James Stewart

  • The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)

    The Greatest Show on Earth (1952)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (Google Play Streaming, June 2020) Some Best Picture Oscar Winners are almost universally recognized as being weaker than the others, and The Greatest Show on Earth is often one of them. It’s not helped by the fact that it won the prize in the same year as High Noon (which was nominated) and Singin’ in the Rain (which wasn’t) were released. It rarely plays on TV, and I don’t recall any sustained critical attention about it except to bash it en passant in discussing Oscar-winners. I suppose that’s one of the reasons why it’s taken me so long to get to this film. It’s true that The Greatest Show on Earth is narratively weak—For a nearly two-and-a-half-hour film about the circus, there’s a three-ring-circus of subplots but only one of them is meant for the main stage. Revolving around a season in the life of the Barnum circus, the film often stops dead in its tracks to simply showcase the circus: the winter preparations, the train travels, the setup and takedown in each town and especially the numbers themselves. By most standards, this makes the film a bit uneven to watch, and dubious if you’re used to evaluating movies on strictly narrative merits. But (as much as it pains younger me, who believed it fervently) there’s a lot more to movies than plot, and The Greatest Show on Earth does exist in the same space as many early-talkie Hollywood movies that intended to bring the spectacles of other mediums (often Broadway) to the big screen. In historical context, The Greatest Show on Earth came at a time when movies were reacting to the arrival of TV with Technicolor and a wider aspect ratio and a conscious effort to show wonderful things to audiences. There’s something fascinating about depicting the intricate machinery of a circus and the sights and sounds of something grandiose. The film was produced with an exceptional amount of cooperation from the real Barnum Ringling circus, to the point of occasionally feeling like a big commercial. This takes on an even more precious quality now that the circus has, since 2017, stopped operating. Capturing the sights and sounds of the circus is important enough, and it will amply justify the film’s viewing for those people who may be interested in those things. The plot itself does serve in sticking things together, but most of its merit is in showcasing the circus rather than having stories. Still, it is fun to see Charlton Heston as a no-nonsense circus manager, James Stewart as a clown with a dark past, or Betty Hutton as a trapeze artist. The Greatest Show on Earth may not be a particularly strong Best Picture winner, but I’m still glad that I had an excuse to see it, as it may very well be the purest expression of Cecil B. DeMille’s thirst for spectacle.

  • The Mortal Storm (1940)

    The Mortal Storm (1940)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, June 2020) Hollywood doesn’t exactly have the most edifying track record of criticizing the Nazis before the war started—studios wanted to keep selling films to the German market, and despite what the official history will tell you, a high number of Americans (i.e.: Hollywood’s audience) were Nazi sympathizers, isolationists or apathetic to what was happening in Europe. The Mortal Storm, adapted from a 1937 novel by Phyllis Bottome, pushes the edges of the Production Code in virulently denouncing the Nazi regime by presenting a family of German resisters looking aghast as their country is transformed during the 1930s. It’s limited in what it can say (the word “Jew” is never said—the film uses “non-Aryan” as a substitute) thanks to the Production Code forbidding criticism of other governments, but the message is unmistakable. James Stewart shines as one of the most virtuous characters. The Mortal Storm’s very heavy-handed on-the-nose commentary certainly isn’t subtle, but it’s probably as overt as it could be at the time. Despite the film’s lulls and lengths, the film hasn’t really aged—by taking us inside a Germany shifting into authoritarianism, sometimes with Nazi characters that aren’t cartoonishly evil, it provides a useful guide to reflect on just what’s going on with the United States at the moment. Both a historical piece and unfortunately still current, The Mortal Storm isn’t just a WW2 propaganda piece.

  • The Stratton Story (1949)

    The Stratton Story (1949)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, April 2020) I must be overdosing on James Stewart’s movies, because there’s an impression of heavy déjà vu that hangs over the entire length of The Stratton Story and never quite goes away. Stewart as a baseball player? Yup, seen that before. Stewart in a biopic? Seen that before. Stewart playing loving couple with June Allyson? I certainly saw that already. The duality of Stewart is that he can do no wrong playing a humble likable character hailing from the heartland. Yet, at the same time, he never becomes anything else but James Stewart—he doesn’t disappear in the character as much as he makes the character him. This is fun to watch if you’re a fan of the actor, but the problem is that he forces the production to become “a Jimmy Stewart film.” Which may be for the best, given that The Stratton Story is otherwise a by-the-numbers biopic in the classical Hollywood mould, full of homegrown wisdom, conflicts between the family farm and the baseball field, terrible odds to overcome and a comeback hailed as a triumph. It’s easy to watch… but maybe harder to respect.

  • Of Human Hearts (1938)

    Of Human Hearts (1938)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, April 2020) How much you like Of Human Hearts will depend, I suppose, on your tolerance for nostalgic melodramatic Americana spanning decades of conflict between father and son from the 1850s to the American Civil War. Also, if you can tolerate a film whose climax is President Lincoln chastising the protagonist for not writing more often to his mother. (It’s not a dream sequence.) The drama feels unremarkable, the production values aren’t particularly impressive, and the characters are contrived. Just about the only bright spot is James Stewart’s role in the second part of the film, but he, too, is saddled with a mediocre script. Clearly optional for most, Of Human Hearts was once a crowd-pleaser, but now it just feels like it’s barely worth a shrug.

  • Born to Dance (1936)

    Born to Dance (1936)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, March 2020) Eleanor Powell is always worth watching, but James Stewart singing in a song-and-dance musical? Now that’s definitely worth a watch. No, as Born to Dance shows, he’s not good at it: there’s a reason why, in a long career, Stewart didn’t do many musical comedies. But to see him try to hold a note while Powell tap-dances up a storm around him is something well worth experiencing. The plot is an old staple of movie musicals: sailors on leave getting up to all sorts of romantic and comic hijinks. Still, it works well as a receptacle in which to place the musical numbers. Perhaps the most impressive of those is the finale, in which Powell tap-dances on a stage meant to look like a battleship: the kind of lavish, expansive musical numbers that defined the 1930s movie musical. Since Powell didn’t star in that many movies in a ten-year career, this performance (like many of her other ones) is a gem—and adding a young premier like Steward merely sweetens the pot. The rest of Born to Dance? Watchable, amusing, not necessarily memorable but quite entertaining in its own way. Powell, though: unforgettable.

  • The Glenn Miller Story (1954)

    The Glenn Miller Story (1954)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, March 2020) The good news when a Classic Hollywood studio hires James Stewart to play a historical figure in a biography is that, hey, you’re getting James Stewart and his likable quirks. But the double-edge sword is that you’re also getting James Stewart, far more than the character he’s supposed to play. That problem certainly affects The Glenn Miller Story—we’re seeing Stewart’s tics and affable mannerism more than the band leader who had an outside influence on American pop music prior to WW2. (Miller would die in a plane crash during the war, as he was hopping from one place to another to entertain the troops.) Not that Stewart is most major deviation from reality here—true to form for biopics of the era (perhaps any era), The Glenn Miller Story makes substantial changes to the real events in order to make a movie. Plus, Stewart gets more credible after the first few minutes, once he puts on the glasses and we get used to the role. Considering this, you have to appreciate what’s on screen—numerous cameos by real musicians, a nice 1950s Technicolor glossy sheen (albeit with showy colour effects with an obvious colour gel wheel), and screenwriting that clearly understands the nature of the assignment: The film is easy to watch and enjoyable in how it uses a big budget to deliver the goods to the viewers. (Not that it’s always perfect—it features some of the worst snow I can recall in a movie.) It all ends abruptly, especially considering Miller’s fate. Sure, you can nitpick and poke fun at the thorough Hollywoodization of Glenn Miller’s life into a very typical 1950s biopic. But as far as those go? There’s much worse than The Glenn Miller Story.

  • Winchester ’73 (1950)

    Winchester ’73 (1950)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, January 2020) There’s something interesting in that the film credited with jump-starting James Stewart’s run of 1950s Westerns is one that thematically delves into one of the central symbols of the western: the gun. Titled for the gun, revolving around the gun, propelled by the gun, almost entirely focused on the gun, Winchester ’73 both plays on the attraction of the gun and comments on how crazy it is that such an object could lead to murderous passion. This tension serves the film well, especially since it also applies to the redefinition of James Stewart into a rougher, more disillusioned persona—perhaps reflecting the lasting echoes of a war that left no one innocent, perhaps simply acknowledging one of the phase transitions that actors with long careers must face. This ended up being the first of eight collaborations between director Anthony Mann and James Stewart, many of them westerns that started asking questions about the mythology of the west. The film may star Stewart, but the plot favours the gun—the protagonist wins it in a shooting contest early on, then spends the rest of the film trying to get it back from a thief and everyone else who wants the gun for themselves. It’s rich thematic material even if the film doesn’t quite have the sophistication (or the guts) to fully explore what it means. Still, what Winchester ’73 does for its time is quite remarkable. There’s a near-mystical quality given to the titular gun and to all guns in general, even the Native American characters lusting after them as much as the white characters. All of this is accomplished with a big budget and good production values, meaning that the film remains interesting even if you’re not interested in digging into its meaning. Stewart is also remarkable, taking on a darker role with relish. Opinions are split as to whether this or later movies are the best of the Mann/Stewart era, but even as a first effort Winchester ’73 is worth a look.

  • Vivacious Lady (1938)

    Vivacious Lady (1938)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, January 2020) In retrospective, there was a different James Stewart for every decade. While he never abandoned the likability that made him one of Hollywood’s biggest stars, Stewart played to different strengths every decade. His best 1930s persona was that of the young romantic lead, a bit naïve, pursuing women more sophisticated than his character and over his head most of the time until came a conclusion that made good use of his good nature. In this light, Vivacious Lady is an almost prototypical Steward feature for the 1930s—not the best, but one of Stewart’s earliest starring roles and one that’s just as representative of what he was doing then as anything else. Here he plays a shy intellectual who falls in love with a Manhattan nightclub singer (Ginger Rogers) and marries her after a whirlwind romance. If that setup seems implausible, keep in mind that it’s a mere prelude for the real plot of the film—returning home to his parents, his job, and small-town prejudices. Forced in increasingly contrived situations (such as introducing her as his newest student), Vivacious Lady deftly plays with comic situations and character types, setting up situations to make us anticipate the result, then subverting them slightly for a surprise. Stewart is quite good in the leading role, but Ginger Rogers is just as good opposite him—she gets a few of the film’s biggest laughs, and she shares a slapping/counter-slapping sequence with Frances Mercer that quickly escalates into one of the film’s best scenes. The third act is a bit weaker than the rest, as it finally has to pull all of the subplots together. Still, Vivacious Lady is a pretty good screwball comedy, and it happens to star two of the best-remembered stars of the 1930s. Rumours have it that Rogers and Stewart had an affair while shooting the movie, and some of that energy is clearly perceptible on-screen.

  • The Flight of the Phoenix (1965)

    The Flight of the Phoenix (1965)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, November 2019) I really like engineering fiction, and The Flight of the Phoenix is clearly a landmark of the genre. The setup is a classic, as a plane goes down in the desert and the survivors must rebuild a second plane out of the wreckage of the first to fly back to civilization. The sequences in which the crashed plane is taken apart and rebuilt in a different are delicious, and even having seen the 2004 remake doesn’t quite take away the fun of the original.   But if you take a closer look, little of the plot’s middle section has to do with engineering, though: humans are their own worst enemies, and the film’s second act eventually becomes a lot of bickering between those who think the plan will work and those who don’t. Happily, the last act tightens around the effort to rebuild the plane, and the results of those efforts. While a bit too early to be considered a disaster movie, The Flight of the Phoenix’s director Robert Aldrich does anticipate one thing: the use of an ensemble cast in portraying responses to a life-threatening event. Here, the cast is better than most in having James Stewart (as a pilot, naturally) but also notables such as Richard Attenborough, Ernest Borgnine, Dan Duryea and George Kennedy. The desert cinematography will make you thirsty, but the reconstruction of the second plane is credibly portrayed. The film wasn’t without difficulties, though: ace aviator (and legendary stuntman pioneer) Paul Mantz died while filming, ironically because he was replacing his flying partner in shooting the scene. The result, however, is a film that pays good tribute to those aviation pioneers and daredevils of flying—and a captivating thriller to boot.

  • Strategic Air Command (1955)

    Strategic Air Command (1955)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, November 2019) While it features a serviceable story about a baseball player who finds meaning in aerial service, you can argue that the real job of Strategic Air Command was in acting as of Cold War Propaganda about one of the newest and most crucial wings of the American military in the decade following World War II—its fleet of bombers making up a substantial portion of the nuclear deterrent force. James Stewart stars, as no one else would: Stewart famously served in the US Air Force during and after WW2, eventually attaining the rank of brigadier general in the Air Force Reserves by the end of the 1950s—becoming not only the highest-ranking actor in Hollywood history, but also a pilot on the B-52 bomber. He was, as the film’s production history attests, a driving force in its production—clearly influencing its tone as a propaganda piece and starring as the affable, amiable protagonist who sees a service tour becomes a career. For military aviation buffs, Strategic Air Command is a great document about the transition of the US bomber wings from propeller to jet-powered planes: the colour cinematography captures many period details, and the script is meant to be reasonably exact about the procedures and units it follows. It’s not a difficult film to watch: several amusing or suspenseful incidents help populate the story in between footage of planes in action. There’s an ineluctable sexism at play in the story (what with the dependent wife supporting her husband in his new career and ever-changing assignments) which is to be taken as a further illustration of the values in play at the time. Still, it’s hard to resist Stewart and the opportunity to see vintage footage of shiny old planes. Director Anthony Mann was clearly slumming here—the film has none of the interest of the westerns he also did with Stewart. But you can file this one as a favour for his friend Stewart—at least he keeps the film interesting to watch throughout, even if the material can be thin at times. There is a straight and bold connecting line between Strategic Air Command and Top Gun.

  • Made for Each Other (1939)

    Made for Each Other (1939)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On TV, November 2019) I’ll watch James Stewart in just about everything he’s done, and the first few minutes of Made for Each Other certainly give us a good example of what was Stewart’s first memorable screen person—that of a romantic lead, eager and competent and sweet and likable at once. As he comes back from a trip to Boston with a new bride, his issues multiply at home and at work. His mom doesn’t like his new wife, his boss doesn’t like that he married someone other than his daughter and with a new baby and a Depression-era pay cut soon following, the romance, initially so charming, ends up turning sour. But if you thought there were two movies here, rest assured that there’s yet another one as the third act: a highly melodramatic conclusion which their baby can only be saved through a daredevil flight to deliver crucial medicine. Everything turns out to be OK, but the final result feels like three different movies crashing into each other: a quirky sweet romance that turns into domestic drama that turns into faintly ludicrous melodrama. Stewart remains good throughout—and having Carole Lombard as the female lead doesn’t hurt either. But Made for Each Other ends up feeling lesser than its parts, not quite managing the tonal shifts that the narrative’s swerves require. It’s still worth a look for the actors and the period atmosphere, but it’s not what it could have been. At least we have another movie showcasing Stewart as a dashing young man.

  • The Spirit of St. Louis (1957)

    The Spirit of St. Louis (1957)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, February 2019) Considering Hollywood’s enduring love affair for American heroes (even if we have to scrub a bit of their non-heroics along the way), it was inevitable that sooner or later, Charles Lindbergh would be brought to the forefront with The Spirit of St. Louis. And while James Stewart was far too old at 49 to play Lindbergh (who was 25 at the time of the film’s event), you have to take into account Stewart’s obvious enthusiasm and technical qualifications to play the role of an experienced flyer—as a draftee and then a reserve officer, he flew bombers from WW2 to the Vietnam War. The script focuses tightly on Lindbergh’s trip and not so much on the less heroic aspects of his later life, but as co-written by Billy Wilder The Spirit of St. Louis becomes a fascinating aeronautical procedural as Lindbergh works to develop the plane that will carry him from one side of the Atlantic to the other, and then wait patiently for a good weather opportunity even as others are also racing to make the trip. Director Howard Hawks is in his element here as he describes the relationship between Lindbergh and his plane during the gruelling transatlantic flight. Even the film’s length and overused voiceovers help us feel the isolation and experimental nature of the solo trip. The predictable shout-outs to divine power become annoying, but the film’s clever structure keeps things more interesting than a strictly chronological approach would have done. Perhaps the most fascinating aspect of the film is how it manages to create suspense out of a story that everyone knows, with a foreordained conclusion. The Spirit of St. Louis is certainly not a perfect film, but it does create something very entertaining out of three legendary creators (Wilder, Hawks, Stewart) and a landmark historical event.

  • The Philadelphia Story (1940)

    The Philadelphia Story (1940)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On DVD, June 2018) The great things about digging deeper and deeper in a hobby is that the digging eventually produces its own rewards. In my case, I’ve been watching older and older movies, and discovering new favourite actors. To have The Philadelphia Story pop up on my pile of films to watch at this point is a gift: A movie starring Katharine Hepburn and James Stewart and Cary Grant? What have I done to get such a treat? Even better: it’s a screwball comedy, fast establishing itself as one of my favourite bygone genres. I was primed for a good time and got exactly what I wanted: A fast, witty, fun romantic comedy featuring Hepburn at her most alluring, Stewart as his usual sympathetic self and Grant in a plum comic role. The script provides witty lines, great characters and a savvy understanding of the mechanics of the genre, while director George Cukor keeps things moving even as the film multiplies small subplots on the way to a satisfying conclusion. Among supporting players, Ruth Hussey is surprisingly fun as a no-nonsense photographer, while Virginia Weidler is a discovery as a sassy young sister. Still, this is a picture that belongs to Hepburn, perfectly cast as a woman struggling with goddess-hood. Both Stewart and Grant also play to their strengths, helping to make The Philadelphia Story a definitive statement about three screen legends. It still plays exceptionally well today.

  • Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

    Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, February 2018) It’s practically impossible to be an American political junkie and not know about Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, given the film’s stature as a statement about the American political system and its iconic representation of James Stewart as a filibusterer. Curiously enough, though, I had never seen the film. Not so curiously enough, I had seen enough of James Stewart to be an unqualified fan of the actor even before watching Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. That may explain why I spent most of the film in a buoyant joy, watching one of my all-time favourite actor in a film that, perhaps now more than ever, still resonates as an eloquent paean to the ideals of American-style democracy despite the messiness of its practice. It wasn’t necessarily perceived as such, though—If I believe the contemporary snippets quoted on the film’s Wikipedia page, the film was initially condemned for its cynical take on the corruption of the system, and the idealistic nature of its protagonist’s struggles. But while such an approach may have shocked well-meaning commentators then, it may strike contemporary viewers as healthy informed idealism today. Corruption is a natural enemy of governance at all times (now more than ever, considering a current presidential administration that spins off a new scandal every three days) but a healthy government has ways to fight back, and it sometimes takes just one person with the right ideals to make things happen. I still think that the film ends without a satisfying coda, that Stewart’s character is initially presented as too much of a simpleton, and that we don’t see nearly enough of Jean Arthur. On the other hand, Frank Capra’s film remains just as sharp and compelling today as it was—even the climactic filibuster sequence, with its near-real-time popular manipulation and reaction, still plays exceptionally well in this age of constant news cycle. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is an acknowledged classic for a reason, and you don’t have to be a political junkie nor a James Stewart devotee to understand why.

  • You Can’t Take it With You (1938)

    You Can’t Take it With You (1938)

    ByChristian Sauvé Movie Review

    (On Cable TV, February 2018) Despite James Stewart’s considerable charm (and here he has the chance to play as pure a young romantic lead as he ever got), it took me a while to warm up to You Can’t Take it with You. Despite an eccentric cast of characters, it takes a long time for the comedy to truly take off. Fortunately, this happens midway through, as an explosive sequence is followed up by a rather amusing courtroom sequence. That’s when director Frank Capra feels freest to truly unleash the madness of his characters, and what it means for the plot. Less successful is the film’s last act, which focuses on more manners moral lessons (it’s right there in the title), lessening the film’s laugh quotient but ensuring that it would present an easy moral lesson fit for the film to win that year’s Best Picture Oscar. This being said, the film is not a chore to watch even today. James Stewart is always good, of course, while Lionel Barrymore is unusually sympathetic as the patriarch of an oddball family and 15-year-old Ann Miller makes an impression as the family’s dance-crazy daughter. The film’s mid-point highlight is good for a few laughs, and even easy moral lessons can work well in wrapping up a satisfying viewing experience. As a checkmark for best Picture completists, it’s an odd but not a bothersome entry.