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My Darling Clementine (1946)
John Ford Prints the Legend
In 1966, John Ford told film critic and fledgling director Peter Bogdanovich that he knew Wyatt Earp back in the early days of Hollywood, when the aging former marshal of Dodge City and Tombstone would visit the sets of Westerns that Ford worked on as a prop boy. "I used to give him a chair and a cup of coffee", Ford said, "and he told me about the fight at the O.K. Corral. So in My Darling Clementine we did it exactly the way it had been."
While Ford probably did know Wyatt Earp, and Earp no doubt told him about the famous gunfight, history tells us that the shootout, as portrayed in Clementine, was not the way it really happened.
But it doesn't matter. As the newspaperman tells Senator Ransom Stoddard in Ford's THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE, "when the legend becomes fact, print the legend."
My Darling Clementine is not only arguably the best Western by the best director of Westerns in the history of motion pictures, it could very well represent the apex of John Ford's long and distinguished career. It stands at the mid point of that career, 1946, America's first full year of peace following World War II -- the central event of the 20th century and of Ford's life (he served as head of the Field Photographic Branch of the Office of Strategic Services and actually filmed, and was wounded at, the Battle of Midway).
The film follows Ford's recurring theme of America's manifest destiny, the inevitable settling of the frontier, which he treated as progress in his early years (THE IRON HORSE, DRUMS ALONG THE MOHAWK), and with a bittersweet melancholy later (THE MAN WHO SHOT LIBERTY VALANCE, CHEYENNE AUTUMN). That melancholy begins to reveal itself here, following the costliest was in terms of human lives in history.
In the film Wyatt Earp is played by Henry Fonda, Ford's hand-picked leading man for the period following the death of Will Rogers and preceding the maturation of John Wayne as an actor. Fonda's Earp is the classic Ford hero, removed from society, quietly confident, basically nonviolent, but nevertheless commanding the uneasy respect of others -- partially because of the threat of violence sometimes necessary to keeping the peace. And he is ultimately unable to share in the peace and security which he makes possible for others.
In contrast to Wyatt's confident serenity, Doc Holliday (Victor Mature) is a haunted, tragic figure, civilization's outcast (and a perfect antihero for the film noir era). It is through Doc that we see the first hints of Ford's encroaching postwar cynicism, which would culminate with THE SEARCHERS ten years later. We learn that Doc was once a surgeon (the real Doc Holliday was a dentist, another negligible historical discrepancy), a valuable, functioning member of society, his career presumably cut short by alcoholism, consumption and some undisclosed ghosts, which apparently still haunt him. His intense desire to escape civilization, and indeed life, is reflected in Hamlet's soliloquy, which he finishes reciting from memory for the distraught traveling player, Granville "Mr. Shakespeare" Thorndyke: But that the dread of something after death . . ./ . . . makes us rather bear those ills we have,/ Than to fly to others that we know not of?/ Thus conscience does make cowards of us all . . . Doc's consumptive "inner bleeding" takes on new meaning during his recitation of this passage. We can't help but believe that he sacrifices himself willingly in the climactic conflict.
The Clanton family provides the impetus for Wyatt's remaining in Tombstone as marshal, by murdering his youngest brother, James, and rustling the Earp brothers' cattle. The Clantons, like the Cleggs family would be a few years later in Ford's ode to Mormon settlers, WAGONMASTER, are the embodiment of evil, demented and motherless - "Family Values" gone awry. The women in the film represent two sides of the Old West: Clementine Carter (Cathy Downs) is the civilizing angel from the East, come to rescue Doc from himself and bring him back to Boston; and Chihuahua (Linda Darnell), who wants to run away with Doc to Mexico, is the wild, open frontier. These women are ostensibly rivals for Doc's affections, but Holliday takes neither one too seriously. He seems to know that his demons are unconquerable and that an ill fate awaits him, from which he can't be saved. Doc's thoughtless neglect of Chihuahua results in her becoming involved with Billy Clanton, which in turn leads to her death - perhaps a symbolic step towards the death of the Old West. Clementine, however, begins to receive a great deal of attention from Wyatt, providing hope for growth and peace in Tombstone, and the possibility of making it a place where kids like James can "grow up safe", as Wyatt puts it, reflecting alongside the grave of his slain brother.
The centerpiece of the film is the dance scene, which unfolds majestically as Wyatt and Clementine meet by "chance" in the lobby of the Mansion House hotel and begin their stately walk towards the framework of the unfinished "first church of Tombstone". The sound of a tolling church bell and the strains of one of Ford's old favorite hymns, "Shall We Gather at the River" grow louder as the couple approaches the assembled congregation. Like most great moments in great films, the beauty of several elements melding flawlessly to create this sequence which leads up to the church dance defies verbal description.
The church, to Ford, helps legitimize the existence of Tombstone, not only for religious reasons but as a place where the citizens of a community can come together in fellowship, providing a foundation for that community's future existence. The citizens of Tombstone are obviously proud of their new structure -- deacon John Simpson (Russell Simpson) retorts brusquely, "Camp meetin', no such-a dadblasted thing -- regular church!" when it is implied that the upcoming service might actually be more of a camp meeting than formal rites of worship. There is, it turns out, no formal service but instead Ford's ultimate celebration of community, a dance.
Dances occur in virtually all of John Ford's movies, and are invariably joyously ritualistic acknowledgements of life. Whatever the sins or shortcomings of the characters, all is forgiven during the dance, and this one is Ford's most resonant. As the scene begins, cinematographer Joe MacDonald's camera cuts a number of times with the tempo of the now festive onscreen music, providing us with several, inviting views of the swirling couples and jubilant musicians. Then, after ponderous moments of observing the festivities and standing attentively at the side of his would-be beau, a nervous and uncharacteristically self-conscious Wyatt -- who hasn't been close to a woman in weeks of driving cattle, let alone such a refined woman as Miss Carter -- finally summons the nerve to ask her to oblige him. She accepts, and as they step onto the plank floor, the deacon stops the music (creating a sudden moment of slight tension, which heightens the feeling of soaring release which follows), and requests that everyone make room for their "new marshal - and his lady fair". The music commences, Wyatt and Clementine begin to dance, and the camera gracefully, yet unassumingly follows them as they move across and around the floor, the crowd obligingly having made room for the new couple. This is a watershed moment in the Ford oeuvre, and the turning point of the film, the spiritual establishment of a real and lasting community, which, until the arrival of Wyatt and Clementine, and all that they stand for, had no foundation. It is Fordian apotheosis, and one of the finest moments in any of his films.
After the climactic gunfight at the O.K. Corral, which is executed efficiently and eloquently (rather than "shoot 'em up" style, as has often been the case in other versions of the battle), Wyatt, as a Ford hero, is not permitted to remain among those who reap the benefits of his labors. After saying goodbye to Clementine, Wyatt Earp - not unlike young Abe Lincoln or Tom Joad in previous Ford/Fonda collaborations - rides away, into the realm of myth.
John Ford, the great poet of the American cinema, has printed the legend.
Here Is My Heart (1934)
A charming little musical romantic comedy - sadly, a forgotten classic.
Not only do they not make 'em like this anymore, they can't.
Unfortunately, this delightful bit of charming musical whimsey is so far removed from our brutal, jaded modern world that the recipe is probably lost forever. But then, that's part of what makes "Here Is My Heart" so appealing. It's a slice of movie past that seems like a wonderful little lost place in time to 21st century sensibilities.
Watching it is like discovering breathing.
Bing Crosby somehow deftly owns the film, in spite of sharing the screen with such veteran scene stealers as Roland Young and Reginald Owen, who are at their best. The fact that Bing may have been at his vocal peak at the time certainly helps, as he proves why he was the number one male vocalist for two decades, flawlessly crooning "June In January" and "With Every Breath I Take". But it's the way he commands the screen with little visual bits of business that is a revelation. This type of love story was Der Bingle's stock in trade prior to his Father O'Malley days, and it's evident why he rose quickly to the list of top ten box office stars during the thirties. Trouble is, most of his films from this period are sitting in vaults somewhere, gathering dust.
Be sure to catch this charmer of a movie if it ever shows up on late-night TV or in a theater. It's a crime that it's not available on video!