THE ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN (MGM, 1939) Warner Archive
1939: that banner year in movie-making, still
unchallenged for its proliferation of movie-land iconography, long outlasting
the rank cynicism of our ever-changing times and tastes. In a year saturated to
its core in so much memory, merriment and magic, not to mentioned being capped
off by two of the most treasured works of all-time (Selznick’s Gone with the
Wind, and MGM’s The Wizard of Oz) it is perhaps permissible, if not
entirely, to dismiss Metro’s adaptation of The Adventures of Huckleberry
Finn, as Harrison Reports’ once called it, “perfunctory (and)
commonplace.” In such distinguished company as this, ‘commonplace’ is
very high praise indeed. Director Richard Thorpe is, of course, working from
Mark Twain’s quintessential coming-of-age novel. That he ‘falls short’ for
those seeking a purist’s adaptation is almost pardonable, as is the picture’s
star, Mickey Rooney for delivering a performance as ebullient and heartfelt as
it remains utterly void of the Rooney-isms in his formidable grab bag of ‘Andy
Hardy’-inducing mannerisms. Herein, Rooney cannot help but rise above a script
authored by Hugo Butler (with an uncredited assist from Waldo Salt), the pair,
brazen enough to jettison Huck’s beloved cohort, Tom Sawyer from these
proceedings and take other artistic liberties along the way to condense (some
might argue, distill) Twain’s one-off marque of wit into precisely the sort of
conspicuous ‘family entertainment’ MGM’s Louis B. Mayer could champion.
And yes, despite the poo-pooing of literary purists
ever since, this version of Twain’s celebrated tale still remains the most
referenced as the ‘definitive version’ – at least, by movie standards.
Mickey Rooney will likely forever be footnoted in the annals of film lore as
Andy Hardy – and quite possibly referenced as ‘the other half’ in that string
of memorable ‘barn yard’ musicals to co-star Metro’s legendary all-around
entertainer, Judy Garland. And yet, Rooney’s talent goes well beyond. His
staggering ability to offer up impressions of the studio’s other famous players
(his Gable and Lionel Barrymore are a hoot, to say nothing of the wickedly
on-point manifestation of Carmen Miranda Rooney incarnated – banana headdress
and all - for 1940’s Babes on Broadway), his apparent ease to sing,
dance, deftly handle comedy, and, with as much straightforwardness,
unexpectedly segue into melodrama that could – and recurrently did –
tear our hearts out, should have made Mickey Rooney an eternal legend since his
time. Most irrefutably, he reigned as one during his own.
In 1939, Rooney was hot stuff – the #1 box office draw
in the land with a decade’s worth of impeccably crafted performances. These ran
the gamut from his ‘Peck’s bad boy’ knock-off - Mickey McGuire, in a string of
highly profitable short subjects, to appearing as Robin Goodfellow (a.k.a.
Puck) in Max Reinhart’s costly incantation of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer
Night’s Dream (1935). And lest we forget 1937’s A Family Affair (the
picture to have inaugurated Judge Hardy’s all-American clan), Victor Fleming’s Captains
Courageous (1937) – still one of the greatest ‘coming of age’ pictures ever
– and, 1938’s Boy’s Town, where Rooney went toe-to-toe with the
preeminent actor’s/actor of his generation – Spencer Tracy, and superbly held
his own, playing a wayward teen ruffian brought to heel under the yolk of
celebrated Catholic educator, Father Flanagan. Rooney’s streak of uninterrupted
successes would continue well beyond 1939 – the year he appeared in 6 movies, The
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn arguably, this year’s most distinguished
offering from him. Despite a well-known mid-50’s creative rift, almost to cost
him his career, Rooney would endure as one of the hardest working, tireless
talents in the biz, conquering the stage before returning to the screen in the
mid-1970’s.
Rooney’s interpretation of Huck Finn may not be
exactly Twain’s titular hero. But it rings true nonetheless as the embodiment of
youth and vitality, and, with a stubbornness as rich in spirit as Huck (or
Rooney for that matter), destined to become a man of qualities and substance in
spite of himself, and, given half the encouragement with a modicum of kindness
to reshape and polish his pluck. Butler’s screenplay treads lightly on the more
probative episodes involving Twain’s contemplative deliberations on slavery,
with Rex Ingrim’s superb avatar allowed several moments to shine, genuine and
humanistic, without being moralized all out of proportion. Considering the
racial climate of America circa 1939, the picture does gently address the
proverbial ‘elephant’ in the room, insofar as it can be counted upon to augment
Mayer’s notions of family-friendly film fare. Mayer had acquired the rights to
Twain’s novel in 1933 with VP Irving Thalberg placing it on his short list to
produce the following year. For one reason or another, this never happened as
Thalberg, distractedly invested in more lavishly produced spectacles, and more
frequently still, caught in the undertow of his perpetual squabbles with L.B.
over the ‘quality vs. quantity’ of Metro’s yearly output. Thalberg wanted to
make fewer pictures per annum, but on an artistic level loftier than his
competition so the public would naturally flock to see them. Mayer, on the
other hand, thought of his studio in terms of dollars and output. If cheaper
pictures sold just as well, why gamble on more costly ventures? Ultimately,
Thalberg lost this battle and the war, his untimely death at the age of 37 in 1936
affording Mayer the opportunity to proceed full-steam ahead with a decade’s
worth of more economically budgeted product.
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn might have been
a very different movie had Thalberg survived to produce it. Indeed, it likely would
have remained more faithfully aligned to Twain’s authorship. Despite the
cost-cutting, the picture never looks cheap (as nothing Metro produced during
this tenure ever did). But lest we forget its producer, Joseph L. Mankiewicz –
who positively worshipped the source material – never regarded the final
product as anything better than an artistic misfire (if, in fact, he
acknowledged it at all). And it is as telling that Mayer assigned the picture
to Richard Thorpe – a workaday alumni of Metro’s dream factory, arguably
competent though otherwise unremarkable, and, most recently then to have been
kicked off the set of The Wizard of Oz. Ironically, The Adventures of
Huckleberry Finn benefits greatly from Thorpe’s pedestrian direction. There
is enough sparkle and pizzazz in Mickey Rooney’s central performance to buoy
the action, and more than enough of Metro’s glamour, a la Edwin Willis and
Cedric Gibbon’s art direction, to give it class.
In various critical discourse written since, there has
been an invested perversity by scholars to find, extol, and, deconstruct as
inferior, the parallels between Mickey Rooney’s Andy Hardy and the performance
he delivers in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Permit us to lay
these comparisons to rest. While Andy Hardy’s then contemporary flights into
folly are precisely of the ilk and nature a young man of Huck’s age might have
discovered for himself, had he lived in these ‘then’ modern times, this is
decidedly, where the similarities between Mickey Rooney as Andy Hardy and as
Huck Finn end. If, as Twain portrayed so eloquently in print, Huck Finn
typified a precise brand of rambunctious adolescence, foreordained for the
wide-open spaces of adventure, then Mayer’s impressions of Andy Hardy, recessed
against a picture postcard of white picket fences and old jalopies, with all
those memorable ‘man-to-man’ talks featuring an oft bewildered Rooney
affectionately assuaged, both in his curiosities and guilt by a doting Lewis
Stone, are the antithesis of Huck’s self-reliant friendship with Jim. Andy
needs Judge Hardy for guidance. Huck merely honors Jim as his sounding
board.
“MGM was this vast factory,” Mickey Rooney
would reason years later, “…the General Motors of the movie business,
dedicated to Mr. Mayer's views of morality and to mass entertainment.” That
Metro’s output became increasingly formulaic after Thalberg’s death is perhaps
both a testament to, and a curse of Mayer’s judgement call for more prosaic and
glamour-drenched storytelling. Undeniably, the treacle in Mayer’s reoccurring ‘no
place like home’ message could be laid on thick at times, and occasionally
to the detriment of telling – or re-telling – a good yarn. But not The
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Twain's darling adventure is amply served
in as good-enough fodder for as long as the art of film has been around…and for
very good reason. There is a vivacious quality to Twain’s prose that translates
exceedingly well to the movies – even the ones that stubbornly refuse to take
his cue verbatim. The ’39 version may not be vintage Twain, but it sparks as much
of frank honesty as a sense of the times. MGM’s interpretation possesses
Twain’s ‘lived in’ quality in spades.
Hence, even as it deviates considerably in plot – if never in tone – the
picture ultimately emerges as its own timeless slice of Americana. That Mayer
sought to evoke one of the most-beloved fictional characters in all of
literature was, in fact, closely aligned to Irving Thalberg’s unwavering
passion for literary classics. That Mickey Rooney should be the very embodiment
of Twain’s wily urchin was perhaps less clear at the time. Yet, there is no
denying Rooney his inimitable eminence in the part, as well as Rooney’s box
office cache, similarly from playing Andy Hardy. This, he mostly leaves on the
front stoop. Far from merely dressing the part, barefoot, straw hat and all,
Rooney becomes Huck Finn.
At 96-minutes, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
plays rather fast and loose with its source material. Nevertheless, it bottles
the essence of Twain’s original characters. Whether this is more a testament to
the source material (Teflon-coated and impervious to even crass commercial
exploitation) or Mayer’s uncanny ability to re-write even the very best stories
for the screen and somehow still manage to make a lot of them ‘better’ – from a
purely cinematic standpoint – remains open for discussion. But Mickey Rooney is
remarkable and un-Rooney-esque here, thoroughly empathetic as Twain’s teenage
reprobate. Huck (Rooney) is first seen, lazily passing the time at the water's
edge. He has been delinquent from school yet again and will not be graduating
with his classmates. Huck’s benefactors, the widow Douglas (Elisabeth Risdon)
and Miss Watson (Clara Blandick) do not know this yet. Douglas is particularly
kind to Huck. She sees the goodness in him despite his paternal roots: Pap Finn
(Victor Kilian), being a notorious drunkard.
Huck is close to these dowagers’ man servant, Jim (Rex
Ingram), a noble slave with dreams to raise enough money to buy his bond so he
can return to his wife and child, up north and living free. In the middle of
the night, Pap Finn kidnaps Huck to a secluded cabin near the river. Huck
escapes and Pap is later murdered by an unknown assailant. Jim, having chosen
to run away without paying his bond, is immediately suspected of the crime. However,
Huck knows better. Together, he and Jim travel the Mississippi in search of
adventure. They find a pair of con
artists, The King (Walter Connelly) and The Duke (William Frawley). These wily fakers
convince Huck to help them swindle two unsuspecting young women, Mary Jane
(Lynn Carver) and Susan (Jo Ann Sawyers) out of their inheritance. A close
personal friend, Captain Brandy (Minor Watson) encourages prudence on the
girls’ part. Alas, his advice goes unheeded as Susan and Mary Jane giving all
their money away. After unearthing the truth, Huck steals back these ill-gotten
gains to return to their rightful owners. The King and The Duke are tarred and
feathered by the locals and forcibly evicted from the town. Regrettably, the
law catches up to Jim. Huck, who has been injured in the mob and is presently
convalescing, does not know about Jim until it is too late. Now, Huck implores
Captain Brandy to help Jim across state lines by riverboat after it is revealed
at a trial Jim did not kill Pap Finn. With Brandy’s help, Jim goes free and
home to his wife and child. The widow Douglas makes Huck promise to stop
smoking, start wearing shoes and go back to school. Huck sadly agrees. However,
we see his pipe sticking out the back pocket of his trousers moments before the
screen fades to black. Dear Huckleberry Finn. Surely – blessedly - he will
never change his ways.
Mark Twain’s novel is still one of the very best books
about ‘growing into maturity’. It should be on every young person’s recommended
reading list. By contrast, MGM’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is
lyrical storytelling in other unexpected, and equally as fine ways. Franz
Waxman's score is understated and perfect, as is John Seitz' cinematography. In
an era of affectation, Mayer’s curtailing of necessary funds to bloat the
production values instead results in an exaltation of precisely the rural
landscape where Mark Twain and his fictional cohorts would feel right at home.
The Americana on display here is full of youthful promise, its more rigid hardships
properly kept at bay. Mickey Rooney is a flawless Huck, as is Rex Ingram’s Jim.
The rest of the cast offer understated and effective performances. In the final
analysis, and, placed within the proper context of 1939 – Hollywood’s irrefutable
‘golden year’, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a minor masterpiece
from the studio once hailed as the Cartier of the industry. There have been
other adaptations of Twain’s immortal classic, far more faithful, perhaps,
though none to adhere more tenderly to Twain’s bright-spirited vigor.
Were that someone at Warner Home Video thought as
much. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn is a Warner Archive (WAC)
release. Even on DVD, WAC usually does far better work than this. What we have
here is an utterly flawed transfer culled from the bad ole VHS days, with an
abysmal amount of aliasing and edge enhancement. Altogether, the image is
unwatchable – grotesquely so. The gray scale is softly focused with blown out
whites and virtually no solid blacks. There is no grain here either, and some
woeful chroma bleeding. This is an
awful, muddy, grain-free mess, further plagued by age-related artifacts,
painfully to illustrate the ravages of time.
The audio is mono but represented at an adequate listening level. Like
most titles from WAC, this one comes with NO extras. Truly folks, there is
nothing to recommend this disc. Here is where WAC should be investing their
time and energies, for a remastered Blu-ray release. Here is a movie worthy of
such time and investment. Here is a reason as good as any for film
preservationists - and film lovers, for that matter - to collectively unite and
rescue another priceless artifact of the 20th century’s film
heritage. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn deserves far better. Bottom
line: Emphatically, not recommended. Be outraged. I know I am.
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
0
EXTRAS
0
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