Cheyenne Autumn: John Ford

Cheyenne Autumn was John Ford's last Western. That is its primary source of infamy in film circles, alongside the fact that it featured his most dignified portrayal of Native Americans, an ethnic group Ford had used as one-dimensional villains for the majority of his career. As a film historian, the film is fascinating. But as a moviegoer, it's woefully underwhelming. It's overlong, overstuffed, overly ambitious, and the best parts involve a ruckus at Dodge City involving James Stewart that's completely superfluous to the story (it was originally cut completely from the original theatrical release). More interesting than it is good, Cheyenne Autumn is a film only diehard fans and historians should trouble themselves with.

6/10

Bucking Broadway: John Ford

John Ford’s Bucking Broadway is a fascinating little film. It follows a cowboy named Cheyenne Harry (Harry Carey) who abandons the plains of Wyoming to win back his sweetheart from the hands of a wicked New Yorker who whisked her away to the Big City. The film spends most of its time getting into gear: the cowboy only makes it to the city about 35 minutes into its 53-ish minute runtime. But a lot of the melodrama is quite poignant, particularly the scenes when Cheyenne and his sweetheart’s father react to the news that she’s eloped to New York. There’s also a charming sequence where a “woman of ill repute” pickpockets Cheyenne before secretly returning his money to his pocket after discovering what a nice man he is. A lot of the exterior shooting is quite stilted, particularly a sequence involving breaking in horses which is bizarrely filmed in extreme long shot with the action clustered together into a small dot in the center of the horizon line, obscuring everything from view. But there is one truly great image in the film: a group of cowboys charging down the streets of New York City. Now there’s an image that I, as a lover of film and storytelling, am jealous of.

I would later go on to write about this movie more in-depth at The Retro Set. You can read my coverage here: http://natesminireviews.blogspot.com/2017/07/bucking-broadway-john-ford.html

She Wore a Yellow Ribbon: John Ford

To read this review, go to: http://theretroset.com/rewarding-she-wore-a-yellow-ribbon/?utm_content=buffer18163&utm_medium=social&utm_source=twitter.com&utm_campaign=buffer.

6/10

Young Mr. Lincoln: John Ford

[Revisit Review]

Re-watching John Ford's YOUNG MR. LINCOLN (1939). I forgot how poetic and painterly this film is; one of Ford's most measured and calm.

— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) January 2, 2016

Look how much of the Lincoln myth Ford is able to evoke and codify with this one shot of him reading a law book... pic.twitter.com/LgGa3fgXTR

— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) January 2, 2016

The log-splitting scene. IIRC, this was one of Sergei Eisenstein's favorite scenes in all of cinema. pic.twitter.com/Q5OJSpUC6N

— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) January 2, 2016

Film School Lesson #1235: How to use your actor's height to your advantage vis-à-vis frame composition. pic.twitter.com/91onwgxamK

— Nathanael Hood (@NateHood257) January 3, 2016

8/10

Men Without Women: John Ford

To read this review, go to: http://theretroset.com/b-roll-john-fords-men-without-women-1930/.

4/10

They Were Expendable: John Ford

[Revisit Review]

To read this review, go to: http://theblackmaria.org/2015/03/10/b-rolls-they-were-expendable-1945/.

8/10

Two Rode Together: John Ford

If you were to approach an average cinephile and ask them about that one John Ford movie where two cowboys go searching for children kidnapped by Native Americans, they would probably think of The Searchers (1956). But as it turns out, Ford made another film with this central plot device in 1961 entitled Two Rode Together. And though they were made by the same director and were only released about 5 years apart, the two films are almost completely different. Whereas The Searchers plays like a more traditional Western that just happens to sport incredibly cynical and tragic undertones, Two Rode Together is perhaps the most overtly nihilistic film Ford ever made. When Marshal Guthrie McCabe (James Stewart) is shanghaied by the US Military into negotiating the release of several kidnapped white settlers from a local group of Comanche Indians, he leaves for their camp along with his old friend Lieutenant Jim Gary (Richard Widmark). What they find in the Comanche camp is that the white settlers, many of which have been living with the Indians for almost a decade, have acclimated to their new lifestyle and are unwilling to return. However, McCabe and Gary force their return into a world which receives them with hostility, racial hatred, and contempt. One young boy who had been with the Comanche since he was a toddler kills his "mother" when she tries to cut his hair and is swiftly lynched (an especially shocking turn of events considering the fact that several of Ford's previous films had revolved around the prevention of a lynching). A young Mexican woman who had been forced to marry a Comanche man is treated with revulsion by the settlers because she didn't have the decency to kill herself when she was first captured. And then there is McCabe: a cynical, mean-spirited drunk who is repeatedly taken advantage of and abused by members of the US military and the settlers he was supposed to be helping. Not even several injections of warm-hearted Fordian humor can mask the film's undercurrent of resigned misanthropy.

8/10

Mister Roberts: John Ford

Mister Roberts is as clear an encapsulation of director John Ford's views on the American military as was ever made. On the one hand is his ideal soldier: Lieutenant Junior Grade Douglas A. "Doug" Roberts, played by Henry Fonda, Ford's old stand-by actor for populist heroes. On the other is the tyrannical captain of the United States Navy cargo ship Reluctant: Lieutenant Commander Morton, played by James Cagney. Morton represents everything that Ford hated about military types: he is an iron-fisted glory-hound more concerned with his reputation and chances for promotion than the welfare of his men. He forces them to work in awful conditions despite reports that they are getting violently ill, he denies them shore leave, and he fetishizes an absurd palm tree awarded to the ship for its stellar performance record. In his quest for promotion, Morton refuses to let Roberts transfer to another ship, fearing that he will spread gossip about the "disharmony" under his command. Roberts, on the other hand, wants nothing more than to leave the Reluctant and join the crew of a ship that sees active combat. But he wants to fight not out of some thirst for adventure, glory, or recognition, but because he feels like it is his duty. He treats the men under his command with respect and takes the blame whenever they do something wrong. Quiet, composed, eager to serve his country, Roberts is everything Morton isn't. As an examination of the ethics that guided John Ford's direction (both morally and cinematically) for decades, Mister Roberts is invaluable. But as a piece of entertainment, it stumbles and comes up short. The central story detailing the struggle between Roberts and Morton is effective enough and the ending packs an emotional wallop. But the film is stymied by poor performances by many of the extras and Cagney, the latter of which over-acted with such abandon that one can't help but wonder if Ford used his worst takes deliberately. Of course, it would be amiss to not mention Jack Lemmon's Academy-Award-winning role as Ensign Frank Thurlowe Pulver, a lazy officer who spends almost the entire film avoiding Morton. He brings much needed levity in a rather sad and serious story. But in the end Mister Roberts is a film better suited for film scholars and historians than casual viewers.

6/10

The Last Hurrah: John Ford

The Last Hurrah is a quaint, quietly charming film by John Ford about a New England politician named Frank Skeffington (Spencer Tracy) who may be corrupt, may be virtuous, may be a power-hog, and may have nothing but the best of intentions. Whatever the case, he is getting on in years and knows that he only has one election left in him: his "last hurrah." Ford's film watches as he campaigns, makes promises, and issues threats to keep said promises. He is quite an enigma. On the one hand, he is obviously involved in questionable enterprises in order to maintain voting blocs. In one scene, he turns the wake of a local buffoon into one of the year's biggest social events simply by showing up. But his motives are more complex: he didn't attend to get attention, but to give the widow, a dear friend of his, some money to tide her over. And if the wake becomes an impromptu rally? Well, at least the widow will have "proof" that the entire town "cared about her husband." But despite the intimate nature of Ford's director and Tracy's natural magnetism, The Last Hurrah pales when compared to other films. As a political thriller that examines the true nature of campaigning, it lacks the urgency of All the King's Men (1949). And while it's nearly impossible to not see Ford projecting himself into the character of Skeffington, the film lacks the subtlety and emotional weight of other Fordian self-portraits like The Sun Shines Bright (1953) and The Long Gray Line (1955). There are two moments where Ford's genius shines through. The first is a sequence where Skeffington takes his nephew Adam Caulfield on a tour of the slum where he was born and raised. The second involves Skeffington's carefree, playboy son. In one scene he rushes off to spend another day drenched in jazz music and beautiful women. Right before he leaves, he assures his dad that he would definitely vote for him...at least he would have if he had remembered to register. This scene hits like a bullet to the gut. But despite these moments of greatness, The Last Hurrah exists solely as a minor work by the legendary director.

6/10

The Rising of the Moon: John Ford

John Ford’s The Rising of the Moon is an anthology of three short stories set in Ireland. The film is obviously a work of love for all those involved, chief among them Ford himself who returned again and again to the Emerald Isle throughout his career as a source of inspiration. However, Ford’s passion for his ancestors’ homeland results in an indulgent production which seems bloated despite its 81 minute runtime. The highlight of the film is the second story, “A Minute’s Wait,” a comedy about a train stopping for a pit stop at a station. Despite the best efforts of the conductor and engineers, odd circumstances prevent the train from leaving several times, forcing them to announce one more “minute’s wait” over and over again. For such a short story, the film is full of richly nuanced and sharply defined characters who give the comedic goings-on extra weight. But perhaps the most fascinating character in the film is Dan O’Flaherty, a proud old man accused of assaulting one of his countrymen in the first short film entitled “The Majesty of the Law.” Fans of Ford’s work will be drawn to the story’s themes of manly honor, tradition, and respected customs which bypass the letter of the law but nevertheless serve the cause of justice. But the average viewer might be turned off by its casual pace and leisurely tone. Indeed, most of the story consists of pleasant, reminiscent conversations. We only learn that there is an actual plot until it is nearly over. The last short film, “The Rising of the Moon,” is a rather unremarkable story about a Police Sergeant during the Black and Tan War who must choose whether or not to let an escaped prisoner scheduled for execution get away. With the exception of some interesting cinematography and dutch angles in the first few minutes, “The Rising of the Moon” is stylistically dull. In short, the film is an interesting curio for fans of John Ford and those curious about America’s views on Irish culture. But other viewers will get bored quickly.

6/10

The Horse Soldiers: John Ford

I can’t stand people who claim that John Wayne couldn’t act. There is a scene in John Ford's The Horse Soldiers that I wish I could carry around in my pocket just so I can pull it out and show it to people who bad-mouth his acting abilities. The film is about a Union cavalry brigade led by Colonel John Marlowe (Wayne) who are tasked with heading behind Confederate lines in order to destroy a crucial railroad. At one point, they are forced to bring along a short-tempered Confederate belle named Miss Hannah Hunter who accidentally heard their secret plans. The special scene involves Hannah and John as they recover from a battle against Confederate soldiers in Vicksburg. It’s a simple scene: it starts with Wayne nursing his pain at a bar. Hannah chastises him for being rude to the local doctors. Wayne then delivers a heart-breaking monologue about the death of his wife and how it led to his hatred and mistrust of doctors. It’s about two-and-a-half minutes long. No edits. No fancy frame compositions. The camera barely moves. It’s just Wayne acting his heart out in one long single take. The rest of the film, while competent in its own right, pales in comparison to this one scene. It saves the movie and makes it something truly special.

7/10

The Long Gray Line: John Ford

There's a certain term that gets thrown around a lot whenever directors like Yasujirō Ozu are discussed: mono no aware. It's a Japanese phrase that literally translates to "the pathos of things" but is used to refer to a sense of the "impermanence of things." In other words, it refers to the idea that all things are transient; that nothing is permanent; that all things must come to an end. Mono no aware can be difficult to properly depict, if it can in fact be depicted at all. And yet, one of the finest examples of mono no aware that I have ever seen is John Ford's The Long Gray Line. The film tells the true story of Marty Maher, an Irish immigrant who worked his way up from a waiter to non-commissioned officer at West Point during the first half of the Twentieth century. It charts nothing less than his adult life, depicting his early struggles against racial prejudice, his marriage to Mary O'Donnell, the loss of his first (and only) child, and his rise to becoming one of West Point's most beloved figures. The entire film has a thick sheen of melancholy and gentle resignation that only an older director could properly portray. Make no mistake, The Long Gray Line is John Ford at the peak of his creative powers as a director and filmmaker. Subtle, understated, heart-breaking, and filled with Ford's trademark light, wistful humor, The Long Gray Line evokes a sadness and joy that most filmmakers only dream of.

8/10

Wagon Master: John Ford

When fans and scholars discuss the Westerns of John Ford, his 1956 film The Searchers is frequently the only one from that decade that is brought up. He directed a few other Westerns that decade, but they ranged from unremarkable to minor works when compared with his other input into the genre. Of course, there is one major exception: Wagon Master. Only his second film of the Fifties, Wagon Master is a stunning Western in the true John Ford tradition: a film that focuses on family, community, and justice. After hiring two horsemen (played by Ben Johnson and Harry Carey Jr.) to act as guides, a group of Mormon settlers set out West for Utah Territory. However, their train is soon hijacked by a group of bandits on the run from the law. They terrorize the settlers, forcing them to "escort" them away from the authorities hot on their trail after a bank robbery went sour. Wagon Train is one of the most intimate Westerns of Ford's later career, balancing superb characterizations with sincere suspense and tension. Two character moments struck me as particularly powerful: an early scene where a Mormon Elder haggles with the horsemen while both parties feign nonchalance by leaning against a fence and whittling and a later scene where the leader of a traveling group of "entertainers" volunteers his wagon (and his life) when the bandits cruelly force the settlers down the side of an impossibly steep hill. These scenes demonstrate an introspective knowledge of human behavior that few other directors have ever managed to duplicate. And yet, none of it seems pretentious or indulgent. And really, that was one of Ford's greatest talents: the ability to create serious works of art while tricking the world into thinking that his films were merely standard Hollywood fare.

8/10

Wee Willie Winkie: John Ford

I must admit that the very thought of watching John Ford's Wee Willie Winkie made me extremely apprehensive. The man directed films in almost every major genre, but I couldn't for the life of me imagine him directing a Shirley Temple vehicle. But much to my surprise, Wee Willie Winkie more than deserves its spot in Ford's filmography. In fact, the film contains more explicitly Fordian themes and concepts than many of his other pictures of the era. Based on a story by Rudyard Kipling, the film follows little Priscilla Williams as she and her widowed mother move to a remote military outpost in India to live with her grandfather, Colonel Williams. Williams is a dour, sour man with little time for anybody who doesn't wear a British uniform. So Priscilla goes searching for new friends, finding them in the many soldiers stationed at the outpost. Moved by her innocence and cheerful pluck, they quickly adopt her as a surrogate daughter, friend, and honorary soldier, nicknaming her "Wee Willie Winkie." However, the base is soon attacked by the followers of rebel chief Khoda Khan. Khan, who had been captured the same day that Priscilla and her mother had arrived, escapes into the frontier...but not before also befriending young Priscilla. Determined to end the cycle of violence, Priscilla naively sets out into the frontier to personally ask Khan to stop the fighting. Will she succeed? Or will her disappearance jettison the British into a new bloody conflict? The film is admittedly very antiquated in its racial depiction of Indians and in its belief that ethnic conflicts going back centuries can be solved overnight. But Wee Willie Winkie is still a great piece of entertainment and a heart-warming tribute to Ford's belief in simple virtues and in the integrity of the family unit.

7/10

Mogambo: John Ford

Still reeling from the failure of The Sun Shines Bright (1953), director John Ford was in desperate need of a profitable hit film. Despite his health problems, Ford packed up and traveled to Africa in order to film MGM’s remake of its own 1932 romantic melodrama Red Dust. The film followed the romantic triangle between big game hunter Victor Marswell (Clark Gable), misplaced playgirl Eloise “Honey Bear” Kelly (Ava Gardner), and the naive wife of a milquetoast scientist named Linda Nordley (Grace Kelly) against the exotic back-drop of the African wilderness. After a physically grueling shoot that saw him endure amoebic dysentery, the film, titled Mogambo (1953) was released to incredible success. In addition to grossing $5.2 million and garnering Oscar nominations for both Gardner and Kelly, the film revitalized Gable’s career and, to another extent, Ford’s. But despite the film being one of Ford’s biggest hits, it seems almost mechanical in its twists and turns. After Ford’s self-described favorite and most personal film, Mogambo seems like a movie straight from a cookie cutter. As such, the film fits snugly into the thematic and social patterns that have since been identified as typical of Fifties Hollywood cinema.

6/10

The Sun Shines Bright: John Ford

Who was John Ford? The legendary Hollywood director was a mess of seemingly impossible contradictions.  The man who would become so closely identified with the Western genre was born in Maine as the son of Irish immigrants. While he helped redefine the depiction of Native Americans in such films as Cheyenne Autumn (1964), he rode as a Klansman in D. W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation (1915).  The same man who directed such ground-breaking progressive masterpieces as The Grapes of Wrath (1940) was instrumental in the casting of Stepin Fetchit, a very close friend, in many of his films. While he valued the institution of the family more than almost anything else in his films, in real life he was an absentee father and husband. At times staunchly conservative and at others unapologetically liberal, his political and social outlooks on life could change on a whim.  He was a kind, sensitive man who perpetuated the image of an angry perfectionist authoritarian out of fear that others would take advantage of him.  While he claimed to not give a damn about what other people thought about him and his work, his fear of being rejected would lead him to heartbreaking alcoholic breakdowns in between film productions. So I ask again, who was John Ford?

For a man who tried so hard to make an enigma of himself, the clearest picture of who Ford truly was can be partially glimpsed in his beloved films. But which film best represents Ford? I would answer a little known film from 1953 entitled The Sun Shines Bright. Ford described later in his life that it was “really my favorite, the only one I like to see over and over again.” Made following the tide of studio goodwill borne from the unexpected success of The Quiet Man (1952), the film is essentially a morality play about an elderly judge in a tiny Kentucky town in the twilight years of the 19th century. Based on three short stories by Irvin S. Cobb, the film revisits the character of Judge Priest, previously portrayed by Will Rogers in Ford’s film of the same name from 1934. Though Ford re-adapted some of the same material from his earlier film in The Sun Shines Bright, he was given a much wider berth of creative freedom.  The result was perhaps Ford’s most emotional and personal film.

It begins with a series of vignettes that form a picture of the town of Fairfield, Kentucky. We watch Judge Priest and his servant Jeff Poindexter (Stepin Fetchit) preside over a trial involving U.S. Grant Woodford, a black teenager who won’t work to support his relatives, that ends with a grimace-inducing impromptu performance of “Dixie.”  A meeting of Confederate veterans is held where they give a solemn and heart-felt eulogy to a Rebel Jack after dutifully saluting the Union flag. When a nearby gathering of Union veterans asks them to return the Union flag that they borrowed for their ceremony, Priest serves as an honorary color guard. Of course, once in the presence of the Union veterans he wastes no time to remind them that he is coming up for re-election.  Soon certain class and racial divisions are established: the well-to-do white folk, the Temperance League and their 200 votes (i.e. husbands), the subservient blacks, and the Tornado Boys, a large informal gang of backwoods hunters and trappers. But everything is pleasantly idealized. This is the South as envisioned by wistful romantics.

But the film’s early comedic tones soon take a turn for the worse. An old prostitute shows up, collapses, and dies in a local bordello. She is soon revealed to be the disgraced and disowned daughter of General Fairfield, the much revered and beloved local Confederate leader.  Meanwhile, Woodford has been arrested and wrongfully accused of raping a local girl. The enraged Tornado Boys begin to gather near the prison in order to lynch him. And finally, Priest’s chances to win the election become severely challenged by Horace K. Maydew, the “son of a carpet-bagger from Boston,” who seeks to destroy Fairfield’s idyllic community by forcing it into the future. 

With the town of Fairfield ready to rip itself asunder, the ailing Judge Priest must step in one last time to try and maintain the peace. Priest represents one of Ford’s favorite character archetypes: the reluctant patriarch. Just like in She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) and The Quiet Man, The Sun Shines Bright revolves around an aging male authority figure who finds himself drawn one last time into a terrible conflict to preserve peace. These men are presented as relics of a bygone age who nevertheless must serve as a moral compass for younger generations. And, indeed, Judge Priest is considerably worse for wear. Despite Stepin Fetchit’s painfully hokum performance as Jeff, it is clear that Priest relies on him, and not the other way around. Priest is a rampant alcoholic who regularly uses the excuse “Jeff, I gotta take my medicine - I gotta get my heart started” to sneak off and take a massive drink from a hidden cask. He projects an aura of strength and vitality while courting voters...but it’s a sham. Priest is a tired, tired old man.

And yet Priest will not stand idly by and watch his beloved Fairfield destroy itself. He grabs a gun and single-handedly prevents the Tornado Boys from lynching Woodford (Ford had previously tried to incorporate this scene in Judge Priest, but it was cut by the studio). Afterwards, he shames the entire town by marching behind the white hearse holding General Fairfield’s daughter. This scene is easily one of the most powerful in Ford’s entire career. The town of Fairfield had tried to ignore the poor woman’s fate due to her lowly social status. But Priest marches right behind her fellow prostitutes in her funeral procession. Then, slowly, the rest of the town follows suit until over a hundred march with Priest. The procession leads to a black church where Priest delivers an earth-shaking sermon. And then, finally, in the middle of the service, General Fairfield enters the church to see his daughter one last time.

To say that Priest’s actions were controversial would be to criminally understate it.  His prevention of the lynching may have further endeared him to the black community, but it potentially lost him hundreds of vital votes from the Tornado Boys.  Respecting General Fairfield’s daughter may have been the righteous thing to do, but it disgraced him in the eyes of the community’s more unforgiving sectors. As Jeff mournfully notes, “Me ‘n’ the judge sho’ ain’t gonna get elected now.”

But then a miracle occurs.

On the day of the election, when Maydew seems guaranteed to win, the Tornado boys rally en masse and vote for Priest, securing his victory. Later that night, the entire town passes Priest’s front porch in review. Every social group is represented: Confederate veterans, Union veterans, Temperance League, Tornado Boys (holding a banner reading “He Saved Us from Ourselves”), and finally the blacks who are given a position of honor by marching at the very end in the opposite direction.  The film’s final shot has Jeff playing “My Old Kentucky Home” on the harmonica on Priest’s front porch. The 20th century and progress may soon arrive, but for tonight peace and balance has been restored to the town of Fairfield.

Of course, as any modern viewer will tell you, everything is not alright in Fairfield. Segregation remains the unwritten rule. The few blacks who have any screen-time are of the “yessuh” and “nossuh” variety.  The Confederacy is romanticized and fiercely defended by primary characters. Fairfield is quite obviously a white-washed charade. But look a little deeper. Ford isn’t romanticizing segregation or social inequality. He is obsessed with the idea of an ordered society founded on principles of justice and honor led by men who aren’t afraid of shattering taboos. Quite simply, Ford is Judge Priest and the cinema is Fairfield. By the time he shot The Sun Shines Bright, Ford was already tiring of the Hollywood establishment. As he stated in a 1953 interview, “I don't want to make the kind of junk the screen is offering today, because we made those pictures better thirty-five years ago.” The cinema that Ford loved was disintegrating right before his eyes. And so Ford endeavored to make intensely personal films like The Sun Shines Bright to help restore Hollywood to its former glory. One can almost imagine John Ford standing in Judge Priest’s shoes in the final scene with a legion of producers, screenwriters, actors, and directors holding a banner reading “He Saved Us from Ourselves.” And that is why The Sun Shines Bright is one of the best explorations into Ford’s mind. For just a moment we see the man that Ford truly wanted to be: venerated, respected, and loved by everyone. What he was too scared to achieve in real life he replicated on screen.

9/10

Four Men and a Prayer: John Ford

It breaks my heart to give films by John Ford bad reviews. But in the interest of fairness, I have to try and be unbiased, even towards my all-time favorite director.  Four Men and a Prayer begins with quite a bit of promise.  It begins with Colonel Loring Leigh of the British Indian Army being dishonorably discharged and sent home to England after apparently issuing an order that resulted in the deaths of 90 soldiers.  He is met by his four sons who try and comfort him upon his return.  However, shortly after arriving, Colonel Leigh is shot and killed by an unknown assassin.  Believing that their father's assassination may have something to do with his expulsion from the military, the four sons set out across the globe to track down their father's old military comrades.  At first this seems like a great adventure film in the same tradition as Gunga Din (1939) and The Four Feathers (1939).  But it quickly deteriorates and losses track of its central narrative like the splayed end of a rope.  In one particularly bizarre change of pace, one of the sons and his American girlfriend witness a group of peasant revolutionaries brutally massacred by the government's army.  At first they are shocked, but after a few minutes they appear to forget the entire affair and move on.  When the final villain is discovered and confronted, the actors all seem bored and their characters uninterested in the fact that they have found their father's killer.  The best part of the film is near the beginning when each of the sons receives telegrams informing them of their father's dismissal. Ford magnificently introduces each son and establishes their distinct personalities in a matter of minutes. If the entire film had been as tight and focused as these early scenes, then this film might have become a classic.  But as it stands, Four Men and a Prayer is a film best left forgotten.

4/10

Fort Apache: John Ford

Fort Apache was the first film in John Ford's Cavalry Trilogy, a series of films that focused on the U.S. Cavalry in the mythical Old West.  The other two would be the criminally underrated She Wore a Yellow Ribbon (1949) and the surprisingly overrated Rio Grande (1950).  All three would also star John Wayne. In this first film, he plays Captain Kirby York, a cavalry officer operating out of the eponymous Fort Apache, a cavalry post in the middle of nowhere.  But the film doesn't focus on Captain York. Instead, Ford focuses his camera primarily on Lieutenant Colonel Owen Thursday, played by Henry Fonda.  Thursday is sent to Fort Apache in order to serve as its new commander. However, despite having experience as a general in the Civil War, he is fool-hardy, arrogant, and full of himself.  His actions lead to the slaughter of most of his troops against a force of Chiricahua Apache.  It isn't until near the end of the film when the massacre takes place that the audience realizes that Fort Apache is a metaphor for the Battle of Little Bighorn and Custer's Last Stand.  The reason is that much of the film is devoted to that most central theme in John Ford's work: family. Thursday's daughter, Philadelphia (played by an astonishingly beautiful all-grown up Shirley Temple), falls in love with Second Lieutenant Michael Shannon O'Rourke.  Despite Michael's father receiving the Congressional Medal of Honor for his actions as a major in the Irish Brigade during the Civil War and therefore being allowed to study at West Point, Thursday refuses to let him court his daughter. Despite Michael's father's legacy, Thursday considers him to be of a lower class and therefore "unworthy" of his daughter. It is fascinating to watch how Ford mixes Thursday's duties as a soldier and responsibilities as a father and how his stances towards both leads to his downfall.  Fort Apache is a magnificent film that is stunning in scale, heart-breaking in emotion, and rich in subtext.

8/10

The Plough and the Stars: John Ford

I pride myself on a list over 3 years in the making where I keep track of every single movie that I watch. Yes, it is partially the product of my obsessive compulsive personality, but there is a much more practical reason behind the list. The list allows me to see which movies I have watched and how many times I have viewed them. Therefore, I discovered, much to my surprise, that I had already watched John Ford's The Plough and the Stars once before after viewing it again a few days ago. I must not have been paying very close attention, because I didn't remember a single scene of the film. That's quite a shame, too. While not one of Ford's greater films, The Plough and the Stars remains a relatively enjoyable outing. An adaptation of Seán O'Casey's famous play about people caught in the middle of Ireland's 1916 Easter Rising, the film focuses on one of Ford's favorite themes: manly honor. Nora and Jack Clitheroe live in Dublin as a relatively happy couple. However, Jack is promoted to the rank of Commandant in the Irish Citizen Army. He is called away to participate in a bloody uprising during Easter Week of 1916 where Irish republicans attempted to break away from British rule and establish an Irish Republic. Nora begs Jack not to go, but he chastises her like a child and says that it's his duty as an Irishman. Of course, the uprising is brutally squashed and Jack finds himself running for his life from the British army. The film uneasily balances the gritty violence of the uprising with scenes of comic relief involving the Clitheroe's neighbors. What could have been a powerful drama is hurt by the constant tonal shifts. It may not be perfect, but The Plough and the Stars is still solid enough.

6/10

Hangman’s House: John Ford

One day, when all is truly right in the world, John Ford's silent work will finally get the recognition that it so sorely deserves. While his contributions to the Western genre and the further codification of cinematic language are rightfully lauded, very few remember that Ford had already achieved mastery over his craft before the advent of sound. Films like The Iron Horse (1924) and Four Sons (1928) displayed such skill and maturity that they could be easily mistaken for forgotten works of Vidor or Murnau. This ability can be seen to a lesser extent in Hangman's House, a charming drama set in Ford's beloved Ireland. The film displays many of the themes that would come to define Ford's work in the coming decades, such as a delight in portraying the local color and men dominated by commitments to codes or unspoken rules of honor. In this case, we are introduced to Commandant Denis Hogan, a soldier stationed in Algiers who returns to his native Ireland (where he is a wanted man) after a telegram informs him of his sister's ruination and demise at the hands of the wicked aristocrat John D'Arcy. D'Arcy, we learn, is in Ireland trying to win the hand of Connaught O'Brien, the daughter of a local baron who made his fortune as a hanging judge. Of course, Connaught resists the arrangment due to her love for her childhood friend Dermot McDermot. It's fascinating to watch Ford weave these individuals into a single tale of love, treachery, and justice. Though the year was 1928 and soon he would be directing sound films, Ford still relied heavily on the language of silent cinema. Take, for instance, one early scene where Connaught's father has a vision of a man being hanged while staring into his fireplace. Hangman's House also serves as a special treat for film historians, as it contains the first confirmed appearance of John Wayne in one of Ford's films. Truly then, Hangman's House served as a bridge for John Ford between two different cinematic worlds. It would be the start of his destiny.

7/10