john's thoughts

The title notwithstanding, this is not intended as serious literary criticism. It is my criticism, partly of myself, and a commentary on a past time in USA History; this includes a couple of its leading cultural contributors, and the way we may relate to such works in different times and at different ages. I began this article a couple of months ago, became discouraged and set it aside, then returned and thought it was worth finishing. I hope I was right. Also, I was glad to have something to write about other than Ukraine and the US election which looms. So here are some of my more fanciful and maybe foolish thoughts-and maybe back to politics soon. It’s still awhile until the election, though it approaches more closely(But not more rapidly–I just reminded myself of one of my pet peeves. Things do not more “rapidly” approach as they get closer–time remains the same, but the closer they get–well, enough of that, anyway)

The contributors are James Jones and John O’Hara. Both were novelists of some note in roughly mid-century(20th) USA and both had some effect upon the culture of the times and social attitudes, though as usual one should ask to what extent did they affect the times and to what extent reflect them. While not really important, I guess, I will mention that this was a time when successful novelists who were taken more or less seriously were also, to some extent, public figures.

Some contemporaries would be John Updike, John Cheever, William Faulkner, Norman Mailer and Ernest Hemingway. I would not say the average citizen could identify them or tell anyone too much about them, but maybe the average half-way educated citizen could. I would guess this would be true of the ones I just mentioned. Both Jones and O’Hara appear to be mostly forgotten now and maybe weren’t frequently noticed that much then, although certainly their books were occasionally controversial. A few years ago, while teaching at one of Kent State’s regional campuses, I asked a female colleague who taught English if she knew O’Hara’s work. She thought she had heard of him, but nothing more.

James Jones jumped on the scene apparently out of nowhere when, in 1950 he published “From Here to Eternity,” one of the spate of novels spawned by World War II. It isn’t exactly a war novel in that most of this story of the US Army in Hawaii takes place before the US was fighting, but it still has that feel to it and seems in the Norman Mailer tradition. It attracted attention because, in part, of its length–it ran over 800 pages and reading it took a real commitment of time and effort. Most of the attention, however, came from the content which was to a great extent profanity and vulgarity and also sex, sometimes described in some detail, though not so much that many would consider it “porn” today.

The plot runs along three main lines. First, there is the affair between the Top Sergeant, Milt Warden, and the Captain’s wife, Karen Holmes. Karen is very unhappy with the captain who is a loser of a person, and she is ripe for an affair. Then there is the recent transfer to the unit, Cpl Pruitt, an embittered bugler and ex-boxer who has his reasons for his feelings. He has trouble with his fellow soldiers who want him on their boxing team, an offer he strongly refuses.

As a result of his refusal he is given “the treatment” for it, brutal and unfair attitudes and actions of other soldiers at the behest of the Captain. He finds some solace with a local prostitute, Lorene, with whom he falls in love and their complicated and apparently impossible relationship is the second line in the story or the third if you count the other boxers and “The Treatment.” Finally, there is Pru’s buddy Maggio, who is a bit too unsettled and wild to fit in and who makes an enemy of a brutal prison guard.

The language is “frank,” that is it is, I would guess, a pretty accurate reflection of how Enlisted Men in the US Army at that time, actually talked. There is vulgarity and profanity. Then there is the sex, never described in extreme detail, but more so than most American readers were used to reading.

These things upset a fair number of people, including me. I was not ready to hear this depiction of a part of the real adult world with which I was mostly unfamiliar. But what really troubled me about the book(which was good enough to keep me reading for over 800 pages anyway)was the brutality. The brutality was both physical and moral. Much of it was found in the unremitting use of sexual terms regarding women and the lack of respect and affection with which(I thought, anyway)they were delivered. It seemed to paint a picture of a world without affection or emotion other than hatred and ambition. This, of course, is not entirely inaccurate, but it does leave out a few things. And the worst part was always the physical violence, depicted in many different situations, but particularly in the stockade. And the violence, physical and otherwise, bred a sort of despair in me even as I kept on reading.

“Ten North Frederick” is another matter. O’Hara was an older contemporary of Jones and had been writing for more than 20 years when “Frederick” was published in the ’50’s. One important fact to mention here, is that in the case of “From Here to Eternity” I read the book first and saw the movie later. With “Frederick” it was the other way around. I really liked the movie and was eager to find out what the book was like.

I was largely appalled. Although I could recognize, vaguely if not more so, the outline of the plot, all the humanity seemed gone from the story. The movie characters were real humans, richer and more influential than the people I had come from, but real humans, all the same. Some of them were good, at least one(the hero’s wife)really nasty, others somewhere in between.

For whatever reason, the same characters, on O’Hara’s pages, seemed to me to have lost their humanity. There was money, and prestige and social prominence. These had all been there in the movie, but somehow were softened by the character’s vulnerability, These people seemed to have no vulnerability, except perhaps their pride and will to power. For this they would do whatever it took. Or so it seemed to me.

There was also the sex. O’Hara’s treatment of sex was unusual by today’s standards–he more or less told you what happened without much embellishment or reference to emotion–it was actually pretty tame compared to some things available today, more of an analytic observation than a first hand account–emphasis on what rather than how, or feelings engendered. There had been a fair amount of non-marital sex in the movie, but the people involved seemed to have been genuinely in love or at least decently in lust with each other . In other words, there was real human emotion involved. In the book it seemed to be strictly a get-what-I can approach based on opportunity and a driving biological desire unaffected by longing or regrets.

So after considering all of this for awhile, I decided to do a quick check. I was not about to re-read two such long novels,(particularly Jones’s book–“Frederick” isn’t as long) both of which I knew were important but neither of which I found inspiring. What I would do, however, was to re-read parts of each of them and see if my thoughts as a very young reader had been correct or if I had missed something important. In neither case did I do a very thorough job, but perhaps thoroughness was not necessary. I needed to find something in the books that I remembered, or at least remembered the feeling of, and see if I found my feelings to be accurate. I began with “From Here to Eternity.”

I remembered that in the movie I had been very moved by the love story of Pru and Lorene. But I thought that in the book, the extreme vulgarity of the language and the financial aspects of the relationship prevented there being genuine feeling with which I could identify. So I looked at the part, fairly early in the book, where Pru visits with Lorene the first time. I was very impressed because–

I was wrong. The language, though way out of bounds by the standards of my primary school and Sunday School days, was not as inappropriate as I had remembered it. And maybe connected to that, the relationship between Pru and Lorene seemed better than I had remembered it, more like in the movie. There was genuine warmth between them, even tenderness. They showed respect and genuine love or at least the beginnings of it. So obviously, something, some part of my consciousness or at least perception had changed. What? Why?

I decided to try “Ten North Frederick.” I knew, from a paper I did in college, that O’Hara could sometimes show genuine understanding of family feelings and family loyalty. This came from a story I read and analyzed which was, I think, entitled “A Family Party.” But my recollection of this novel and the other O’Hara I had read, “From the Terrace.” was pretty much as I have described above.

I had looked at a review in which the writer mentioned that most of the movie comes from the last 40 pages or so of the novel. This may not be entirely accurate, but it is true that the proportion given to that part of the book is greatly expanded in the film. Too much goes on in both the novel and the film to describe in detail here; suffice it to say, that there are more or less three lines in this story too. This would be Joe Chapin’s relationship with his wife, Edith; the details of their life together in (the fictional)Gibbsville, PA including a lot of analysis of the Upper Class of the time: but also Joe’s relationship with son Jody and daughter, Ann, and Ann’s friend, Kate.

We get to see Joe more or less from about 50 on. We get to know his family and his life fairly well, including the mores and behavior of the people of Gibbsville. And then, after Ann moves to New York, there is her roommate, Kate, with whom Joe falls in love. This is towards the end of the book and precedes an italicized “Part II” which seems long at the time but is really a small part of the overall book. But the best part of the book from some points of view was the love story of Joe and Kate. followed by Joe’s descent into alcoholism and an early onset of old age.

As with “From Here to Eternity” I was somewhat surprised, perhaps less so because I had already experienced the shock of being seriously moved by that one scene from FHTE. But there was much the same reaction. I felt originally upon reading the book that it was cold and dismissive of human relationships. I had the idea that similar to Jones’s book there was strong overlay of a kind of violence, in this case almost all psychological rather than physical. As was the case with FHTE the violence was there, but almost none of it physical. And as was the case with the other book, it was not the only thing emphasized. Yes, there was ambition-Joe has a yen to get into politics and shoot for the Presidency at one point, but fails for several reasons, none of them noble on anyone’s part, certainly not his political party’s(unnamed and obviously Republicans, but movie makers disliked mentioning partisan politics then.)

Sure, there was a lot of talk of power, status and money. But none of this is surprising or unrealistically cynical in and of itself. There is always behind all of it, the figure of Joe Chapin, rich but not great, fortunate more than ambitious, but basically human and full of human foibles. And it is foibles mixed with his code of honor that eventually bring him down.

In the movie there is a line by his son which I think was invented just in the movie–“He was a gentleman in a world that had no further use for gentlemen.” In both the book and the movie Joe wants to play by the rules. The one big change I do see between the two is that in the novel Kate calls off their relationship, for more or less honorable and understandable reasons. In the movie Joe does it, for extremely honorable, wise and admirable reasons, maybe ones that O’Hara thought would impress and/or be emotionally acceptable to the film audience, more so than his original ideas in the novel.

This is a possible argument, but not one that anyone is likely to settle. What is unquestionable about both book & movie is that near the end the story becomes a chronicle of Joe Chapin’s falling into depression-induced alcoholism and this leading him to alcoholism-induced illness and finally putting an end to his life. In both he is a broken man at the end, living on his memories, mostly of Kate, and expressing his wishes, apparently honestly, that she will be happy. He is a weak man, but an honorable one, two qualities not usually linked by writers or anyone else, but I think appropriate here.

I do not know if any others have commented on this, and being an amateur myself here perhaps I am all wrong, but–is it possible that O’Hara saw this, the decline in power and health, but maintenance of a desperate kind of(sometimes real) honor as the fate of the American upper class? Or maybe of the US itself? And if so, was he right? I don’t know the answer to this or if there is one, so I leave the question there.

More importantly, what is it about these two novels that made them(for me, anyway)largely depressing in reading them, but then turned into movies which I found inspiring? I realize I have already posed this question. I didn’t answer it then and I guess I still won’t very fully because I’m not sure what the answer is. Apparently, there is something about the written word that(for me anyway) portrays an unfortunate situation at its most completely depressing, or at least is subject to that interpretation. At least that seems to be true for me. I have never heard of anyone else expressing this, but I doubt that I am unique in this regard or in much of anything else. This does not mean that I do not like reading fiction. I often love it. But there it is, anyway.

As to the movie versions, perhaps there is something about actually seeing the people, observing their movements, their surroundings, and most of all their expressions that encourages a slightly less depressing interpretation. There is also the question of voices–in the movies you get to hear the tones–loud or soft, hostile or gentle, patient or not. After all, usually much is indeed in how it’s said. Of course, this would appear to be something that could possibly work in either direction, to make a new interpretation more or less depressing, depending on the circumstances and the style.

And perhaps the movies do give you a more accessible approach to emotions, a sort of appeal the the right brain of the audience more than the left. This might make the emotional impact easier to recall and possibly easier to accept. If we view reality as a poem or song, perhaps it is easier to take and also easier to interpret with a touch of optimism. It is also possible that age plays a role here. Perhaps the youthful are more inclined to be impressed by right brain than left brain approaches, perhaps they are more inclined to dance, actually or metaphorically, and to appreciate others who do. (But then, what of the many artistic types who reach their summit when they are middle aged or more?)

One could also speculate upon my undoubtedly sheltered childhood and adolescence. Perhaps this was my first contact with the harsh realities around me, albeit brought to me by fictional messengers, but still a valid message. And perhaps for that I should be grateful and I am(But I do remember a quotation. “It is more realistic in the sense that a nightmare is more realistic than a daydream.” I wish I could remember where I found it- a review of some kind?)

To go further with this undoubtedly questionable line, perhaps this is what makes the lively arts, music, dancing, etc in addition to movies and the theatre, retain such a hold on us. If you can see something danced or sung or acted your emotions may(if pleased to some degree)fall into line with it. And perhaps that has something to do with the fascination a lot of people, obviously including me, have for the movies. If day to day life were written by Hollywood pros and directed by Fred Zinnemann or Sam Mendes, then maybe we could take the disappointments better and wait for the next dance or the next scene with equanimity as the memories of the recent scenes stick in our minds, and invite us to go a little further, for better or for worse, but in my scenario mostly for better. Perhaps if life really were a dance, we could bear it better, the pains and disappointments falling behind as we move on, the failures and anxieties disappearing in the flow of music and movement, the joys clinging to us, lightly but firmly(like Cole Porter’s “gossamer wings) as we move inevitably toward the end, where pain and joy are both subsumed in–what? This is, to be sure, fanciful sounding, perhaps pretentious, but after expending a lot of time and thought it seems the best I can do. This is why I like movies? Well, if it is the real explanation, or an important part of it, then so be it.

So I have no definite answer to give you. But then you’re used to that by now, I imagine. I dislike saying anything is for certain unless I’m pretty sure of it, something that sometimes gets me into trouble but which also protects, rightly or wrongly, my sense of integrity. It would be interesting indeed to know if any of you have experienced this or anything close to it. If so, feel free to share. If you think the whole issue is a non-starter–well, it’s OK to share that too.

In my third Hays code effort I referred to the two different times(1946, 1984)when Hollywood tacked Maugham’s “The Razor’s Edge.” I got so enthusiastic about it that I found myself with more than two pages of MS which should have been about two paragraphs in that article. With some somewhat heavy handed editing I got it down to that length, but I commented that I might have more to say on the subject later. Well, it is now later. What follows is mostly exactly what I wrote before but then edited out. There are a few changes, maybe a couple of them significant ones.

The first “Razor’s Edge” starred a romantic’s dream list of players–Tyrone Power, Gene Tierney, Clifton Webb, Anne Baxter and John Payne. What a collection of glamour–but also of genuine talent. Maugham himself is a character in the film, portrayed by Herbert Marshall. He asserts (in the novel)that this was a true story. As a concept and in the way it is done, it is obviously a novel, a story-but apparently one that is actually, in large part true, though no one knows who the real people were–at least I don’t. Having the story teller also as a character works well enough in the original, but was dropped, I’d say wisely , in the remake where I think it would have seemed corny and artificial. Much as it will sound like a soap opera, I am going to give you a brief outline of the plot because the two movies are very alike but also very different.

The story begins in Chicago shortly after WWI where we meet Larry Darrell(Power), his fiancee, Isabelle(Tierney), their friend, Sophie(Baxter), Isabelle’s uncle(Webb) and another friend, Gray(Payne). Larry is troubled by his experiences in the war and not enthusiastic about a career in the Chicago financial world. He would like to have Isabelle with him as he wanders, looking for meaning, but he does need to wander. Isabelle is beautiful, rich, cultured and just about perfect in every respect–but she lacks some kind of inner subtlety that would help her to understand Larry. Sophie is sweet and rather unsophisticated compared to Isabel, but happy with her husband and looking forward to a fulfilling family life. Uncle Elliott is a snob and to many irritating in an effete way. But he is also smart and sophisticated and behind his cynicism there lurks some good sense and some longing, the latter expressed mostly in silly, prideful attitudes. Gray is a young man about the same age as Larry who looks forward to a career selling bonds on State Street(well, metaphorically, anyway).

Larry and Isabelle seem truly in love but are unable to agree on life styles. They separate, at least temporarily, and Larry goes to Europe to find himself, or something. A visit from Isabelle and her mother is joyful at first but a long run failure as it becomes clear that the separation is not going to end, not immediately, and maybe never. There is simply too much disagreement between them in values. Larry, inspired by a friend at one of his menial jobs, goes off to India. There he studies eastern faiths, apparently mostly Buddhism, and after spending some time with a master and more time alone in the mountains he apparently reaches some kind of enlightenment, after which he returns to Paris.

He eventually learns that, tragically, Sophie’s husband and her baby were killed in an accident. His one time love, Isabelle married Gray and they started a family. Elliott is there too and serves as a friend/counsellor, but not one Larry necessarily agrees with. After the 1929 debacle Gray loses much of his money and a lot of small investors who trusted him do the same or worse. Gray falls into a slough of guilt and depression.

Larry does seem to have a kind of inner peace, but is saddened by his friends troubles. Gray is suffering from severe head pain and severe depression. Larry uses his training from his study to help Gray who seems to recover. But then there’s Sophie. Gray, Isabelle and Larry cross paths with her in a nightclub. She is now an alcoholic and drug addict, and , apparently, at least a time-to-time prostitute. She obviously needs help and it’s going to be more difficult than helping Gray was.

Larry, out of kindness, and in following his philosophy, tries to help her and predictably they fall in love. But Isabelle, still unable to overcome her feelings for Larry, tempts her with liquor and she is unable to resist. As a result, she returns to her low-life friends and winds up as a murder victim.

I watched the remake version again before finishing this article. I changed my mind a bit–as follows.

There is very little difference in the story line of the two versions, in fact almost none. The remake, however, at times has a different feel to it. There has always been some critical controversy over this film, but the tendency was, for a long time, for most of the critics to like the original more than the remake. This seems to have changed, and perhaps rightly.

The remake is remarkable in being so much like the original and yet in feeling so much different. Bill Murray played Larry and he was the only “star” in the cast which made it very different from the original which was more or less literally star-studded. Denholm Elliott( Uncle Elliott, a near perfect successor to Webb) was the only one of the other leads who was even close to being well-known at the time. Theresa Russell(Sophie), Catherine Hicks(Isabelle)and James Keach(Gray) were all good actors who had fairly long careers, but none ever was established in the popular mind or eye as star quality, whatever that meant in the ’80’s and 90’s. There is interesting information about all of them on the internet.

The remake is, in my opinion, a frustrating mixture of good and bad, though I must admit I have fondness for it. Where the original began with a big party in 1919 Chicago, the remake began before the war and, in about a quarter hour, covered Larry’s wartime experiences. This includes the death of his friend Piedmont, who died saving Larry. The critics have tended to condemn about everything about the pre-1919 part, but it is actually a mixture of good and bad–some poor direction, some less than good dialogue and some much better, and a grim depiction of being at the front in WWI. When Piedmont is killed, Larry makes a speech that begins, “He was a slob.” It goes on to leave hardly a dry eye in the theatre, I’d wager.

After the wartime scenes, Larry returns to the US and the plot is very much the same as the original. There are a few big differences. In the original Larry is at first, at least, a fairly conventional guy who develops a thing about guilt and meaning and has to pursue it for his own peace. He needs to explore a nagging in his mind about why he survived and about his place in the world. Bill Murray played him as largely a “holy fool.”(This term, mostly from Eastern Orthodox Christianity, means one who acts foolish or even demented but who is in possession of extraordinary spiritual gifts and understanding) Now both of these are reasonable interpretations of the character, though I imagine the first one is closer to what Maugham had in mind. And likely the audience, if not the Hays Office, would have objected to the remake’s rather loosey-goosey approach to religion and philosophy, even though it seems the two films are more or less equally deep, though in somewhat differing ways.

The visit of Isabelle and her Mom to Paris is much the same in each version, but with important differences or at least indicators. In the original the poverty-stricken nastiness of Larry’s neighborhood is shown in passing. In the remake it is shown more straightforwardly. In the original the possibility that Isabel and Larry had sexual relations is hardly even hinted at. In the remake she spends a night in his apartment and is aghast at the lower class characters with whom she has to share the, uh, facilities.

I find it difficult to decide which is better in the spiritual quest part, Larry’s trip to India and his learning there. The master is more formal in the first. He, perhaps is more realistic in the remake. Both are very good portrayals. The former does more “instructing” and I think this was maybe the better way to go since I imagine the audience needed(needs) more. Both portrayals seem reasonably possible. Larry’s “enlightenment”(or whatever) is rather indefinably different in the two versions, but ends with pretty much the same effect. This is fairly important, because it is the fulcrum of the later plot and of Larry’s character, but I’m not sure which does a better job.

Towards the end of the remake one feels a hopelessness for Sophie that was still partly hope in the original. In the remake it is more clear that she will not reform again. She has slipped beyond Larry’s love and care and is simply lost.

Both films end with Larry’s decision to return to the US, after some kind of spiritual confrontation with Isabel about her role in Sophie’s fate. Is is handled discreetly and with restraint in both cases–the remake version may be a little better. It includes a line from Larry about “rewards” for “doing good” which sends him back home and the viewer out the door with mixed and profound feelings and an empty place in the heart.

I guess I hold with my original idea the the first is slightly better. But the second is much better than I suggested earlier and I am glad that I watched it again. It is way better than most of the critics thought. And Murray’s portrayal of Larry is a heartbreaking, laugh-inducing coup d’etat, one of the best he has ever done. If you want a final word on them in the class room sense–well, A- to the first and B+ to Murray’s version. I suggest you see them both–they’re worth it.