about a small sect of Norwegian farmers in Wisconsin, the screenplay by Dalton Trumbo manages to walk a taut tightrope between real human drama and overt sentimentality. For the most part, Trumbo succeeds in keeping the mood genuine, the story true to life. Our Vines Have Tender Grapes is just the sort of character-driven family film that Hollywood in general churned out en masse during WWII and that MGM – the studio with ‘more stars than there are in heaven’ – excelled at in particular. In its heyday, Louis B. Mayer’s dream factory was capable of mining such riches repeatedly with visual flair and great commercial success. And this time around, Mayer had a real ace in the hole – diminutive, Margaret O’Brien who, at only age 8 in 1945, commanded the screen for several years as few child stars of any generation, including her own, could. Mayer saw O’Brien as his version of Shirley Temple - the little dynamo that could – and did – over at 2oth Century-Fox for well over a decade, but by the mid-forties was all grown up, ironically, with her teenage box-office drawing power in very steep decline. Our Vines Have Tender Grapes, top-bills Edward G. Robinson, on loan out from his alma mater, Warner Bros. Robinson, in life, was a thoroughly soft-spoken and cultured man, so unlike the oily tough guys he was typecast as in the early days of Warner’s pre-code and gang-land cycle in blood-soaked melodramas.

Yet, Robinson had had the wherewithal to see that his career could not be sustained if he remained exclusively identified as ‘the heavy’ in these movies. And so, he steadily accrued parts to illustrate his acting diversity. Martinius Jacobson in Our Vines Have Tender Grapes is perhaps the most understated performance Robinson ever gave – a real tour de force in subtlety, while managing to remain ‘front and center’ relevant to the plot that, arguably, does not revolve around him. No, the picture does not belong to Robinson, nor Agnes Moorehead, nor even MGM's homegrown, pint-sized Jackie ‘Butch’ Jenkins, who had already carved out a career playing indelible, somewhat dimwitted scrappers who have a morbid fascination with death and insects. No, the picture belongs to the aforementioned Margaret O’Brien as Martinius’ introspective daughter, Selma. Our Vines Have Tender Grapes comes at the tail end of O’Brien’s impressive career. Alas, like Temple before her, O'Brien would soon discover acting opportunities for her particular brand of homespun innocence, long after the bloom of childhood was fast retreating into the rear view, were few and far between. But in her prime, as she is here, O'Brien's rare gift to the movies remained her ability to emote from a wellspring of tears, even more intuitively, to reach into the depths of human understanding well beyond her years. Our Vines Have Tender Grapes is perhaps O’Brien’s finest hour as she achieves a sort of sage wisdom through her innocence that is spellbinding as it is uncannily true to her years, particularly during the scene of the Christmas concert. O’Brien’s recital of ‘the Christmas story’ is a finely wrought, intelligent and subtly nuanced account, told with such simplicity and humility that it quite easily brings a tear to the eye.

Dalton Trumbo’s script opens with 7-year-old, Selma Jacobson (O’Brien) and her cousin, Arnold (Jackie Jenkins), 2-years her junior, strolling down a lonely country road. The children are engaged in a rather frank discussion about the war and what it means to be a soldier. To illustrate her bravery for Arnold, Selma seizes a rather large rock and accidentally manages to kill a red squirrel nearby. Unable to accept the result of her actions, Selma begins to cry, drawing out the curiosities of troubled neighborhood teen, Ingeborg Jensen (Dorothy Morris). The children – particularly Arnold - are not welcoming of Ingeborg’s kindly way. Moments later, her stern father, Kurt (Charles B. Middleton) orders his daughter back to his farm. The town’s newspaper editor, Nels Halverson (James Craig) drives up, offering Selma and Arnold a ride home. But their trip is interrupted when Nels stops to pick up Viola Johnson (Frances Gifford) on the side of the road. Viola is the new school teacher. Although congenial and pleasant enough, she makes no bones to Nels about the fact she finds their countrified backwater dull and even stifling. She has only come to town for the year, as part of her necessary teacher’s training.

Nels is instantly smitten with Viola whom he drives over to the Jensen’s farm.  Although Viola manages to convince the socially backward Ingeborg, she might find a reason to attend school, Kurt dismisses Viola’s gentleness outright and orders her off his property immediately for putting such fool ideas into his daughter’s head. Returning home, tearstained and still upset, Selma confesses killing the squirrel to her father, Martinius. He comforts her with a guiding hand and understanding heart, making her a gift of his newborn pure-bred calf, Elizabeth. At first, Selma’s mother, Bruna (Agnes Moorehead) disapproves. The farm belongs to them all. However, as Martinius has already made Selma this promise, Bruna agrees it would be unfair to renege on it now. Besides, looking after Elizabeth will give Selma some real responsibility around the farm. By all accounts, the Jacobsons are a close-knit and very loving family. Martinius dotes on his daughter while dreaming of the day he will be able to afford a new barn for their farm. This later desire is at the crux of quiet consternation for Bruna, who believes the crushing debt would be unsustainable. Nevertheless, she keeps these thoughts mostly to herself.

Martinius and Selma drive over to Bjorn Bjornson’s (Morris Carnovsky) nearby farm. The aged farmer has already thrown himself into considerable debt, gambling his family’s securities to build a grand barn on his property that houses many heads of cattle including his prize cow, ‘The Queen’ – a blue ribbon winner. Martinius gives Selma a pair of roller skates for her birthday. But Arnold demands to try them on. Although Selma has willingly agreed to share her gift with him after practising on the skates herself, when called a slop-eating pig by her impatient cousin, she reneges on the promise. Arnold tattles on Selma, first to Bruna, then Martinius. But he lies to Martinius about having insulted Selma, forcing Martinius to take back his daughter’s present and give it to Arnold instead – as punishment for Selma’s selfishness. He further sends Selma to bed without supper and even denies her their usual bedtime kiss. This rejection breaks both father and daughter’s hearts.

Thus, when Bruna informs her husband a circus will be passing through town at four a.m., Martinius wakes Selma and takes her to watch as the truckloads of animals pass by. Selma becomes fascinated by the elephant and Martinius strikes a bargain with its trainer (John Berkes), paying him four dollars to allow Selma a few moments with the gigantic beast. The trainer even allows Selma to ride the elephant’s trunk. On their trip back to the farm, Selma tells Martinius that this has been the greatest summer of her whole life. The school year begins and Selma becomes a pupil in Viola’s class. Some of the other girls carry on about an innocuous comment Selma has made regarding Ingeborg recently becoming pregnant.  The child is illegitimate and, in the novel at least, is actually the result of Ingeborg’s father raping her. Of course, this being the era of a stringently moral Production Code in Hollywood, such topics were never discussed or even casually mentioned. Nevertheless, the inference herein is enough to make the point that something quite disturbing has occurred on the Jensen farm. When Ingeborg suddenly dies as a result of complications during childbirth, Viola and Nels subsequent discussion about ‘the loss of innocence’, as they observe Ingeborg’s funeral procession on route to the cemetery from a distance, effectively sums up what we have suspected all along.

Nels proposes to Viola. But she is more steadfast and determined than ever to return to Milwaukee after the school term has ended. Nels informs Viola that he has recently been cleared of a reoccurring back injury and has enlisted in the war. As the holidays approach, Viola assigns Selma the weighty task of delivering ‘the Christmas story’ during Sunday mass. This, she does most effectively and afterward, a proud Martinius and Bruna welcome dear friends back to their farm for drinks where Martinius announces he has finally decided to throw caution to the wind and erect his own barn. Alas, in springtime the farms severely flood. Selma and Arnold borrow the tin bathtub from the barn, using it as a rowboat to go exploring. But they are caught in a terrible torrent and whisked downstream. When Martinius discovers what has happened he unites the community at the footbridge, including Nels who is instrumental in rescuing the children from certain drowning. Later, a violent thunderstorm descends upon the county, a bolt of lightning striking Bjorn Bjornson’s beloved barn and igniting the hay in its loft. Martinius, Bruna and Selma rush to his aid but it is too late to save the structure from the blaze or rescue any of Bjorn’s prized cattle who - terrified and immoveable – perish in the flames.

A distraught Bjorn shoots his prized cow, Queen in her stable and Martinius kills the rest of the cattle with a piston before narrowly escaping the inferno.  Selma, who internalizes the tragedy as what might have become of her beloved Elizabeth, passes out from fear. After the child is put to bed, Martinius tells Bruna he has decided not to build a new barn on their property. Rather, he has become contented to make subtle improvements to the farmhouse, something Bruno had been quietly encouraging for some time. At church the following Sunday, Nels presses the parishioners to give from their heart to help Bjorn rebuild his farm. But the congregation are rather stingy with their contributions. In a quiet moment of introspection, Selma inquires, since she has no money to give, might she donate something else to help in the cause, then freely offers up Elizabeth as the first purebred calf to help Bjorn rebuild his livestock. Her selfless act inspires the rest of the community, who begin shouting out their donations of livestock and hay and feed that will allow Bjorn and his family to survive their crippling ordeal.  Afterward, as the parishioners head home, Viola informs Nels she has decided to stay behind and marry him. Selma takes Martinius by the hand, commenting that, as it is Spring, everything, including herself, has begun to grow anew. Martinius suggests, perhaps, even he has begun to grow. The film ends with father and daughter strolling up a country road full of cherry blossoms, en route back to their farm.

Quite simply, it is impossible not be unabashedly enchanted by this affecting little gem of a movie. Our Vines Have Tender Grapes weaves its bucolic spell in a way that never seems rehearsed or wanting for the more grandiose trappings of the traditional Hollywood narrative to sell its wares. The performances throughout are uniformly solid and, on occasion, rise to a level of enviable verisimilitude. The gentle interplay between Edward G. Robinson and Margaret O’Brien is not only palpable but entirely believable. The entire movie was shot at MGM with scenic hand-painted cycloramas and matte process plates standing in for the vast open spaces of Wisconsin. Cinema realists will poo-poo this fakery. But it has always been quaintly familiar, these studio-bound sets, adding to the vintage coziness of these worlds unto themselves. Perfection in life is rare. Perfection in the movies? – an absolute must. To quote, composer, Oscar Hammerstein, “What’s wrong with sweetness and light? They’ve been around for an awfully long time.”

Our Vines Have Tender Grapes is a Warner Archive MOD-DVD release. And while I am generally not in favor of burn-on-demand discs – for their lower bit rates and storage longevity - WAC has obviously mastered this disc from some properly preserved fine grain nitrate elements that received at least a modicum of basic restoration work somewhere along the way.  Even though this disc is not advertised as a ‘remastered edition’ the image is remarkably clean and free of age-related artefacts. The gray scale exhibits a lush tonality with very clean whites and deep, rich blacks. There is no hint of edge enhancement or other untoward digital manipulations designed to artificially sharpen the image. Robert Surtees’ B&W cinematography is a standout here, as is Bronislau Kaper’s romanticized underscore. Truly, there is nothing to complain about here – except the lack of a WAC Blu-ray release! The audio is 1.0 Dolby Digital mono and sounding very fresh and clean. The only extra is a theatrical trailer. Unlike the feature, this has not worn nearly as well. Bottom line: very highly recommended! 

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

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

4.5

EXTRAS

0