MRS. MINIVER: Blu-ray (MGM, 1942) Warner Home Video
BEST PICTURE –
1942
There is little
doubt of the impact movies had on the American wartime propaganda machine
churning out the goodies in Hollywood; the vast, and seemingly overnight,
mobilization of Tinsel Town’s finest creatives, putting their best feet forward
to defeat the enemy abroad. While some, like Clark Gable and James Stewart, openly
enlisted (much to the chagrin of their studio bosses), leaving their future a
great big question mark, those who remained behind, like John Wayne and Van
Johnson, were steadfastly drafted into making movies about ‘the good fight’ and its impact on the morale of a nation. It is
interesting to consider America, pre-WWII, as staunchly isolationist. Having
endured the horrors and aftershocks of the first global conflict a scant decade
earlier, Americans were eager to remain out of the fray this second time
around. Indeed, despite his far-reaching popularity at home, even President Franklin
Roosevelt did not have the clout to promote America’s involvement again to
rescue the European hemisphere about to be engulfed in flames. And thus, Adolf Hitler’s
military strategy for world domination took hold; from Poland to France,
steadily advancing, either by force or with the threat of absolute destruction,
and, with plans to absolutely annihilate England. Then, came Mrs. Miniver (1942).
It seems bizarre
to suggest any movie – much less, one about an unassuming British housewife, quietly
enduring the consequences of sending her husband and son off to fight, and
capturing a downed Nazi pilot in her azaleas in their absence, thank you very much – could turn the
tide of America’s involvement in the European conflict. But there it is. Even
Prime Minister Winston Churchill cited Mrs.
Miniver as being more effective in swaying America to enter the draft,
while boosting war-time morale on both continents, than an entirely fleet of
naval destroyers. Only a scant 4 years earlier, the picture’s star – Irish beauty,
Greer Garson – had typified a certain kind of English repose, as the devoted
and tender Miss Cathy in Goodbye, Mr.
Chips (1939) – a star-making supporting role that launched her American
film career. Now, Garson emerged as the cultured and occasionally feisty
matriarch of an affluent middle-class family, embodying a way of life, idyllic
and beautiful, yet perched on the verge of extinction. And personify that distinctly ‘British’ stiff
upper lip of the onward-marching Christian soldier Garson did, without ever
raising more than a shaky hand in her own defense. Mrs. Miniver is exactly the movie that was needed in 1942 – the year
it appeared as though all would be lost to Mr. Hitler and his free-wheeling
gestapo, unless drastic measures were taken. And bolstered by the plight of
this perpetually threatened, though never to surrender English marm, Roosevelt’s
fireside chats picked up steam and the call to arms that kick-started America’s
wartime machinery into high gear.
Based on Jan
Struther’s novel of wartime resilience, director, William Wyler’s Mrs. Miniver remains potently poetic:
arguably, the definitive example of pro-ally propaganda, reconstituted as
melodrama. Its peerless craftsmanship on both sides of the camera, rekindled
the enduring kinship between two indomitable nations (Britain and America). That
it took America as long to enter the war effort is not only understandable, but
forgivable. The First World War, with its crippling casualties, was still fresh
in the minds of many who had sacrificed loved ones to the cause. Worse, at
least for America this time around, were the more recent calamities at home:
the stock market crash of 1929, immediately followed by The Great Depression
and the Dust Bowl. To many, it must have seemed as though the whole world had
gone mad. Indeed, was this the end of times as prophesied in the Bible? So, Europe’s
renewed consternation over a stealthily unified Germany on the rise, spreading like
plague across the land, was a horror most Americans were quite unwilling to entertain
– if, in fact, they cared about it at all – except to acknowledge it as such.
No, the America that sat pensively on its hands as 1939 marked an end to
civility on the European continent, was a nation more interested in moving
forward than looking back; its resuscitation for another global conflict a
continent away incomprehensible…at first. The nation did not want any part of
WWII – a reluctance, mirrored in President Roosevelt’s early nation-building
policies that offered hopeful encouragement, though little else, to America’s
allies abroad.
Prior to Mrs. Miniver, Hollywood helped to sooth
the mounting anxiety by championing lavish escapism. A decade’s worth of
super-frothy musicals and giddy screwball comedies courted the falsehood of
prosperity for some that had carried over the devil-may-care attitudes from the
roaring twenties, with a wink, nudge and ‘what me worry?’ attitude, sheathed in
countless glossy images of either extreme romantic naiveté or the deliciously
devious rich behaving idiotically. The resurrection of the Hollywood western
too, harked back even further to an America of inspiration and promise, rewritten
as a rugged history in contrast to all those art deco metropolitan
extravaganzas where the uber-glamorous and ultra-rich basked in decadence few
sitting in the audience could have fathomed – much less, experienced – for themselves.
So, by 1940, Hollywood’s collected
impressions of society, both at home and abroad, had effectively concocted a
myth as desirable as it proved the perfect elixir for the ailing nation, two
thirds of whom lived in squalor and poverty. In tandem, Hollywood remained
rather unapologetic in extolling idealized intercontinental portraits of Europe;
perhaps, partly to satisfy the public’s insatiable fascination for cultures
abroad that most had never seen with their own eyes, but also to suggest, that
whatever the reports coming over the wireless across the Atlantic, hard times
were being kept at bay and soon to recede without any help from the U.S. So,
the Europe that came out of Hollywood lore was a magical fairy-land, steeped in
centuries of undiluted ultra-sophistication and unconquerable traditions.
Given
Hollywood’s penchant for such extreme make-believe, Mrs. Miniver came rushing forth as a startling wake up call,
declaring that all was not well, or even amicable, abroad. Despite MGM back lot
recreations of that merry ole England to kick off the show, this fragile beauty
was steadily eroded throughout the picture by an advancing threat; its
dream-like landscapes, suddenly plunged into a chasm of harsher realities
facing the Minivers under siege. For the first half of the picture, MGM’s
production designer, Cedric Gibbons and his art department crafted a lyrical
snapshot of Britain as it might have been; with courtly sparkle and pastoral
polish, an affinity for cozy streets and moonlit byways, catering to the
socially affluent, erudite and mostly genteel tight-knit community gathered to
celebrate life as it should be, and presumably, had always been up until now.
But then, the mood was to inexplicably turn dark; the curtains of these grand mansions
drawn tight to conceal any light source from an aerial assault, the haunting echoes
of air raid sirens wed to the mounting hum of advancing bombers in the distance.
The England
depicted in Mrs. Miniver, with its
gorgeous plywood facades and stately grounds of sumac and lilac is familiar to
anyone who has seen more than, say five MGM movies from the forties in one
lifetime; their painted cycloramas, perfectly lit, not fooling anyone. And yet,
they work – magnificently to simultaneously mythologize and eulogize a way of
life that tragically would never return, either to the screen or to this
England that might have been after the war, if only because of it. Mrs. Miniver’s ‘ace in the hole’ is
undeniably, Greer Garson as the eponymous heroine, Kay Miniver; in every way,
the quintessence of that blithe cinematic reincarnation of Mother England.
Garson’s matriarch is attuned to the more superficial luxuries of pre-war life
that her architect/husband, Clem (Walter Pidgeon) can afford; the agonizing
over a new bonnet and car, utmost on the minds of Kay and Clem respectively,
that is… until a nation’s fate becomes intertwined with a destiny beyond their
control, and, the elegant bauble that was their lighthearted pleasure to come
home, suddenly an intrepid perseverance to sustain body and soul on the home
front. Cinematic depictions of WWII – particularly from the war’s early vintage
– were usually parables that tested the heroism of men. Refreshingly, Mrs. Miniver remains a story about
feminine valor; our Kay, always a lady, even as she defies, then strikes a badly
wounded Nazi flyer (Helmut Dantine) in her kitchen, after he promises to
destroy ‘their’ cities.
Garson and Pidgeon
had already appeared together in MGM’s Blossoms
in the Dust (1941), a rather plodding weepy. Nevertheless, their pairing
proved a hit with audiences, practically guaranteeing they would be reunited
again…and again…and again. In the annals of ‘screen teams’ – Greer Garson and
Walter Pidgeon are fondly remembered as an idyllic couple – usually cast as
marries, or singles on the cusp of being united. Their match predates Spencer
Tracy and Katharine Hepburn’s in Woman
of the Year (1942); MGM’s chief, L.B. Mayer, more than contented to have
two sets of couples under contract who could typify a certain type of wholesome
love match, glamorous and affectionate – the perfect American husband and wife…at
least, on the screen. In reality, Garson was involved with Richard Ney (who
played her son, Vin in Mrs. Miniver,
and whom she would later marry in 1943), while Pidgeon was already married to
his second wife, Ruth Walker, to whom he remained steadfast and loyal until his
death in 1977 (Pidgeon’s first wife, Edna Pickles, had died in childbirth in
1926). Whereas, the Tracy/Hepburn combo was best exemplified by a chronic – if quaint,
by today’s standards – battle of the sexes, Garson and Pidgeon strove for a
mutual understanding between men and women – truly, a union of hearts, minds
and souls (bodies, implied). The
Garson/Pidgeon chemistry in Mrs. Miniver
forever solidified them in the eyes of the public as idyllic marrieds who oft
found bittersweet domestic resplendence beyond their wedding vows. In their
heyday, Garson and Pidgeon were regarded with as much affection as Hepburn and Tracy,
and, Myrna Loy and William Powell. However, unlike their contemporaries, Garson
and Pidgeon gave the public a portrait of selfless devotion, void of any artificially
wrought comedic underpinnings or sassy repartee, their ‘love’ grounded in a
mutual appreciation for each other. Theirs was a duet of equals, her
incomparable patience wed to his unerring gentleness.
The Arthur
Wimperis, George Froeschel, James Hilton, Claudine West screenplay for Mrs. Miniver opens on a street scene in
London England, its populace oblivious to the impending European conflict. We
find Kay Miniver sprinting through the congested foot traffic on route to a
local millinery to make an impromptu purchase. The bonnet is a rather wicked
indulgence and one that Kay is determined to ease her husband, Clem into accepting
over polite conversation after dinner. Unbeknownst to Kay, Clem has been
indulging in an extravagance of his own – the purchase of a new and very sleek
convertible automobile, with plans to spring his new toy on Kay after dinner as
well. Taking the train back to Beldon Depot, Kay is encouraged by its kindly
station master, Mr. Ballard (Henry Travers) to pause a moment inside his
private office where he shows her a most beautiful rose. The result of some
clever cross pollination, Mr. Ballard informs Kay that he has decided – with
her permission, of course – to name it ‘the
Mrs. Miniver’ and also to enter it in the local flower competition for its
top prize, traditionally won by the rather haughty aristocrat, Lady Beldon
(Dame May Whitty).
In these opening
scenes director, William Wyler takes delicate pains to establish two
fundamentals of the story: first and foremost, the devoted closeness of the
Miniver clan; Kay, Clem, their two children still living at home; Toby
(Christopher Severn) and Judy (Clare Sandars) and the housemaid, Gladys (Brenda
Forbes) who is engaged to a local handyman, Horace (Rhys Williams). Wyler’s
other ambition in these early scenes is to construct and then gradually
dismantle the hierarchy of England’s time-honored classicism; a foreshadowing
of the real-life trajectory of that nation’s future. This latter endeavor is
best illustrated in the affectionate détente between the Miniver’s eldest son,
Vin (Richard Ney), newly returned from college, and Lady Beldon’s forthright
niece, Carol (Teresa Wright), and by Lady Beldon’s eventual, if reluctant
acquiescence to their marriage; Beldon’s inhibitions worn down by Kay’s
congenial good nature. After putting her children to bed and revealing their
extravagances to one another, Kay and Clem retire for the night; serenely
contented and supremely happy. The next afternoon, the Minivers collect Vin
from the depot. Newly graduated, Vin’s head has been filled with a vast
assortment of academic ideals, bordering on some quaintly comedic socialism.
The family
politely indulges Vin’s newfound progressiveness. Carol, however, challenges
Vin to back up his talk with action, after being pressed by him about her
grandmother’s smug refusal to lose in competition to Mr. Ballard. Despite this
rather inauspicious start, Vin and Carol quietly become friends and fast,
romantically involved; their relationship a minor consternation for Lady Beldon
who still clings to the classist view of English aristocracy to which Vin
Miniver decidedly does not belong. Kay, however, encourages the love match and
sets about to ease the stoic Lady Beldon from these social biases. There is,
however, little time to rejoice in these pleasures of domestic life. The nation
has been plunged into war and Clem and Vin join the local effort; the latter
becoming an RAF pilot. Clem, along with an armada made up of the local
yachtsmen, sail their vessels to Dunkirk, leaving Kay to endure the bombing
raids alone. She is periodically comforted by Carol and also by Mr. Ballard,
who informs her one pleasant morning, there are rumors of a downed Nazi pilot
having survived a nearby crash. Kay quickly discovers the German flyer, wounded
and lurking about her azaleas. Attempting to retreat into her home, she is
forced at gunpoint by the pilot into her kitchen, where he demands, and is
given, bread and milk. Kay’s attempts to reason with the Nazi are met by a
blood-curdling declaration of how the blitzkrieg will annihilate the free
peoples of Europe and take over the world. In response, Kay strikes the man. He
recoils and, in his weakened condition from his wounds sustained in the crash, collapses,
allowing Kay just enough time to send for help.
After Dunkirk,
Clem and Kay are reunited. Vin marries Carol and the family looks forward to
attending the annual flower competition where Mr. Ballard’s Miniver rose is
pitted against Lady Beldon’s traditional entry. A judge’s tie ensues and Lady
Beldon struggles with the decision to break it, awarding Ballard the top prize
for his entry instead, and to thunderous applause. As bombing sirens herald yet
another attack on their village, the locals retreat to the basement of the
Beldon estate. Vin dashes off to his airfield to meet the foe and Carol
accompanies Kay in Clem’s automobile back to the Miniver homestead. Tragically,
their night journey is interrupted by an overhead battle and exchange of
gunfire. One of the planes is shot down and dissolves into a fiery crash
nearby, igniting Kay’s fear that perhaps Vin has died. All too quickly, Kay
realizes that some of the wayward gunfire has penetrated the soft top of Clem’s
convertible, mortally wounding Carol. Hurrying home, Kay carries Carol inside
and lays her on the carpet, rushing to telephone for an ambulance. The girl
dies however, and Kay is forced to relay this bitter news first to Clem and then
Vin, who returns from the aerial dogfight a mature man to assume
responsibilities for Carol’s burial and to properly mourn the loss of his wife.
The family attends services that Sunday in the bombed-out shell of their local
church. Unable to maintain her austere façade, Lady Beldon breaks down and Vin
comes to her aid in her private box, as the Vicar (Henry Wilcoxon) delivers the
penultimate prophecy of the war.
“We in this quiet corner of England have suffered the
loss of friends very dear to us, some close to this church…and why? Surely you
must have asked yourselves this question…I shall tell you why - because this is
not only a war of soldiers in uniform. It is the war of the people, of all the
people. And it must be fought not only on the battlefield but in the cities and
in the villages, in the factories and on the farms, in the home and in the
heart of every man, woman and child who loves freedom. Well, we have buried our
dead, but we shall not forget them. Instead they will inspire us with an unbreakable
determination to free ourselves, and those who come after us, from the tyranny
and terror that threaten to strike us down. This is the People's War. It is our
war. We are the fighters. Fight it then. Fight it with all that is in us. And
may God defend the right.”
In practically
every way, Mrs. Miniver is 5-star,
sublime and rousing patriotic flag-waver. Its propagandist goodwill is never preachy
and its timely narrative seems, at least in retrospect, more timeless and
appealing than ever, particularly in a world that, in more recent years, has
frequently teetered on the brink of some new dawning of self-destruction. The great satisfaction to be drawn from this
movie then as now, and like most any that William Wyler made during his
illustrious career, remains its focus - not on the war but - on the human saga
unraveling in its foreground – ordinary people, rising to meet and conquer
extraordinary circumstances and their terrible fallout. Wyler’s attention to
people – however principled – over platitudes and propaganda, was well-known
and even more highly regarded in Hollywood then, branded as ‘the Wyler touch’. Arguably, this is why Mrs. Miniver has weathered the winds of
change and retained its emotional appeal these many years. Garson and Pidgeon
are the personification of England, while honorable mention must also go to
Teresa Wright’s understated performance as the un-stuffy daughter to the manor
born. Wright’s Carol is a woman of conviction and compassion – the soul of
England’s future, presented as a decaying bridge leading to its even more uncertain
future. Carol’s death is symbolic of that irreversibly fracture in England’s 20th
century evolution; the old guard, with its gentlemanly principled approach to
war, brutally hamstrung in an era of real politics. During those terrible years at war, Mrs. Miniver was irrefutably one of
MGM’s crown jewels. Today, it remains a superior melodrama from that vintage,
and likely to go on for many years yet to follow. So, why can’t Hollywood make ‘em
like they used to? Why indeed?
Warner Home
Video’s Blu of Mrs. Miniver offers
only a modest improvement on the DVD from some years back. The indictment is
slight – chiefly because the DVD mastering was just that good. Cribbing from original elements, obviously archived with
great care for posterity, Mrs. Miniver looks razor-sharp crisp. If a criticism can be lobbed here, perhaps a
wee too much DNR has been applied – the image appearing a little too smooth,
with film grain wholly absent. The surface glamour and sheen in Joseph
Ruttenberg’s cinematography is given its due. But the movie tends to look more ‘video’
than film-based. Contrast is solid, however, and gray scale tonality is equally
as impressive. The DTS audio is mono but
seems to have been recorded at a lower decibel level – the result, having to
strain to hear dialogue during quiescent scenes. Hiss and pop have been eliminated.
Herbert Stothart’s score, particularly the main title, sound very nice indeed.
Extras have been imports from the DVD, including several shorts and a trailer.
I would have appreciated Warner giving us an audio commentary or featurette on
the making of the film. Certainly, Mrs.
Miniver deserves a more well-rounded presentation of its back story. Bottom
line: recommended – with caveats.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
2
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