THE BEST YEARS OF OUR LIVES: Blu-ray (Samuel Goldwyn, 1946) Warner Home Video
Movies about WWII generally fall into two categories:
those glorifying the valor of brave men, destined to make an impact on the
socio-political fabric of the world, and those that, for better or worse,
deconstruct valor, not so much as its own reward, but as a misguided and
destructive indoctrination devoted to nationalism, pitting the moral good
against the nobler, peaceable solution at any cost. Anyone who knows anything
about war can tell you that your enemies are not particularly interested in
negotiating a truce; rather, in annihilating a way of life, only to replace it
with another – communism vs. capitalism, despotism vs. democracy, monarchy vs.
parliament. Point blank: war is hell. Moreover, it represents mankind at its
least altruistic and most self-serving. Given its vintage, The Best Years of
Our Lives (1946) is a very odd duck of a movie indeed, straddling, as it
does, the great divide between all those pre-war romanticized depictions of
wartime valor, yet, examining without prejudice, the jaundice-eyed aftermath
afflicting our brave boys who went off to fight in full command of their
faculties, all too often, returning as emotionally scarred, physically depleted
shells of their former selves. What makes The Best Years of Our Lives so
unique is that it manages, with a queer, yet serviceable unease to maintain a
hint of that Hollywood-ized glamor, framed by its unvarnished, yet un-cynical
approach to this long voyage home. Indeed, no finer – or more truthful – a reflection
of what comes after the guns are silenced has ever been put on the screen.
Indie producer, Samuel Goldwyn was inspired to make
the picture after reading a Time Magazine article first published in
August 7, 1944, qualifying the grave difficulties experienced by men attempting
re-assimilation into their former civilian lives. Hiring war correspondent,
MacKinlay Kantor to write a screenplay, the results were first published as a novella,
Glory for Me, written in blank verse. Eventually, noted screen
scenarist, Robert E. Sherwood would adapt Kantor’s prose into a more manageable
screenplay. And Goldwyn’s timing could not have been more perfect; The Best
Years of Our Lives striking a resilient note of compassion that left barely
a dry eye inside any of those cavernous movie palaces in which it played. The
tone of the piece is decidedly understated. There is no pageantry here. No
declaration of boastful flag-waving pride of the Yankee Doodle ilk either. Just
the quiet and sober rectitude of three amiable, but careworn servicemen who
discover upon their homecoming that life as they knew it has since moved on…presumably,
without them, leaving each to indulge in their own game of ‘catch up’ with
mixed opportunities to rejoin the human race. Seemingly without effort, The
Best Years of Our Lives went on to sweep the Academy Awards: 7 Oscars,
including Best Picture. Goldwyn, who decades earlier had been ousted from
partaking of the amalgamation of Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, achieved another coup
with The Best Years of Our Lives – the picture becoming the most
successful movie, in terms of ticket sales, since Gone with The Wind
(1939) in both the U.S. and England, with a staggering gross of $23,650,000:
the sixth most-attended movie of all time in the UK.
Perhaps, no byproduct from the Hollywood gristmills of
yore can justly claim itself as both a perfect entertainment and collective
nourishment for the soul of a nation and its greatest generation. Yet, as
directed by William Wyler, The Best Years of Our Lives emerged as
arguably both - its poignantly disquieting critique of the changing socio-economic
landscape G.I.s faced upon their return, resonating with audiences as truth
itself, hitting home a potent message that time has been powerless to disavow.
By 1946, Hollywood’s interpretation of the war had decidedly shifted away from
more glamorous 3-hanky tearjerkers like Mrs. Miniver (1942) and Since
You Went Away (1944) to candid contemplations, invested with the
psychological complexities that lingered long after the men had come home,
still wearing their battle fatigue along with their hearts on their sleeves.
The harshest of these realities would not surface on celluloid for another few
decades, perhaps because Hollywood’s moguls wisely perceived those who had
lived it firsthand required no painful reminders of its consequences. However,
the transition from war to peace time would prove anything but smooth for
thousands of returning veterans. Grittier critiques (Twelve O’clock High
1949) examining the crippling strain and mental fallout would emerge as the
modus operandi of war movie a few short years later. And, in the late 60’s and
early 70’s, the war movie would take on even more emotional baggage, indeed, to
question and critique the very valor that had set those terrible wheels in
motion. Even so, without picking at the scab, The Best Years of Our Lives
captures the truthful essence of the hopeful anxieties facing its conquering
heroes; re-assimilation into a complacent civilian world to have misplaced his
importance – even to have reserved a place card in it.
The Best Years of Our Lives charts this
bittersweet and irregular period of transition with an acute sense of empathy.
In reshaping the story, director, William Wyler had the original ailment of
post-traumatic stress syndrome shifted from the character of Homer Parrish -
the sailor, to Fred Derry - the pilot bombardier. Wyler actively sought out
Harold Russell – a real-life double amputee – for the part of Homer, the only
non-actor in this ensemble cast. Russell’s performance proved so enlightened,
tender and true to live he easily won two Oscars - one for Best Supporting
Actor, the other, an honorary statuette in acknowledgement of his extraordinary
bravery in bringing social acceptance to the plight of the physically disabled.
The three service men whose lives become intertwined once their uniforms are
mothballed are bombardier, Fred Derry (Dana Andrews), platoon sergeant, Al
Stephenson (Fredric March) and sailor, Homer Parrish (Harold Russell): men from
varying social backgrounds, united in the twilight’s last gleaming after D-Day.
As they travel to their home town of Boone City in the nose of a B-52, all three
become anxious for different reasons. Homer, Fred and Al quietly observe the
relatively unchanged landscape by air, taking comfort, most of what they see is
sweetly familiar. But the similarities witnessed from above are, of course,
superficial and cosmetic. Upon closer
inspection, at ground level, it becomes apparent the community has changed, the
ground beneath their feet about to shift further still.
Fred and Al are quietly impressed by Homer’s agility,
and perhaps even more with his seeming sunny outward optimism. Despite the loss
of both hands from burns sustained after his aircraft carrier was sunk, Homer
is able to sign his name with a pen, carry his own duffle bag, and even light a
cigarette using his prosthetic metal hooks. After their plane ride, the boys
share a cab. Homer points out Butch’s Bar – an old haunt owned by his uncle.
He, Fred and Al vow to return to the bar once they have settled into their old
lives. But as the cab approaches Homer’s address his confidence wanes. He
nervously suggests they turn around and have a drink at the bar now, before
‘going home’. Al wisely forces Homer out, saying “You are home, soldier.”
But Fred delays the cab a moment as Homer is reunited with his aged parents
(Walter Baldwin and Minna Gombell) and former sweetheart, Wilma Cameron (played
to winsome perfection by newcomer, Cathy O’Donnell). While Homer’s mother is
initially hesitant, Wilma devotedly embraces the man she once knew and still
admires, hopeful to return to those blissful days of courtship before the war
intruded on their solitude and happiness. Can it ever be?
Al’s reunion with his family is no less poignant. He
is met at the front door by his stunned and tearful daughter, Peggy (Teresa
Wright) and overjoyed son, Rob (Michael Hall), encouraging his children to keep
still as their mother, Milly (Myrna Loy) suddenly becomes aware of the
deafening silence in the next room, emerging from the kitchen with her simple
joy fulfilled at being reunited with her husband. The least welcome of the
homecomings is Fred’s, returning to a cramped little shack on the wrong side of
the tracks that he once shared with Marie (Virginia Mayo), the superficial war
bride wed on the fly while still in basic training. Marie is a heartless creature,
more enamored with Fred’s status as a flyer than she is with him now, as just a
man – even less so when he informs her that due to limited employment
opportunities he is returning to his former career as a drug store soda jerk.
Marie, who has since become a cocktail waitress at a nightclub, is accustomed
to high times and wild parties with more affluent prospects. She wants
excitement, money and uninhibited fun - tangibles, Fred can neither afford nor
finds particularly attractive since the war.
Al’s future is hardly as bleak. In fact, the bank
where he once worked has offered to reinstate him with a promotion and a raise,
viewing his war record as an asset when dealing with other vets seeking loans
from the bank. Al gratefully accepts, but like his two contemporaries, has
already begun to suffer from some deep-seeded social angst. In Al’s case, he
manages to console his reoccurring fears with alcohol. When the bank decides to
hold a dinner in his honor, Al regrettably arrives mildly inebriated but still
manages to impart an eloquent speech that champions the bank aligning its
interests to help servicemen rebuild their lives. Meanwhile, the relationship
between Homer and his parents becomes strained. Mrs. Parrish cannot bring
herself to anything but tearful frustrations over the loss of her son’s hands
while Homer’s father seems unable to articulate his concerns and confusion
beyond evasive reflections about the past. Although engaged to Wilma before the
war, Homer now encourages her to leave him and seek her happiness elsewhere.
But Wilma has been in love with Homer since childhood and all that hasn’t come
to an end simply because he lost his hands. Hence, she remains steadfast in her
devotion – not out of a sense of pity or even moral duty – but from a
genuineness and unerring love Homer is reticent to recognize as pure of heart.
Peggy and Fred accidentally meet after she arrives to
collect her father from Butch’s Bar where the three old buddies have reunited
to drink themselves into oblivion. On the surface, Fred pretends his life is
solid and secure. However, nightly, he suffers from terrors and sweats that
Marie is unable, or perhaps unwilling to tolerate. Fred takes comfort from
Peggy, who finds Marie utterly shallow. An unexpected spark of romance kindles
between Peggy and Fred. This infuriates Al and he orders Fred to stop seeing
his daughter. Realizing Al only has Peggy’s best interests at heart, Fred
reluctantly agrees to steer clear of her, but thereafter begins to resent Al’s
self-righteousness. Homer comes to the drug store where Fred is working, but is
dealt a blow by an obnoxious customer who suggests the war was fought against
the wrong enemy. An altercation ensues and Fred loses his job as a result.
Afterward, Fred and Homer share a heart to heart and Fred, ever-loyal and
encouraging, tells Homer he should marry Wilma with all speed. Fred even offers
to be Homer’s best man. Upon returning home in the middle of the afternoon,
Fred discovers Marie locked in a passionate embrace with Cliff (Steve Cochran).
She tells Fred she has decided to divorce him because he is a failure – at
least, in her books. Briefly believing this snap assessment himself, Fred
tosses his father (Roman Bohnen) the various medals and citations he earned
during the war, glibly suggesting they were “passed out with the K-rations”.
Realizing what a war hero his son is, Mr. Derry encourages Fred to remain in
town. But Fred wants out and fast. He books himself on a waiting list for the
first outbound plane to anywhere, but then takes a side trip to the nearby
airplane graveyard where vivid memories of combat leave him momentarily
despondent.
When Fred is interrupted by the boss of the work crew
salvaging the aircraft’s aluminum for scrap, he finesses his way into a job to
help with the disassembly. Having
resurrected his future from the ashes, Fred decides to pursue Peggy once more.
Meanwhile, Wilma tells Homer her parents have decided to send her away, presumably
to forget him. At first, Homer believes this is the best for all concerned. But
when Wilma makes it pointedly clear that her place is with him, Homer realizes
how much she still loves him and agrees to marry her. True to his word, Fred
stands up for Homer at the wedding. Newly divorced, Fred eyes Peggy from across
the room during the service and later, he and Al reach a tentative
reconciliation in their fractured friendship. Fred approaches Peggy with the
understanding it may be years before he can find true comfort in civilian life.
Nevertheless, reassessing none of it will mean anything if she is not at his
side, Peggy recognizes Fred’s gesture as honorable. She smiles and kisses him, the promise of
their lives together, at last secured.
The Best Years of Our Lives is a flawless,
unvarnished masterpiece, perfectly scripted and expertly acted. It remains the
cinematic touchstone by which all other ‘home front’ melodramas long since have
been and continue to be judged. The real magic herein is in the situations. Nothing
here seems overly scripted of heavily rehearsed, but genuine rather than
manufactured; the mid-American backdrop of a small town – ‘Anywhere’ U.S.A. –
palpably atmospheric and very true to life. Director, William Wyler evokes
sentiment with truth, utterly absent of the saccharine generally associated
with such tear-jerkers. None of his actors overplay their hand. Of the lot,
Dana Andrews and Teresa Wright strike the most eloquent chord, symbolic of the
‘new American’ optimism about to stir on the horizon and indicative of that
golden-era promise in post-war 50’s prosperity buoyed by the Eisenhower presidency.
Cathy O’Donnell’s screen debut is as impressive. Her sad-eyed tenderness is the
perfect antidote for Harold Russell’s wounded pride. With so much faith in the
future brought into clear-eyed focus, is it any wonder then that The Best
Years of Our Lives took home Best Picture honors at the Academy Awards? Irrefutably,
it remains the greatest post-war movie of all time.
Several years ago, Warner Home Video reissued The
Best Years of Our Lives on DVD using the same severely flawed digital files
mastered for the old HBO and later MGM/UA Laserdiscs. It is one of those
sincere tragedies that no original elements for this exquisite slice of Americana
exist. So, any attempt to resurrect the movie from oblivion is working
backwards from less than stellar print sources, some better archived over the
decades than others. Warner Home Video initially issued The Best Years of Our
Lives to Blu-ray in 2011 with copycat artwork mimicking the aforementioned
DVD. Now, the movie has received a re-issue in hi-def via Warner’s Archive
(WAC). Before delving into the nuts and bolts of the thing, the results here
have been assembled from less than proactively archival preservation materials,
further hampered by the odd limbo afflicting the Samuel Goldwyn library under
Warner’s own custodianship. Given
the shortsightedness that preceded Warner’s acquisition of this deep catalog
title, and, all of the many digital tools at the studio’s disposal, this latest
hi-def offering of The Best Years of Our Lives remains something of a
forgivable letdown.
Mercifully, gone are the utterly abysmal digital
artifacts (edge enhancement, macro-blocking, pixelization) that plagued the DVD
and made it virtually unwatchable. Contrast has also been greatly improved.
Whites that once bloomed to the point of obliterating all fine details, now, at
least, appear merely bright – occasionally, still too bright – but tolerable
(again, and comparatively so to the tragic quality of the aforementioned DVD).
The image never snaps together or tightens up as it should. Quite simply – it can’t.
So, no fault or aspersions cast on WAC’s mastering efforts. Close-ups look
good. But medium and long shots lack total depth and tonality in the gray
scale. Despite the image obviously being
darker (though hardly dark) than its DVD predecessor, contrast herein remains
anemic at best. Warner’s Blu has jettisoned the Chace re-channeled
pseudo-stereo audio mix that once accompanied the DVD. Aside: thank heaven.
That attempt to modify and ‘update’ the soundtrack to fall in line with ‘contemporary’
standards was an obliteration of the carefully constructed mono mix, herein,
reinstated as 2.0 DTS. What is particularly disappointing virtually all of the
home video incarnations of this classic movie is the complete disregard for
producing any sort of meaningful extras to accompany it. Ported over from the
old HBO release are brief and separate interviews with Teresa Wright and
Virginia Mayo. These barely add up to a measly nine minutes. The HBO DVD once
included an isolated track, showcasing Hugo Friedhofer’s heartrending score. Alas,
this is missing from the Blu. Bottom line: This is far from perfect, folks, but
it is also likely the best this deep catalog title will ever look on home
video, barring the discovery of some forgotten or mislaid original elements
still in pristine shape. Regrets.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
5+
VIDEO/AUDIO
2.5
EXTRAS
1
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