LILIES OF THE FIELD: Blu-ray (UA, 1963) Kino Lorber
Shot on a $250,000 shoestring in just 14 days, Ralph
Nelson’s Lilies of the Field (1963) can justly serve as a testament to
the director/producer’s humanity, humor and perseverance. That Nelson could
find absolutely no one to fund his passion project, in hindsight, reveals
exactly how attuned his instincts were in presenting this perfectly timed
ole-fashioned entertainment with a then ‘new-fangled’ twist - the casting of
Sidney Poitier as the irreverently clear-eyed protagonist, Homer Smith, rechristened
‘Schmidt’ by Lilia Skala’s charmingly caustic Mother Maria. It is easy to fall
under the spell – or perhaps, religious sway – of this unpretentious, if
occasionally schmaltzy tall tale. Nelson’s small-scale film-making is, in fact,
unabashedly big on heart with a little light social justice thrown in for good
measure. Boy, could we use such positivism in the world today, unfettered by
racial biases on both sides, bound by love and a mutual veneration to respect
our differences, as imbued with the sheer unanticipated joy of discovering
something greater in ourselves from within. This vantage is only made possible
by taking a few paces back in the reflection of those we revere. Homer Smith is
neither Catholic nor particularly practicing in any religion. Yet, he finds a
subtler quality to satisfy his wanderlust – dare we suggest, ‘soul-searching’
in lieu of monetary gains. Homer’s faith in humanity is renewed with even
subtler appreciations, presenting sweet charity as the glue that holds its’
lithe and unprepossessing narrative together.
Viewed today, Lilies of the Field remains a
cheekily cheerful melodrama, the utter lack of dramatic urgency counterbalanced
by its effervescent wholesomeness. Alas, the formula of Germanic nuns and a
black man has since taken a lot of flak by ‘progressive’ revisionists in film
scholarship, the ‘magic negro’ theory, overshadowing – though mercifully, never
eclipsing – Poitier’s eloquently nuanced performance. The ‘magic negro’ theory
is un-apologetically a throwback to the stereotyping of blacks as ‘the noble
savage’ – supportive, with an uncanny, almost clairvoyant divinity, ably
applied to assist white protagonists in their decision-making processes.
Personally, I find the theory itself utterly idiotic and frankly, insulting,
even more so when applied to Poitier – one magnificent figure of a man, black,
white or somewhere in between, and this film in particular, precisely in lieu
of any scholarship that generally bashes American cinema for its representation
of blacks perennially typecast as the disenfranchised poor at best, and slaves,
drug-trafficking pushers/addicts, pimps, and, prostitutes – ergo, humanity’s
dregs at their worst. Can’t have it both ways, folks. Damned if you do, and
damned if you don’t. Spike Lee…are you listening? And to quote the late Richard Rodgers, “What’s
wrong with sweetness and light? They’ve been around for an awful long time.”
Sidney Poitier would take home a much-deserved Oscar
for in Lilies of the Field, the first Best Actor statuette awarded a
black actor and, in hindsight, Poitier’s breakout performance to confirm his ‘star
quality’. With his velvety-smooth Bahaman accent, urbane suave sophistication,
Poitier would prove himself the purveyor of this new type of cinematic hero in
films like In the Heat of the Night, and, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?
(both, made and released in 1967), a credit to mankind and his chosen
profession, to bridge the great divide for black actors soon and steadily to
find better roles from under the yoke of homogenized golden-era Hollywood.
Arguably, there is a formula to all of the aforementioned movies, the
representation of Poitier as a sort of ethno-friendly, Teflon-coated black
Adonis, with virtue plus. Yet, Poitier’s performance in Lilies of the Field
as well as Nelson’s approach to the material is hardly of the Christian
allegory treacle depicted in William Edmund Barrett’s novel, its title derived
from the Bible’s Luke 12:27-30: “Consider the lilies how they grow: they
toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these.” In the novel, Homer Smith is canonized,
depicted in the stained-glass windows of the chapel. He shows no resistance to
Mother Maria and accepts his lot as a tool to do God’s bidding.
James Poe’s screenplay is edgier than this. Ditto for
Poitier’s firm – if gentle – forbearance. His Homer ‘Schmidt’ will build Mother
Maria her chapel, but not as it pleases her…at least, not entirely, more to
satisfy his architect’s sensibilities for an isolated community of migrants,
presently holding Sunday worship in the parking lot of a local greasy spoon.
The establishment is presided over by the jovial/portly Hispanic, Juan (Stanley
Adams…oh, now, let’s talk stereotypes!!!
All that is missing is a sombrero and references to the jumping bean).
Adams, a very fine actor, refrains from slipping entirely into cliché as this
benevolent south-of-the-border hombre while doling out equal portions of tequila
and brass tax advice to our wavering Homer. Interestingly, Nelson cast himself
in the part of Mr. Ashton, the mildly bigoted owner of a local construction
company in need of a good man who can operate heavy paving machinery. Just like Homer, the plight of Mother Maria
and her nuns, Sisters Gertrude (Lisa Mann), Agnes (Isa Crino), Albertine
(Francesca Jarvis) and Elizabeth (Pamela Branch) will work its magic on the
curmudgeonly Ashton in due course. Ashton’s eventual donation of badly needed
supplies to finish the chapel leads Mother Maria into yet another false
assumption, that she may rely upon Ashton to furnish her with enough materials
to build a school – her next pet project. Exactly how this second miracle is to
be achieved remains open ended in the movie, as Homer – unlike his literary
counterpart – abandons the nuns to seek his fame and fortune in Los Angeles
where he was initially bound before stumbling upon their tiny hovel.
If anything, the formula being exorcised in Lilies
of the Field is vaguely reminiscent of The Bells of St. Mary’s
(1945), another Catholic bell-ringer, with the luminous Ingrid Bergman’s
patient and prayer-happy Mother Superior supplanted herein by Lilia Skala’s
terse and slightly terrifying East German commandant, a little Nazi in black
britches who never once breaks in her stern mandate, even to admit her own
failures, despite inspirational prayers and letter-writing pleas for monetary
assistance. Mother Maria’s attempts to hold dominion over Homer begins with the
dressing down of his non-Catholic identity. Rechristening him Schmidt, she
seeks to hold Homer as her Christian-ized hostage. She repeatedly denies him
pay for his work. The Biblical debate that ensues across the kitchen table, ends
when Mother Maria recalls the aforementioned chapter and verse from Luke, an
interesting quote, as it flies in the face of the film’s doctrine and forces
‘Schmidt’ to apply his God-given skills to a worthier cause - a pair of strong
hands and even more stubborn resolve to work their miracle together. And even
more fascinating is the revised finale, Homer’s departure after the work is
finished, without pomp, schmaltz, or even a few tears shed, never even thanked
for his contributions, though perhaps instinctively recognized for his
achievements, is likely long to be celebrated in these parts, not only by the
sisters but the community at large and Father Murphy (Dan Frazer), who prayed
for a great gleaming cathedral, is tested in this vanity with his appointment
in the middle of nowhere.
Lilies of the Field opens with one
of the briefest main title sequences in cinema history, set against the stark
and heat-stricken south western landscape of towering buttresses and
tumbleweed. No man’s land finds Homer Smith on an isolated highway bound for
Los Angeles. Curiously, he is a nomad. His car is his home – odd, for this
cultured outcast who obviously possesses not only the dexterity of a trained
draftsman, but also the aptitude and education derived from a more affluent
background. An overheated radiator
causes Homer to seek out the first available outpost for assistance, stumbling
upon Mother Maria and the sisters hard at work in their dwindling gardens near
a modest adobe stucco house. Mother Maria raises her head to the sky and gives
thanks. God has sent her a strong man to do the work. In her broken English,
she quickly informs Homer the roof is leaking. In exchange for water from a
nearby pump, Homer willingly offers to make the necessary repairs, spending
most of the afternoon with his tool kit on top of the sagging roof. At day’s end,
Homer expects to be paid. But Mother Maria is not interested in his expectations,
nor in fulfilling them. Instead, she orders Homer to supper and afterward makes
him quietly observe as the sisters listen to a phonograph to teach themselves
English. Homer hijacks the lesson, teaching from memory and gaining the
sister’s respect. Mother Maria is grateful, though perhaps a tad uncertain how
best to utilize ‘Schmidt’ best to suit her purpose.
After refusing to pay him for his work, the two engage
in a debate over their respective Bibles. Mother Maria wins the battle of
quotations with Luke 12:27-30. Chagrined, Homer retires to the makeshift cot
that pulls out from the back of his station wagon. He is rudely awakened the
next morning by Mother Maria, who suggests he has wasted the entire morning
sleeping. Homer points out he is neither of their order, her servant, nor a nun
who can be pushed around. Nevertheless, Mother Maria takes Homer to nearby
ruins where she intends him to build a chapel. Homer is indifferent to the
request and firmly resists – at first. He drives off in a huff, but later
returns with groceries and candies for the sisters. Mother Maria gets ‘Schmidt’
to drive them to Father Murphy’s Sunday mass, held in the parking lot of a
roadside diner. Avoiding the service, Homer gets the diner’s proprietor, Juan,
to cook him a lavish breakfast – the first real meal he has had since arriving
to this desolate community. Afterward, Mother Maria introduces Homer to Father
Murphy who confides his own vanities were denied in entering the priesthood;
his dreams of being a great orator to the masses inside a cathedral utterly
dismantled when he learned he would be expected to administer the noble faith
to these valiant few living in the forgotten dust of poverty.
Homer confides in Father Murphy he has been commanded
to build a chapel without money or supplies. Now, Father Murphy suggests Homer
might find gainful employment at Ashton’s Construction Company in the nearby
town. At first, Mr. Ashton is not amused by Homer’s inquiry for the job,
calling him ‘boy’ and suggesting he knows absolutely nothing about operating
such heavy machinery. Unwilling to be berated, Homer calls Ashton ‘boy’ in
reply, but offers to prove his abilities on Ashton’s current paving project.
Ashton reluctantly agrees and a détente is struck between the men who regard
one another as a means to an end. However, by the end of our story, Ashton and
Homer will have achieved an understanding, teetering on mutual respect. In the
meantime, Homer uses his newly earned funds to buy a few supplies to feed the
sisters on foodstuffs they never before could have imagined, much less
afforded. He also engages these faithful in a ‘negro’ spiritual, composer,
Jerry Goldsmith’s rousing ‘Amen’ serving as the thematic thread to buoy
Homer and the sisters in their momentarily united quest. Homer tells Mother
Maria the successful completion of the chapel will require money – or, at the
very least, donations of the necessary supplies. Mother Maria pledges to get
what is needed and begins an ambitious letter-writing campaign to various
charities and other organizations. Her pleas, alas, fall on deaf ears. However,
in the eleventh hour both Ashton and Juan come to Homer’s rescue - Ashton, with
supplies, and Juan with the necessary manpower to expedite Homer’s construction
plans.
Asked by a perplexed Ashton to explain the reasons why
total strangers should come together and be invested in the building of a
chapel, Juan, the agnostic of the piece, eloquently summarizes, “A man, he
gives wood... bricks. In time, what does he get? A chapel... a place where his
children can receive the sacraments. To these men, for their children to have
faith, it is important. To me, it is insurance. To me, life is here on this earth.
I cannot see further, so I cannot believe further. But, if they are right about
the hereafter, I have paid my insurance.” Curiously, Homer resists this
help at first. But Juan and his men gradually illustrate how much faster the
work will go with extra hands to help. Before long, the entire community gets
involved: men, women, children and nuns pulling together, laying bricks, making
mortar and donating what they can to will the chapel into existence. Near
completion, Homer sends for Father Murphy. The priest cannot believe his eyes.
The chapel may not be the gleaning cathedral of his daydreams, but it is a far
more lavishly appointed outpost in which to administer the gospel. Father
Murphy is humbled by the outpouring of faith and humanity it took to build the
chapel. As Mother Maria already begins to pester Ashton for more supplies for a
school adjacent the chapel, Homer quietly bows out. He engages the nuns,
perhaps unaware he is preparing to depart, in a reprise of ‘Amen’, their
jubilant voices gradually drowning his own as he quietly gets into his car and
drives off, leaving all of their futures in question.
At 94 min. Lilies of the Field squeezes every
last drop from the milk of human kindness to the absolute point where even the
nipples from this Jehovah’s goat of a story ought to have run dry.
Miraculously, however, the religiosity of the piece is never strained. Sidney
Poitier and Lilia Skala’s interplay remaining taut and occasionally tense, but
always with a mutual respect firmly at play. The one regret - perhaps – is that
Poitier, a fine actor, was nevertheless tone deaf, necessitating the dub of his
rousing anthem to the Lord – Amen – by Jester Hairston, whose singing
pipes in no way match Poitier’s speaking voice.
Personally, I don’t find this altogether disconcerting, at least, not as
much as the fallout that, in retrospect, would afflict Sidney Poitier’s acting
career. In the all too brief span of 5 years, Poitier would see his reputation
as Hollywood’s golden boy evaporate. A positive figure for the black community
to immortalize, he was marketed to the point of extinction, diffused in less
than stellar parts. His inability to break free of that mold established for
him by the early movies like Lilies of the Field effectively painted
Poitier into a corner as pundits on both sides of this racial divide quickly
chose to discount his achievements, some suggesting he had ‘sold out’ to the
politicized white autocracy. Can we not agree Sidney Poitier’s career is
transparently built upon variations of the classic western hero - a stranger in
a strange land, who rides into town and affects social change through
non-violent means, resulting in an enlightened moral/social consciousness
blossoming shortly before the final fade out? Exactly what is so gosh darn
stereotypical about that? And Poitier, with his not so easily placed accent,
immaculate manners and forthright resolve is exactly the sort of role model –
black or white – Hollywood films could definitely use a lot more of… then, and
most certainly, now.
Focusing on Poitier’s race denies him the potency of
his superior skills as a natural actor, supra-elegant, and yet earthily
genuine. He really ought to be considered on these merits first, if not alone,
more so than as the polarizing figure, considered non-threatening to whites,
but unsettlingly ‘not black enough’ by the criteria of some of his own people.
If Poitier’s contributions to American cinema continue to be debated on the
basis of race today, it is only because current members of the Hollywood
community like director, Spike Lee persist in referencing him with back-handed
praiseworthy notations as the template for their modern-age proliferation in
the industry. But Poitier ought to be remembered first and foremost as a great
talent, a superior star, and, a monumentally talented performer to whom the
issue of race was almost an afterthought and not the central focus of the
content of his character. A brilliant
performance by an as brilliant man. Bravo, kudos and many sincere thanks to Mr.
Poitier for enriching our cinema culture and heritage. Last, but certainly not
least - amen!
Kino Lorber’s re-issue of Lilies of the Field (its first release on Blu-ray was from Twilight Time in 2016) appears to be sourced from the same elements licensed by MGM/Fox, the current custodians of
this little indie that could. While this reissue was culled
from the same less-than-perfect sources, there are subtler improvements
on Kino’s reissue worth noting. Both editions are framed in native 1.66:1
aspect ratio. But the TT release had some considerable age-related artifacts.
The Kino is virtually damage-free, save an errant speckle or scratch. Film
grain, that appeared ever so slightly to veer toward a digitized appearance on
the TT release, on the Kino looks smoother, or rather, more indigenous to its
source – not scrubbed, but more accurately balanced. On both discs, the image
is soft, but close-ups illustrate a fair amount of fine
detail. The DTS mono sounds somewhat strident and
very rough in spots. Kino gilds this ‘lily’ with a comprehensive new commentary
from Sergio Mims, who at least gives the illusion of being unrehearsed, free-flowing and chocked full of fun
facts and history on cast, crew and the making of this movie. Aside: can we get
Mr. Mims to do more audio commentaries for Kino – pretty please? Bottom line: At
a paltry $250,000, Lilies of the Field was still quite a chance. Poitier’s
acceptance of a profit-sharing pay scale in lieu of his usual flat fee made him considerably richer. Beloved and unabashedly sentimental, but always with
a clear-eyed passion, Lilies of the Field remains a high-water mark of
excellence for Poitier's picture-making. Highly recommended.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the
best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
2
Comments