A central question emerges from of the various criticisms leveled at Joseph McBride's Frank Capra; The Catastrophe of Success, which boil down to this: does McBride have an axe to grind with regards to Frank Capra? Apparently a number of Capra loyalists believe this to be the case and consider his book as something of a hit piece. This criticism of his criticism, however does not resonate with me. In my view any book as painstakingly researched and accurately told as McBride's is perfectly capable of proving that it's observations are not a matter of conjecture, rumor or prejudice but based on hard cold fact.
After immersing himself in the material to such an exhaustive extent McBride deserves the privilege of shaping his case in any way he sees fit and is entitled to a bit of editorializing, something he does very judiciously. His well-made arguments are quite conservative in their presentation if not in their point of view and not one of them, as far as I could tell, is based upon hearsay or innuendo. To show that level of restraint in a six hundred and fifty page biography indicates a level of maturity that you will not find in this review, for example, nor in most others.
That's not to say that I don't understand where the accusations are stemming from. McBride does seem to view Capra through a fairly critical lens. To understand this it may help to look at those directors who McBride seems to favor over Capra, namely John Ford and Orson Wells both of whose core values and politics, unlike Capra's, align with his own. Both Ford and Wells come closer than Capra to what one would describe as auteurs due to the breadth of their personal visions and holistic approach to filmmaking. Preston Sturges, whose style perhaps most resembles Capra's, was both a writer and director and therefore between the two is the one who can much more accurately be called an auteur.
That's not to say that McBride's intensely detailed and at times exhaustingly dense look at Capra's life doesn't occasionally come across as an epic prosecutor's summation damning the character of one of America's most beloved film directors. But McBride seems to be more than just a prosecutor, he's also an investigative journalist, a psychologist, a father confessor and of course a film theorist. At it's best The Catastrophe of Success reads like a good novel as rich and complex as Tolstoy's most sprawling efforts.
After ones gets through the childhood section, which is crucial to understanding Capra but includes a few details which may feel slightly excessive, the book takes off and does not stop for another five hundred pages. In general, the vast majority of the book was an absolute page-turner which I think has nothing to do with ones interest in or fondness for Capra himself. It is the book Capra would have written if he only had the guts, the author's tone seems to imply. Interestingly McBride's energetically honest approach to the book is the kind of bold approach that we would expect of a Capra character.
The only place that the book's pace eases a bit was in the dense sections dealing with the various investigations into Capra's loyalty which, however fascinating, illustrated such an absurd and convoluted experience for him that it was almost hard to take. That's when Capra's life as well as the book start to become Kafkaesque, presenting a web which cannot be completely untangled though McBride does his best. That sticky unresolved period in American history is precisely when the U.S. became ensnared in the very trap of homegrown neo-fascism that Capra's films such as Meet John Doe and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, warn us about.
Many of Capra's films point an accusing finger at the corrupt men of wealth and power who, far more than communists, have tried to undermine or curtail American democracy going all the way back to its inception. Capra, at his best, portrayed such treasonous behind-the-scenes maneuverings more directly and more accessibly than almost any other director and did it, ironically enough, with a great deal of help from far left leaning screenwriters. Only films like Seven Days In May and Dr. Strangelove, so purposefully pulled back the curtain on officialdom in America and those films came much later than Capra's rabble-rousing masterpieces and appeal more to the intellect than to our emotions as Capra's films did.
But if Capra was a government informer, as the book reveals, why then would his own loyalty to America (if not to it's ruling elite) be questioned over and over by military investigators? There seems to be no easy answer yet McBride comes as close as humanly possible to shedding light on the issue. The Capra depicted in Catastrophe of Success is practically a shell of a man who, when Hollywood sneezed, seemed to be the one to catch a cold. But of course, nobody in the industry survived the Hollywood blacklist period without some level of culpability, guilt, shame or remorse. It was a period that left such a black mark on Hollywood that motion pictures have yet to fully recover from the creative and intellectual blow.
It seems a bit unfair to hold McBride responsible for Capra's many personal failings and to somehow expect him to cover them up. None of us wants to imagine that the man who directed those moving films was also capable of anti-semitic tirades against the studio brass, but it's the inescapable truth. On the other hand, we can't hold Capra individually responsible for his own shortcomings considering the fact that he didn't invent racism or moral conformity he just happened to be important enough for people to care about his values years after he is dead and gone.
Once McBride assumed the hefty responsibility of an undertaking as definitive as this biography is, all that was left to do was follow his conscience. Capra and McBride shared the same artistic mentor in John Ford, even if only from afar. Each of them seem to emulate Ford's habit of printing both the fact and the legend. What else could McBride do when his research turned up an avalanche of contradictions and misdirects in Capra's own version of his story in The Name Above The Title. To his credit, the title of Capra's autobiography may subtly indicate that it is, perhaps, less about him and more about his myth.
As a veteran biographer, McBride must have had a good sense of how much liberty the average director usually takes in their autobiographies. Comparing stories in various biographies, autobiographies and verbal accounts in order to try to get closer to the truth is, in some ways, the very medium of the biographer. When confronted with a duplicitous abrogation of facts an author is left with two choices, to either gloss over the subject's self-serving manipulations or to confront them head on. Figuring out which path is most suitable might be best handled on a case-by-case basis factoring in the nature of the mistruths and their frequency.
To decide which path was appropriate for Frank Capra required an honest look beyond the rosy, optimistic, festival of egalitarian justice and integrity that he captured in his films. McBride had to venture deep into the dark terrain of Capra's weaknesses or else risk becoming what Capra himself became in his later years - a man with nothing to say.
While John Ford was symbolically immense and his films represented something even larger than America, Capra's films more than any other director's may represent the heart and soul of the United States during the period he made them. If we compare Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, for example, To Stagecoach, in style, characterization, tone, structure and atmosphere we find that there is something decidedly European about Stagecoach (which was loosely based on a play by Maupassant) and something decidedly American about Mr. Smith (based on and unpublished American short story.)
Ford was after all, an artist first and foremost and was highly influenced by F.W. Murnau, when he made, among other films, the expressionistic The Informer, set in Ireland, which is a truly universal film indelibly linked to our European past. Mr. Smith on the other hand feels like a film that could only have been made in America and has come to represent everything that was noble and fine about Hollywood despite its ever present dark side.
Ford appeared to be more at home side-stepping the time and place that he lived in as if he knew that his views would eventually get him into trouble. So instead he avoided the label of artist or socially conscious director because he sensed (in part by watching the demise of his brother's early silent career) that there were things that the titans of Hollywood (and their east coast backers) would never be at home with. His standard line when introducing himself, "I direct westerns" was revealing a private joke that can only be detected in the subtle hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Capra, who lacked the kind of evolving worldview that may have allowed his films to be more uniquely his own, made the brilliant choice of hiring screenwriters who were outspoken critics of tyranny and injustice. He seemed to understand that American's went to the movies to get in touch with their emotions and root for the underdog. Experiencing a vicarious triumph in the face of adversity seemed to help audiences cope with their own perceived suffering. Capra's "formula" in truth dated back to the medicine shows of old, B-westerns of the silent era, dime novels and gospel sermons, all of which dealt in the same brand of emotional redemption which, though inherited from European roots, has evolved into something uniquely American.
By choosing to write such an all encompassing book McBride is attempting to tell us something about ourselves as Americans; to help explain how we got from It's A Wonderful Life to It's a Good Day To Die Hard. Today, it could be argued that far too many film goers would rather embrace a fiery inferno of bullets and explosions than be tricked into opening their hearts to something that they might later decide was not worthy of their emotions.
This seems to be what McBride's generation went through with their oscillating love/hate relationship to Capra and Ford films. They loved them until their hearts were broken by the traumas of the 50s and 60s after which time they decided old Hollywood was passé, only to change their minds back again when history turned another corner and younger generations began vigorously embracing the golden age. This was also true, during approximately the same period, of the immensely popular artists Fredrick Church and Norman Rockwell, whose work dropped in value to the point that even collectors were not interested yet now fetch record breaking figures at the auction houses. "Populism is back," as the New York Times reported in reference to one such record breaking auction, reflecting the cultural effort being made to keep the baby from being thrown out with the bathwater.
McBride draws attention to Capra's artistic demise after It's A Wonderful Life and the controversial suggestion that his work was never rooted in a true artistic vision of his own. Without, Lady For a Day, It Happened One Night, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, You Can't Take It With You, Mr. Smith Goes To Washington, Meet John Doe and It's A Wonderful Life, Capra would most likely fall into the category of dozens of solid but relatively anonymous Hollywood directors whose work is admired and enjoyed more than adored and revered. Seven, monumental films may seem like a lot but when you compare it to Ford who made close to forty classics one becomes aware of the vast difference between these two rivals for the crown of the Golden age.
It seems to me that the stars had to be aligned just right for Capra to get into the zone, while Ford and a small handful of other directors around the world could manage to get themselves in the zone even while making their weakest films under the least favorable conditions. I'm happy to watch Ford's The Fugitive over and over despite its often-lamented flaws but Meet John Doe, one of Capra's most famous and meaningful films isn't something I'm drawn back to - despite the importance of it's message which I heartily agree with. There is an over riding genius at work even in Ford's worst films while some of Capra's best films are in parts overwrought, wooden or hackneyed.
My rejection of It's A Wonderful Life while growing up, before the film managed to capture my imagination as an adult, was due to the precise reason set forth in The Catastrophe of Success; that Capra had politically regressed when he downgraded from a credible fascist villain in Meet John Doe to the less symbolically relevant "warped, frustrated old man" in It's A Wonderful Life's Potter. The problem for me is that neither film comes close to the power of Mr. Smith made before the other two indicating that it may have been the peak of the golden age that caused Capra's stars to so perfectly align. Though I consider It's A Wonderful Life to be a far superior film than Meet John Doe, perhaps because it was a more personal film to Capra, I appreciate the depiction of the villain in Meet John Doe far more than the simplistic and reductionist Mr. Potter.
Frankly I think Capra would have been better off sticking to Trumbo's discarded adaptation of It's A Wonderful Life which, from McBride's account sounds like a far more interesting script and the fact that he didn't use it could be attributed to the fear of being associated with yet another communist screenwriter.
Our great directors reacted to the crushing assault on their own liberties following the war (As Ford put it: "What were we fighting for?") by clandestinely trying to tell us the truth. The remorse and melancholy ran deep but the message was there for those attuned to reading the subtext. Gandhi was right; "In the midst of untruth, truth persists, in the midst of death, life persists, in the midst of darkness, light persists."
Strangely enough, the Hollywood films made at the height of the blacklist period seem to be even more socially conscious than most contemporary films. Observations about class based injustices and heart wrenching stories that took swipes at power and corruption remained very much the norm in Hollywood and there were still many traces of liberal/left thinking among writers and directors during and after the blacklisting. There was also a demand on the part of disheartened audiences for genuine moral leadership to rise out of the malaise of the HUAC period.
When that leadership did not arrive in the form of our cinema and literature greats our culture seemed to naturally turn to the idealistic youth who provided with ease what they are always good at providing when called upon to do so: rebellion. Young America, with it's love of Jazz, beat poetry and various other forbidden fruits, were not nearly as cowed as Hollywood by the freakish HUAC episode.
It must have been almost a shock to the film industry when the entire country resoundingly defeated the red baiting witch hunters through a swift shift in public opinion that blew down their entire house of cards. The problem that remained, of course, was that the house of cards was sitting on top of a house of gold that was not so easily challenged since everybody wanted a piece of it, including the once rebellious baby boomers.
Capra was no exception, but figuring out how to get a piece of that gold, with ones artistic integrity in tact, while informing on former colleagues whose careers were being ruined, was simply too tall an order for the would-be idealist. That Darrel Zanuck went on to make Viva Zapata with Elia Kazan in 1951 is perhaps a testament to Zanuck's ability to defy the New York/Washington Power structure. Kazan's ability to turn out a relatively decent film, though it is plodding and far from one of his best, is perhaps due to the fact that he was a true artist despite any character flaws he may have had. Kazan may have been selfish and even cutthroat in his zest to save his career but his primary reason for wanting to make films seemed to be personal and artistic otherwise he would have likely tackled much milder subject matter.
Adding social commentary to films is simply a natural ingredient of what often makes them great, but Kazan and others were also trying desperately to compensate (and rationalize) their self-searving tendencies and to take full advantage of the regrettable position of having survived the blacklist. Rather than simply run for cover, as Capra did, the truly shrewd and dedicated directors realized that they needed to encode their radicalism in their work in a show of almost defiant subservience to compensate for their appeasement.
Capra seemed to attempt this with State of The Union which drips of the same self-hatred which anticipates such films as Sweet Smell of Success which was written by another namer of names Clifford Odets. The failure of State of the Union however was not in it's content but in it's direction as if Capra's heart was not truly in it. The crescendo at the end seems to be adequate as far as the script is concerned, but that old Capra magic is sadly and unmistakably gone. Perhaps because he was not really comfortable making such a bold and painfully honest statement at that time.
Kazan and several other great directors attempted redemption through their films even if they only occasionally achieved it. Kazan deserves some credit for trying to help us understand what had happened to him and others with On The Waterfront, (in the form of a rationalization) and A Face In The Crowd (a brilliant if somewhat raw and self-loathing film) before tapering off into slow decline like most of the other directors who survived the witch, hunts. It was like surviving the Titanic; nobody came out smelling very good.
McBride's book teaches us that completely dispensing with ones conscience in ones work for expediency as Capra seems to have finally done, is a sure fire way to loose touch with your audience, loose money for the studio and loose touch with yourself. For the studios and even the New York power brokers who were most likely the ones to secretly orchestrate the blacklisting, still craved the profits and cultural control that socially conscious yet highly tempered films and directors could provide them.
Ford's Rio Grand is a perfect example of a great work of art thoroughly disguised as light entertainment due to the demands made on him by the political climate as well as by the reactionary producer, Herbert Yates. The hero, Kirby York, is a martinet and conformist yet a great man and brilliant leader all the same - like for example Eisenhower who would be elected three years later. The military is glamorized and the Indians are intoxicated savages, making it look like the right-wingers finally got Ford to give them what they wanted.
But just when one becomes resigned to the idea that the film is no more than a masterful visual experiment the regimental singers belt out a song relating to the struggle of left leaning insurgents in Ireland as they serenade General Sheridan. The General, so subtly and masterfully played by J. Carrol Naish, cocks his head in recognition of the subtle message being sent his way and ours during the eye of the red scare storm. The excuse for the songs inclusion may have on the surface been that Kirby's wife is a Southerner, linking the southern rebellion to the Irish rebellion. But the eerie handling of the scene with it's strange, almost painfully cryptic subtext, tells us that much more is at play. The way Kirby seems to respectfully snub the General, who appears caught off guard by the swift end to the evenings festivities, could be Ford's way of gently thumbing his nose at the nations high command.
The difficulty in comparing Capra to other great directors is that he sometimes comes across as more of a skilled craftsman or a producer/director who brilliantly stumbled into a handful of films that manage to transcend their lowbrow entertainment value and in doing so became great works of art. Ford's partner Marion Cooper comes to mind as being in a similar, if not as exalted, position with his classic King Kong; a B-movie with A-movie ambitions that become one of the most well known films of all time. The comparative supremacy of populist sentiment and tastes in cinema is evident in the iconic status an actor like John Wayne when compared to the arguably more talented Laurence Olivier. What Wayne lacked in acting range and technique he, on more than one occasion, made up for with his deep personal connection to the common folk.
Capra's films seemed to mirror populist sentiments while Ford was more inclined to pay artistic homage them. Stagecoach is a prime example as an incredibly crafted tribute to B-westerns, which were notorious for being poorly crafted. Fascinating that the first art-house western was a glorification of it's low-brow predecessors. Conversely, Capra's films have the same sense of spectacle and suspenseful circus like atmosphere found in the old time gag films where he got his start with only the addition of more politically pointed scripts and superior cinematography to distinguish them.
Capra's brand of snappy, street savvy humor was a mainstay of vaudeville which inspired the comedy giants of the silent era as well as, I would imagine, the screw ball comedies of Hawks, Wilder and Cukor. Capra was not alone in pioneering this particular aspect of the American aesthetic, which had its roots in our folk culture and popular humor. He channeled the warmth and sophistication of the American wit in the same recognizable form as many other directors before and after him. His Gal Friday is an example of the type of script I imagine Capra would have liked to direct. What Capra brought to this shared sensibility was, of all things, seriousness, which was rare in such lighthearted films. Sometimes that seriousness came across as a bit too insistent and other times as poignant and wise but overall his contribution may represent less of an artistic achievement than a cultural one.
Capra managed to brilliantly carve out a position for himself in the grand scheme of things, vying for the big awards through grit, determination and by boyishly appealing to people's better instincts. The secret McBride reveals is that Capra's method for doing this was to use left leaning writers to give his films their punch despite personally holding staunchly conservative views. Despite the apparent radicalism of his films, Capra is shown colluding on the side of the producers in the fight against the guilds and on the side of the witch hunters during the madness of the HUAC hearings.
Though Capra was heralded as a great director and technically has to be classified that way, I can understand where McBride is taking his argument and why. Not in an attempt to diminish Capra's achievements but only to reveal the truth about his inner conflicts and restore credit to Riskin where credit is due. But what I pull out of McBride's telling of Capra's story is that as a director, Capra's approach and sensibility may have ultimately been more in keeping with men like Zanuck and Cohn than with many of his more poetically or intellectually inclined fellow directors.
On the surface Capra appears to be a true film artist yet McBride suggests that he may not have been as much of a visionary as he is given credit for and/or took credit for. Even so, the Catastrophe of Success takes nothing away from Capra's best films - it simply places them in their proper context to provide the most complete understanding possible, of the films, the man and the era that birthed them.
What Capra wisely did, when he recognized the failure of his ability to "have something to say," was to bring in collaborators who would inject their own statements into the heart of his work allowing him to embellish and polish as he saw fit. Capra's contribution surely made the package more entertaining and presentable, something that message driven screenwriters generally require to keep their work from becoming too pedantic.
According to McBride's critics, his version of Capra's story is flawed and represents a left wing bias all because of his claim that Capra was not as singularly responsible for his film's greatness as people think and that Riskin, a communist, deserved more credit than he got. Although I tend to see the power of Hollywood's golden age to "lift all ships" as being just as significant to Capra's achievements as Riskin was, I completely accept that Riskin was a much bigger part of the equation than Capra (or Hollywood) was ever willing to give him credit for.
A perfect example of a director who rose higher artistically than he might otherwise have been able to due to the golden era was Henry Hathaway. In comparison, Hathaway's prolific career longevity seems almost as significant to Hollywood history as Capra's two or three stellar classics. Hathaway's Shepherd of The Hills (1941) staring Betty Field (Florrie Pether from 7 Women and Nona Tucker in Renoir's The Southerner) is an extremely American film in flavor and subject and has at it's center John Ford's closest family of actors. It is a brilliant and poetic artistic achievement by a director known mostly for solid entertainment. But the film is based more upon populist simplicity then far-reaching left wing aspirations which may be part of the reason it is not as relevant to modern audiences as Capra's films of that period.
It was no coincidence that 1939, the undisputed peak of the golden era, was the year Mr. Smith Goes to Washington was made. That was the apex year when almost every Hollywood film seemed somehow blessed both aesthetically and philosophically. Some of the most mediocre movies from that year (and the surrounding years) have something special about them, a magic that is both timeless as well as unique to that moment in history. The list of truly great films from 1939, Wizard of Oz among them, is astounding. The list of golden age classics surrounding that year is even more staggering when compared to any other six or seven year span in cinema's hundred plus year history.
What caused this surge in quality? It can almost be viewed as the spiritual and ethical awareness that stemmed from the globally unifying, universally conscious rejection of fascism by the majority of people on the planet. Capra was a golden boy in the mythical studio system at a golden time who peaked with everybody else but was then unable to emotionally or professionally survive the surge of neo-fascism here at home. As great as It Happened One Night was, if Capra had never allowed himself to get caught up in the more socially conscious attitudes of the depression era, he simply wouldn't have made it so high on the list of great directors.
It is interesting that the film Ford made at Columbia that was written by Capra collaborators Riskin and Swerling (The Whole Town's Talking) could be described as Capraesque. But, as mentioned earlier, what we think of as Capraesque or Riskinesque could also be seen as simply a style popular in Hollywood that Capra, Riskin and several others brilliantly emulated and often epitomized. The Whole Town's Talking is is also one of Jean Arthur's great roles which her Saunders in Mr. Smith seems at least partially modeled after, a fact that supports McBride's primary thesis. One could even argue that Edward G. Robinson's Arthur Ferguson is a pre-cursor to Stewart's Mr. Smith opening the possibility that Mr. Smith scribe Sydney Buchman was highly influenced by Ford and Riskin's wonderful achievement - in some ways establishing Capra's style before Capra himself discovered it.
Preston Sturges was another director with a flare for class conscious, up tempo, narrative driven comedies that share a great deal with Capra's films (Such as Sullivan's Travels and Lady Eve) yet he was not blessed or encumbered by the same intense desire to right the wrongs of the world that seemed to seize Capra and his writers during the build up to the war. His Palm Beach Story, a lightly disguised depiction of the Rockefeller heirs is critical but also forgiving as if he was aiming for an atmosphere of unity and forgiveness rather than all out class warfare. It is interesting when J.D. Hackensacker III labels private sleeper cars un-American to explain his sleeping in a standard bunk revealing a long lost value system which requires even the rich to shun ostentatious displays of wealth.
Ford's Steamboat Round The Bend is another example of a film with many of the ingredients of a Sturges or Capra film indicating the shared stylistic elements which directors of the day dabbled in while they searched for their own distinctive signatures. In order to trace Capra's roots to their origin we may have to come to terms with who, Riskin, Buchman, Swerling and Capra's main influences were. Who were the true pioneers of that utterly American style of filmmaking that Capra sometimes seemed to embody more than most? More likely than not, the roots trace back to a time before the film medium even existed. They were the same roots that had shaped the film and publishing moguls in their constant search for resounding hits.
Populism in film generally requires engaging in populist sentiment and championing populist causes. Although many great films contain these types of elements they don't have to in order to be great. But for entertainment to rise to the level of great art, folksy class conscious messages are often the deciding factor such as with classics like Breaking Away, Rocky and Roger & Me.
McBride's near scientific approach and his evidence based arguments could perhaps benefit from an exploration of Capra, Riskin and Buchman's artistic influences. It might have been helpful to mitigate the harsh reality of what happened to them in the 50s by thoroughly celebrating the gifts they and their predecessors contributed to the world. Zanuck and Cohn are good examples of very flawed individuals who were instrumental in bringing about some of our most socially conscious films. It is difficult but possible to celebrate elevated achievements without having to conceal the depressing truth about the personal and professional failings of those who brought them about. McBride does a better job of this than most.
If the brash, dictatorial, dollar driven producers of Hollywood were dualistic in their allegiances, it is certainly true for the mild mannered, conscience stricken, romantic yet somewhat selfish and insecure man who was Frank Capra. All of them, despite their flaws, added something of vital importance to the life of the community. We have perhaps not yet fully learned to appreciate the significance that motion pictures have in shaping our world even though the ruling elite figured it out at the peak of the golden era when they saw their cultural supremacy evaporate within a few short years. Without Hollywood's prolific and distinctly humane output leading up to the war, the fascists may indeed have won.
It seems just as important to illuminate the elevation and strength that the golden era afforded us, as it is to come to terms with the flaws and weaknesses of those involved. A good many Hollywood producers and directors of the time including Capra seemed to resemble the Dude character in Lady For A Day, or Saunders in Mr. Smith or Ann Mitchel in Meet John Doe; fundamentally average power seekers who had soft spots for justice and good intentions that betrayed their cynicism when push came to shove. (To read the rest of this review see the link in the comments section below)
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