SERGEANT YORK: Blu-ray (Warner Bros., 1941) Warner Archive
Was there ever a finer example of the ‘conscientious objector’ than Sergeant York (1941)? The real Alvin Cullum York, who went on to become one of the most celebrated heroes from the First World War, earning – among his many accolades – a Medal of Honor for his courage in an attack on an enemy machine gun nest, was, by all accounts, a God-fearing Tennessee blacksmith of little schooling but an immense heart. Drafted into service, but only after he was persuaded that his participation in the war was neither a sin nor an anathema upon his religious beliefs, York became an infantry private in the 82nd Division and went off to fight the Hun in France in 1918. It was not until his ascendance to the rank of corporal that York distinguished himself in an ambush, almost single-handedly attacking a German stronghold and, when out of rifle ammunition, warding off certain death from a charge of six with their bayonets drawn, dispatched by his expert marksmanship. York’s staggering display of valor resulted in the surrender of 130 prisoners, taken peaceably to his base camp. Elevated to the rank of Sergeant, news of York’s intrepidness quickly spread. He returned to America, a national figure, to humble and impoverished beginnings, only to discover a group of Tennessee businessmen had thrown in their lot to buy York and his family the farm he had always dreamed of owning. Given his renown, that York should be considered for the subject of a major motion picture was practically preordained. That director, Howard Hawks’ 1941 drama, starring everybody’s all-American, Gary Cooper, should go on to become the biggest grossing hit of the season, arguably, was not.
Hawks, together with a screenplay cobbled together by Harry
Chandlee, Abem Finkel, John Huston, Howard E. Koch and Sam Cowan, spends a good
deal of this picture on what came before the war. For only in the knowing of that
convoluted path to righteousness and reform, and Gary Cooper’s subtly nuanced
portrait of the man in his native habitat, do we truly come to admire and then,
believe in the great man’s deeds, serving as this story’s thoroughly satisfying
denouement. Sergeant York hails from an epoch in American picture-making
when the telling of the tale took precedence over the spectacle in the
exercise. If it were even attempted today, the picture would likely open with a
huge explosion and hundreds of mangled bodies strewn about the battlefield, with
only the most threadbare of flashbacks in the mind of our hero to suggest he is
more than an action figure in actor’s garb. Timing can do an awful lot for a
picture’s morale – and box office, and, Sergeant York, perfectly – if unintentionally
timed with the attack on Pearl Harbor – was a movie that spoke to America’s
reinvigorated sense of national pride; moreover, FDR’s decision to draw the
nation into war with a rousing display of flag-waving conscription, of which Sergeant
York led a gallant charge to the whopping tune of $6,075,000 domestically
and another $2,184,000 in foreign, making it – by far – the highest-grossing
picture of the year.
Viewed today, Coop’s turn as the man of the hour is
inspired from the actor’s truest convictions to play the part, rather than any
aping of the flesh and blood York who inspired, though never dictates this
performance. And in Cooper’s ‘every man’ we get a genuine sense of the real
York’s steadfast audacity turned to humility, a sort of simpleton’s grace for which
Cooper had already illustrated the best parts in Frank Capra’s Mr. Deeds
Goes to Town (1936). And the picture is equally imbued with some raucous
good humor to exemplify the best of Howard Hawks memorable film fare. Hawks, as
versatile as Wyler, as sassy as Wilder, and as eloquent, as John Ford, could do
anything, and proved it with an enviable spate of screwball comedies, introspective
dramas, dimly dangerous gangster flicks, science fiction, film noir, and, of
course, rousing Hollywood westerns. There is more than a bit of the bucolic in Sergeant
York, and thus, Hawks has absolutely no problem exploring the rustic charm
of this backwoods bumpkin, begun life as a self-destructive drunk, but soon to
become a populist folk hero and man of the people. Like Coop’s characterization
of York, Hawks’ direction is unobtrusive, gratifying and candid. And Hawks and
Cooper have the ballast of truth here to back them up.
The picture opens with a youthful, and occasionally
wayward Alvin York—one of eleven children growing up poor in northern Tennessee.
Incorrigible to a fault, York is a rebel rouser until he is struck by a bolt of
lightning. Having ‘seen the light’ – literally – has a major impact on York’s
morale and character. Aside: in reality, York was stirred to reconsider his
wicked ways by his wife and a Sunday school teacher in a steady progression toward
reform. Alas, this provided none too dramatic an impetus for the movies, nor
overly drawn-out explanation, deemed worthy by Hawks to illustrate the point.
York repents and invests in his own religious conversion, overseen by the
devout Pastor Rosier Pile (the marvelous Walter Brennan who, despite being
Oscar-nominated a fourth time here, did not take home the statuette for Best
Supporting Actor) and his mother (Margaret Wycherly). Having suffered his
change of heart, York dedicates himself to his fellow man. Alas, the war seemingly
intrudes on his altruism. York instead becomes a pacifist and attempts to forgo
military service, believing it is a sin to kill. Despite his wherewithal and
sincerity, York is ordered to serve and shipped overseas where he participates
in the battles of the Meuse-Argonne. After seeing his best friend, Ike Botkin (Ward
Bond) fallen on the battlefield, York redoubles his efforts to put an end to
the bloodshed. Known back home for his expert marksmanship, York withstands
heavy enemy fire to single-handedly infiltrate a German machine-gun nest. With
his fervent belief in the valor of man to liberate his fellowship from the tyranny
of the enemy, York takes out two dozen of the Hun, holding his position against
seemingly insurmountable odds. He also manages to capture 130 prisoners. For
his bravery, York is awarded the Medal of Honor.
But returning home a ‘hero’ is not for Sergeant York.
He quietly makes light of his accomplishments and refused any and all requests
to capitalize on his wartime exploits. In life too, this was true of the real
Alvin York. He was eventually ‘persuaded’ to relinquish the rights to his story
by producer, Jesse Lasky, who had been pursuing York for almost 20-years, but
only on the condition Gary Cooper play him – a sticky ‘loan out’ situation, as
Cooper was under contract to Samuel Goldwyn. Eventually, a détente was struck
between Jack Warner and Goldwyn – Warner, agreeing to lend Goldwyn his #1 star,
Bette Davis, for The Little Foxes. York made two other demands on the production
in exchange for giving Lasky carte blanche; first, his entire share of the
profits would go to a Bible School passion project York was attempting to get
off the ground. Second, no actress who enjoyed a cigarette would be cast as his
wife (the part of Gracie Williams went to Joan Leslie). Interestingly, Cooper –
then 40 – believed he was too old for the part. Regardless, he graciously
accepted the compliment and, in one of the screen’s true high points of the
decade, gave an awe-inspiring and flawless performance to earn him his first Best
Actor Academy Award – one of 11 nominations. As a point of interest, Sergeant
York holds the dubious distinction of being the most honored nominee NOT to
win the coveted Best Picture statuette. Stricken with an attack of ‘aw
shucks’ humility on Oscar night, perhaps, as it had been arranged for real-life
war veteran and fellow actor, James Stewart to present the Best Actor award
(Coop’ was denied enlistment because of his age, and an old infirmity), Cooper
awkwardly dedicated his Oscar to the real Alvin York, sheepishly adding that,
in all his long dreams of winning, he always gave a much better speech in his
head than the one he was presently attempting to conclude, compounding his sheepish
departure from the stage by inadvertently leaving his Oscar behind.
As for the real Alvin York, he was left cheering from
the sidelines on opening night, although he later confessed to being put off by
Cooper’s smoking habit between takes on the set. He was also deeply affected
when one of the crew rather tactlessly inquired how many men he had killed in
battle. The reminder of his own war record reportedly left York quietly sobbing
in a corner of the sound stage. Adjusted for inflation, Sergeant York remains
one of the most successful movies of all time. It played as a popular picture
throughout the war years, frequently brought back for lucrative return
engagements long after the bloom of its debut and Oscar buzz had worn off.
Warner Bros. exploited it to help promote the sale of war bonds and fill in the
profits whenever one of their newer release was not performing up to snuff, an ‘about
face’ from their initial trepidation and marketing plan to open soft, as Jack
Warner feared America’s isolationism would harshly judge the picture as cheaply
exploitive war-time propaganda. While Sergeant York does have its share
of artistic license, the staunch support of the real Alvin York was predicated
on Hawks’ adherence to the truth. Hence, with one or two noted exceptions, the
final results did not veer too far off the mark. As wartime conscription had
syphoned off many a ‘young’ actor to the European cause, the studio put out a
call on university campuses, hiring students to fill the void. Rather predictably,
the movie was ill-received by pacifists, who found its rally to war disturbing,
rather than inspirational. Nevertheless, the picture’s success dovetailed into
a Broadway stage adaptation that proved marginally popular with live audiences
as well. Sergeant York was also the subject of a half-hour radio adaptation.
Rather shamefully, it remains the only picture for which Howard Hawks was ever
Oscar-nominated – a grotesque oversight on the Academy’s part, given Hawks
illustrious back catalog of achievement.
Sergeant York arrives on Blu-ray via the Warner Archive in a
stunningly handsome B&W 1080p transfer that will surely delight. WAC has
done some stellar work in their time, and this one goes right to the top of
that list; deep, velvety blacks, clean whites, a light smattering of film grain
looking indigenous to its source, and, excellent contrast. Fine details are
marginally obscured. This image is definitely ‘soft’, owing to Sol
Polito’s heavily diffused cinematography, perhaps, or less than stellar elements used in the mastering effort. No hint of edge enhancement to mar the
experience and, better still, no age-related artifacts. In short, a real/reel night at the movies, looking utterly
miraculous, even in projection. The 1.0 DTS mono audio has been cleaned-up for
exceptional clarity and is much appreciated as well, showing off Max Steiner’s
robust main titles to their best advantage. Extras include an audio commentary
and a half-hour plus documentary on the making of the movie, with numerous reflections
from historians and critics, plus two of its then surviving players, June
Lockhart and Joan Leslie. There’s also a pair of vintage cartoon shorts. Bottom
line: Sergeant York is a patriotic flag-waving tribute to one of America’s
irrefutable war heroes. This Blu-ray valiantly presses on to bring the movie
into line with 21st century remastering efforts: a tale, still very
much as vibrant and engaging as the year it was made. Bottom line: very highly
recommended.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
0
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