Above: George Bailey (James Stewart) faces his fate in Mr. Capra's film
You know James Stewart—that
likable, halting, gangly movie star, the actor who so confidently played the
awkward everyman. Yet behind his casual
humanity is something else: anger.
Alfred Hitchcock tapped it in “Vertigo,” but it spews most forcefully in
Frank Capra’s 1942 magical-realist drama “It’s A Wonderful Life.” The first time you see Mr. Stewart in the
movie, he’s spreading his arms wide, smiling innocently, and looking utterly
wholesome. But before the film’s runtime
has elapsed, that familiar face contorts as Mr. Stewart shouts and runs,
breaking out into storms of sadness and violence.
Why then, do so many people watch the movie on Christmas
Day? “It’s A Wonderful Life” may be
optimistic, but it’s also ferocious and even ghoulish. As a late scene in a graveyard shows, it’s
equally suited for a midnight screening on Halloween. Yet Mr. Capra’s movie is no fright
fest—instead, it is a vibrant, emotional journey of one man struggling against
his own demons and the world’s.
That man is George Bailey (Mr. Stewart), a kid growing up
in the fictional town of Bedford Falls, New York. He’s eager to leave and it’s not hard to see
why—Bedford doesn’t look like much fun, especially since it’s ruled by a
sneering, wealthy tycoon named Henry Potter (a fantastic Lionel
Barrymore). Yet on the night of his
departure, George’s father asks if he would ever consider working at the family
business, the town Building in Loan. “I
couldn’t stand being cooped in an office,” George protests. But even as he says it, you can almost sense
that he’s doomed to do just that.
And so it begins—a pattern of painful, infuriating events
that keeps George trapped in Bedford, running the Building in Loan. First his father dies; then his brother gets
married and refuses to take over the business.
That leaves George, never one to mince words but never one to say no
either, to stay at the office, knowing that his puny but honest bank is the
last obstacle blocking Potter’s attempts to financially exploit the town.
It’s better not to dwell on the economic realities of
George’s life; the movie’s not concerned with them and you shouldn’t be
either. What does matter to Mr. Capra
(who adapted the film from Philip Van Doren Stern’s short story “The Greatest
Gift”) is the anguish of George. It’s
not just that he’s trapped in a small town he’s always hated; it’s that it’s a
miserable, hopeless place. Mr.
Barrymore, alive with eager cruelty, haunts the film and even when George’s
life really is wonderful, it seems bleak.
Look at the scene where he and his wife (Donna Murphy) hold a house
warming party for their friends. First
they’re happy; then they’re left alone on a dusty road, caught in the quiet.
If “It’s A Wonderful Life” was merely the moral drama it initially
appears to be, it would be a painful and beautiful work. But the supernatural turn that sharpens the
final act makes it a masterwork.
Battered, drunken, and hated, George stumbles through Beford’s
snow-mushy streets one Christmas Eve, having lost all faith in himself. But then, guided by his guardian angel, Clarence
(Henry Travers), he sees something strange—a vision of what the world would be
like if he’d never been born. “Each
man’s life touches so many others,” Clarence says. Everything that follows movingly and
chillingly proves his point.
I don’t want to spoil the rest. The vision of the world without George is
perversely alluring—a chaotic alternate reality where Bedford Falls is overrun
by tyrants, drunks, and hookers. But the
film still finds its way back, back from the edge of the bridge where George
imagines killing himself, back from the dreary rage of the Building in Loan,
and back to the home where George’s family and friends are waiting for him.
Maybe
George should have left Bedford in the beginning; maybe he should never have
stayed behind and been nobly miserable for the sake of others. But what makes “It’s A Wonderful Life” so meaningful
is that in the end, its bitter, selfless hero finds some wonder, if not in the
way he always imagined.
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