A FACE IN THE CROWD: Blu-ray (Warner Bros. 1957) Criterion

The rise and fall of a media megalomaniac is the subject of Elia Kazan’s A Face in the Crowd (1957), a mighty indictment of our pop culture and its ruthless machinery by which a basically unprepossessing drifter can become an overnight sensation with just a little bit of well-timed PR and more than a few sycophantic followers to push and tear at his soul, callously turning it a bilious green with the uncompromising glare of limelight. Truth be told, at least part of our story is about the way the defiant ‘tail’ in this scenario begins to wag the dog, much to its ever-lasting detriment. In many ways, A Face in the Crowd foreshadows, with a rather spellbinding chill, the trajectory of our current celebrity-obsessed epoch, where being famous - just for being famous – has become the ‘anything goes’ standard bearer. However, as easily as fame cometh to those unsuspecting of its awesomely cruel and fickle sway, it tempts, fools and then departs with uncompromising callousness, playing its victor for the fool and, in the end, profiting no man. This is especially true for our titular folk hero, Larry ‘Lonesome’ Rhodes, evolved with a deafening dynamism and maniacal momentum by Andy Griffith, in his landmark movie-making debut. Rhodes is a fierce conniver, his glinty-eyed devil-may-care, at first, mis-perceived by radio broadcaster, Marcia Jeffries (Patricia Neal) as mere corn-fed shuck and jive.  Too late, she learns the truth about Larry. Perhaps, with even more devastating fatalism, Larry learns it about himself. As all fame is fleeting, the tide of adoration ebbs against our bucolic shock jock, betrayed by Marcia during his nightly broadcasts. Or has she, in fact, saved Larry from his own incalculable greed?

In A Face in the Crowd’s penultimate moment – a hysterical Larry, forsaken by the one woman who might have otherwise offered him salvation – Kazan presents us with a tantalizingly complex jigsaw puzzle of ‘what if’s?’, fallen onto a double-edged sword of personal regrets. Our anti-hero is left to wail in the night like a wounded animal as the emotionally scarred and fragile, if ever so slightly redeemed Marcia departs under the escort of an empathetic writer, Mel Miller (Walter Matthau), the hypnotic dominance Larry once held over her, irrevocable severed. Marcia is, in fact, the creator of this Frankenstein monster with a microphone. Naïvely, she once believed she could control the beast as the beauty behind the scenes. And perhaps, with even more miscalculated vanity, Lonesome bought into his press.  The devil in the details, Larry broke through, not only to popular appeal as a radio and TV ‘personality’, but was well on his way to becoming a genuine ‘influencer.’ Conquering the hearts and minds of the masses was only the first step in what is ultimately his failed attempt at being transformed into a political puppet master. And the ‘people’ are, just as he predicts, ‘sheep’ – easily owned by a false hope and pretend gestures of kindness; thereafter, fit for the sheering or the slaughter.  Lonesome Rhodes is precisely the false prophet, suited to his times – peddling ‘faith’, ‘love’ and ‘charity’ as though it could be bottled with a pleasurable snub at the sponsors, wed to an otherwise squeaky-clean homespun charm, as though these intangibles could be counted in kegs as fresh-scented ten-cent soap. Hey, y’all - scrub your troubles away with Lonesome Rhodes, you wonderfully deluded idiots.

Alas, absolute power corrupts.  The man, who might have begun his journey with semi-altruistic motives was never pure of heart. For Larry, the Bible is only ‘the good book’ when it can be used – Old-Testament-style – to fling mud at the capitalist boors who see a quick profit to be made by attaching their products to his program;  this wily conjurer of an even more dastardly slight-of-hand, set upon taking his fifteen minutes and riding it all the way to the bleakest, most terrible end. For the first time in his life, Larry is motivated: not by destiny, but sheer greed and an ample and decidedly lascivious sex drive.  That Larry eventually trades down on his popularity, handed to him on the proverbial ‘silver platter’, surrounding himself with sycophants, like office boy come shameless promoter, Joey DePalma (Anthony Franciosa) and disposable attractive playthings to momentarily dilute his carnal urges (the luminous Lee Remick as baton-twirling sexpot, Betty Lou Fleckum), is Larry’s Achilles’ Heel, a grotesque miscalculation, and, his folly. And Larry, for all his soap box prophesying, has overlooked the Biblical passage that might have served him – if not his interests – best: Mark 8:36 “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”

A Face in the Crowd is based on Budd Schulberg’s short story, ‘Your Arkansas Traveler’ from his collected works, entitled ‘Some Faces in the Crowd’ (first published in 1953); Schulberg, doing double-duty here, adapting his work for the screen under Kazan’s guidance. Schulberg’s natural contempt for capitalism and pop culture in general is duly noted in A Face in the Crowd; the writer, perhaps, possessing a ‘leg up’ on his subject, born to privilege, and, in the thick of Hollywood during its halcyon heyday. As the son of a Paramount executive, Schulberg gained a rather scaly ‘insider’s vantage’, later disseminated in his authorship, that did much to de-glamorize the movie-making Mecca’s mythology for those living outside its fabled community. His most infamous impeachment of the destructive nature of celebrity is likely ‘What Makes Sammy Run?’ – published in 1941, and charting the ill-fated Cinder-fella story of one Sammy Glick who, rather ominously, does not end with a ‘happily ever after’. Other similarly-themed works followed this, and while they all garnered Schulberg critical acclaim in the publishing world, they equally cast a pall on his prowess with the poisoned pen when, in 1951, he was accused by the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) of being a communist. Rather skillfully, Schulberg navigated his way through these shark-infested waters as a friendly witness, and thereafter, dividing the focus of his career between more novels, some screenplay writing, and, publishing articles as one of Sports Illustrated’s most popular correspondents, with several well-received volumes on boxing to his credit.

In Schulberg, Elia Kazan likely found a kindred spirit. Most assuredly, Kazan could relate to Schulberg’s plight in the witness chair, squeezed by HUAC too, but decidedly taking a different avenue with his testimony, forever to taint his reputation. Prior to this, Kazan had aspired – first – to an acting career, training with the Group Theater, and then, at The Actor’s Studio. Throughout the 1940’s he would establish himself as a rising star in the director’s chair with such memorable movies as A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945) and Gentleman’s Agreement (1947). But in 1952, Kazan, under oath, ‘named names.’ And, while his career was spared, his testimony effectively put an end to those of his former colleagues, Morris Carnovsky and Art Smith, also playwright, Clifford Odets. Indeed, the betrayal was so deeply felt, that even forty-plus-years later, when the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences elected to bestow him an honorary Oscar in 1999, the decision was met with jeers and booing from the attending audience, and, a mass protest outside the auditorium. Kazan’s reputation will likely always be faced with the smite of that political controversy. There is, however, very little wiggle room to deny him the enormity of his contributions to the art of picture-making. We have yet to mention Andy Griffith, without whose electrifying revulsion and horror, A Face in the Crowd would not have endured these many years since its release. Marking his debut, in hindsight, Griffith takes the bucolic buffoonery he would later trademark in the wildly popular television series, The Andy Griffith Show (1960-68) and stands it on end with hair-raising results. His Larry ‘Lonesome’ Rhodes is what the devil on earth might have become with a guitar clutched in one fist, a bottle of bourbon and branch water firmly in the other. And Griffith is unrelenting as the good ole’ boy, dusting off the sweaty stench of these back roads; unapologetic as the wicked little genie let loose from his bottle, and most determined never to slink into the backwater.

The other outstanding performance in A Face in the Crowd belongs to Patricia Neal whose own life is perhaps as bittersweet as her fictional character’s outcome in this movie. Neal was a natural for the camera, getting her early start on the stage; even winning the very first Best Featured Actress Tony Award in 1947 for her stagecraft in Lillian Hellman’s Another Part of the Forest (1946). Not long thereafter, Hollywood beckoned and Neal obliged, appearing with breakneck ease in a rapid succession of three major movies; John Loves Mary, The Hasty Heart, and finally, The Fountainhead (all in 1949). A rather notorious love affair with her Fountainhead co-star, Gary Cooper (she 21, to his 46) ended with a jealous breakup and an abortion. But her movie prospects blossomed, and Neal worked steadily. She wed Brit-born writer, Roald Dahl in 1953, a union producing five children – one suffering a horrific brain injury in a car accident; another, dying from measles-induced encephalitis. While again pregnant in 1965, Neal suffered a series of burst cerebral aneurysms, sending her into a coma for three weeks. At the time, it was predicted she would not survive. But with Dahl’s tireless persistence, around-the-clock care by numerous volunteers, and, a grueling regiment of therapy (in which she had to re-learn to walk and talk), much of the residual fallout from her stroke abated. Neal is superb in A Face in the Crowd; vital, alive and genuine. We can believe in a gal who, despite possessing ample street smarts, succumbs to Larry’s Jekyll-esque magnetic charisma, only to fall prey to its pitiless, Hyde-inducing flip side. When her Marcia bites into the proverbial apple of Larry’s temptation we taste its sugar-coated potency of juiced-up promises. A brighter tomorrow and a better man await our Marcia. Hence, when she inevitably awakens from this dream, to suffers as a result, we suffer alongside her, the bitterness of Larry’s rancid promises amplified by, and transmitted through Neal’s wild-eyed pang, the realization she has been duped, compounded with an inescapable sense of personal shame for being so monumentally adolescent, trapped and twisted in a muddle of her own disbelief.

After Tom Glazer’s understated harmonica overture and main title, we settle in on Kazan’s location work and a few establishing shots of Memphis and Piggott, Arkansas, standing in for the undisclosed rural South. Aside: virtually all of the 61 interiors, expressly built for A Face in the Crowd by art directors, Paul and Richard Sylbert were shot at New York’s Biograph Studios in the Bronx. So, after experiencing a few glorious representations of the actual South, we enter the first of these ‘canned’ locales; a jail where radio producer/interviewer, Marcia Jeffries is preparing to do a remote piece for the latest installment of her locally broadcast ‘A Face in the Crowd’ for KGRK. Sheriff Big Jeff Bess (Bess, going under his real name) introduces Marcia to his current assemblage of reprobates, including one Larry Rhodes, picked up on a drunk and disorderly, and, vagrancy. At first, Rhodes is belligerent and uncooperative. But then Marcia takes an invested interest. Seizing the opportunity to ‘stick it’ to Bess, Rhodes belts out a song about becoming a free man in the morning. His folksy cynicism and charisma are a huge hit with listeners, prompting radio station owner, J.B. Jeffries (Howard Smith) to give Rhode’s his own weekly spot on the air. Convincing Rhodes, a grifter at heart, to accept regular work is a tough sell. But Marcia whittles down his apprehensions, promising to make him a star. And indeed, Rhodes quickly finds an audience hanging on his every word. Soon, he lands an even better gig on a local Memphis TV program, given the nickname, ‘Lonesome Rhodes.’ After a bar room brawl with Bess, Rhodes turns the tables on the Sherriff, who is seeking higher public office, encouraging his listeners to take their strays to his home. If Bess is qualified enough to be ‘dogcatcher’, he just might be a good fit for governor. The next day, Bess’ front yard is overrun with dogs of every conceivable shape and size.

Network execs remain cautiously optimistic about Rhode’s popularity, especially when he takes their most prominent sponsor, mattress manufacturer, Mr. Luffler (Charles Irving) to task, poking fun at his commercial pitches, and later, inciting his adoring followers to torch one of Luffler’s mattresses in front of his factory. Inadvertently, Rhode’s negative publicity helps increase Luffler’s bottom line by 55%. Rhode’s daring reaches a fevered pitch when he brings ‘a colored woman’ on his program, expressing how she has lost everything she owned in a fire, and imploring his fans to send their charitable contributions to help rebuild her house.  Money pours in, and Rhodes begins to realize the power he possesses. Soon, cultural mandarins like Walter Winchell and Mike Wallace come to call; Winchell, with curious praise; Wallace, to probe the back story of this overnight sensation. The network hires a writer, Mel Miller, to pen some Jeremiah’s for Rhodes to espouse. Quickly, however, Miller finds that Rhodes can ad lib his way through just about any situation without his help. With the aid of the overzealous, Joey DePalma, seeking a way to get out from under Luffler’s thumb, pretty soon, another network sponsor comes to call: Hainesworth – manufacturers of Vitajex - a ‘health tonic’ that has absolutely no medicinal properties. Nevertheless, under Rhode’s auspices, Vitajex becomes one of the most widely sought after ‘cure all’, promoted to give the consumer renewed vigor and a positive attitude. Even Hainesworth’s chemical engineer, Dr. Wiley (Fred Stewart) gets on board with this sale’s pitch, despite having initially denounced Vitajex as a worthless fraud. The company’s president, Gen. Hainesworth (Percy Waram) is grateful, upping Rhode’s salary in kickbacks. Indeed, Vitajex profits are soaring.

Behind the scenes, Rhodes professes to love Marcia. His seduction of her is swift and assured and the two are married, despite the fact – unbeknownst to everyone – Rhodes already has a wife. Eventually, Rhodes’ fame, influence and ego explode onto the national scene, prompting the first Mrs. Rhodes (Kay Medford) to come out of the woodwork and demand her piece of the pie, merely to remain under the radar of public scrutiny, otherwise to surely impugn her husband’s reputation with his fans. As their marriage is null and void, Marcia momentarily withdraws from the fray, although she is unable to disentangle herself entirely and remains a sounding board for Rhodes when the going gets tough. Meanwhile, Hainesworth hopes to exploit Rhodes’ sudden esteem to pitch California Sen. Worthington Fuller (Marshall Neilan) as the next Presidential candidate. Rhodes sets about making over the stuffy Fuller into a more relaxed and outspoken sort. He explains, no consumer ever bought a product because they ‘respected’ it, but because they ‘loved’ it. Rhodes now confides that anything, even a Presidential nominee, has to be sold like a product to the American people, whom he increasingly regards as mindless sheep he can easily influence and manipulate.  

Superficially, Rhodes is at the top of his game. After obtaining a legal divorce from his first wife, Marcia sincerely believes she and Rhodes will begin their reconciliation. Instead, he runs off to Juarez, Mexico, returning with 17-year-old drum majorette, Betty Lou Fleckum, whom he has wed on the fly. Attempting his apologies to Marcia, Rhodes abruptly discerns hell hath no fury like this woman scorned. His proposal of ‘giving’ her 10% for her troubles is met by Marica’s bitter resolve to be made an equal partner in the Lonesome Rhodes’ franchise – or else. Under duress, and perhaps even feeling a sense of duty, Rhodes sheepishly agrees to Marcia’s terms. Alas, Rhodes’ ego cannot be contained. Having tired of Betty Lou, Rhodes founders without Marcia to keep him honest and restrained. He later uncovers Betty Lou, having an affair with DePalma. Mercilessly, Rhodes dumps her, but finds he cannot severe his business ties to DePalma, who now threatens to reveal all he knows about Rhodes to the public. Desperate for ‘companionship’, Rhodes arrives at Marcia’s apartment for a little conciliatory sex. In tandem, he pitches his latest idea for a political organization – ‘Fighters for Fuller.’ Repulsed by Rhodes, Marcia nevertheless conceals her disgust.

She arrives at the network the following evening, just as Rhodes’ live broadcast is about to go off the air. Determined to do the right thing, Marcia turns on the microphone above Rhodes’ head as the credits to his show begin to roll. Unaware he is still broadcasting live, Rhodes cynically waxes with fellow cast members, calling out Fuller as a clumsy fraud and admonishing his public as morons and idiots. Across the fruited plain, and, locally in nightclubs, bars and homes, Rhodes’ adoring fans instantly tune him out; their shock, transformed into contempt and dismay for their fallen idol. Still unaware he has just tanked his reputation, even as the station is being flooded with angry calls, Rhodes departs the studio, prophetically telling the elevator operator he is going ‘all the way down.’ How true - as DePalma is already in the process of replacing Rhodes with another brash and much younger entertainer. Rhodes arrives at his penthouse, scheduled to address the nation's business and political elite at a private party. As the guests fail to show up, Fuller, having seen the broadcast, doing all he can to immediately distance himself from Rhodes, Larry desperately calls on the hired help to show him some love. Their inability to provide Rhodes with the sycophantic worship he craves is met with a violent outburst and dismissal.

Now, Rhodes telephones the studio.  Miller fields the call as Marcia listens in to his vitriolic rants. Unable to sway Marcia by force, Rhodes appeals to her sense of compassion, threatening to leap from his balcony and commit suicide.  Angrily, Marcia calls his bluff, seizing the phone and ordering Rhodes to follow through on his promise.  Now, Miller angrily dares Marica to face Rhodes with the whole truth. Together, they confront Rhodes at his penthouse. By now, Rhodes has reverted to his former self; slovenly, drunk and full of self-pity. Shouting folksy platitudes and sings at the top of his lungs while his lacquey, Beanie (Rod Brasfield) works an ‘applause’ machine (Rhodes' own invention), Rhodes vows revenge on the TV studio’s engineer, until Marcia bitterly admits she sabotaged his program.  Furthermore, after this moment, Marcia tells Rhodes she never wants to see or hear from him again. Miller informs Rhodes that the life he has known and taken for granted is gone; the proverbial ‘rug’ pulled out right under his feet.  And while the public and the network may forgive him ‘after a reasonable cooling off period’, Rhodes will never be as influential as he was before. Vowing to prove them wrong, Rhodes winds up hollering in self-pity from his rooftop window. Unrepentantly, a horrified Marcia leaves in a taxi with Miller.

A Face in the Crowd’s finale is both prophetic and chilling; the notion that a demigod will live on, not merely as a cultural footnote, but even more popular and dangerous than ever, is a prospect that, at least in 1957, was remotely obscene.  In more recent times, it has proven the acceptable norm as the public’s capacity – not to forgive, but rather – forget a public scandal, has renewed many a fading celebrity while distancing, and/or even obscuring the memory of their ill-repute. O.J. Simpson? Bill Clinton? Geraldo Rivera? Magic Johnson? Etc. et al.  Budd Schulberg had, in fact, loosely based the character of Larry Rhodes on America’s most beloved naturalist of his generation – Will Rogers, after a casual acquaintance with the late man’s son revealed, rather cruelly, his father’s reputation as ‘a man of the people’ was just a facade. Schulberg was also inspired by then popular radio and TV personalities, Arthur Godfrey and Tennessee Ernie Ford. Yet, to witness Andy Griffith’s wild-eyed implosion in the penultimate moments of this movie is to equally question just how much of Griffith – the man – is revealed herein, particularly, in retrospect, and, in light of the homespun good ole boy image Griffith would later cultivate and trademark for his own as TV’s beloved sheriff on The Andy Griffith Show. Viewed today, A Face in the Crowd is Kazan’s most unsettling exploration of the evils of fame, especially when its victim is willing, and, naïve enough in his belief that its corrupting influence can be tamed.

Derived from a new 4K scan from original film elements, Criterion’s Blu-ray of A Face in the Crowd is inconsistently rendered. While age-related artifacts have been thoroughly eradicated and gate weave – noticeable on Warner Bros. old DVD – has been corrected, resulting in a very solid image, certain scenes continue to suffer from a marginally ‘thick’ characteristic. Herein, the image can appear soft around the edges or even slightly out of focus with boosted contrast. When the image does snap together as it should, the gray scale exhibits a velvety sheen with exceptional tonality, deep blacks and pristine whites. Contrast is excellent, and fine details are razor-sharp, showing off Gayne Rescher’s cinematography to its very best advantage. The PCM mono audio has been freshened too and sounds wonderful. Criterion’s extras are a little thin. We get two new interview pieces: the first, with Ron Briley, author of The Ambivalent Legacy of Elia Kazan, who discusses the movie, and another with Andy Griffith biographer, Evan Dalton Smith, who concentrates – predictably – on Griffith’s importance, while superficially glossing over other aspects of the actor’s career. We also get, Facing the Past, a 2005 documentary on the making of A Face in the Crowd with Griffith, Neal, Franciosa and Schulberg weighing in on the movie’s longevity, accompanied by film scholars, Leo Braudy and Jeff Young. Last but not least, a very thick and comprehensive ‘essay’ by April Wolfe, with excerpts from a 1957 N.Y. Times article written by Kazan. Aside: it is gratifying to see Criterion getting back in the habit of producing comprehensive ‘bound’ booklets with their disc releases. These used to be a standard for the company, but in more recent times, have often resulted, either in a very anemic page count or scant details beyond mere factoid tidbits of information. Bottom line: A Face in the Crowd is a powerful, and at times, rather ugly movie to digest. Criterion’s release bests Warner’s old DVD. It’s not perfect, however, and that’s a shame. Nevertheless, competently rendered and recommended with ease.

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

4

VIDEO/AUDIO

4

EXTRAS

2.5