“The Quiet Man” (1952)
Never let it be said we approach these Essentials pieces lightly —and if there is a battleground in this one, it is undoubtedly over Ford’s iconic slice of Irish blarney, “The Quiet Man.” As a film, it can be contended that it’s an example of all the worst tendencies of Ford’s more sentimental side —here, his inclination toward maudlin exaggeration is applied to a whole nation and not just a character or two. The film is a hopelessly romanticized view of Ireland as a land of flame-haired strong-willed colleens, loquacious incorrigible locals and roustabouting drunkards (most memorably Victor McLaglen, putting his boxing background to good use for Ford again). On the other hand, if you ignore any connection it might claim to have to reality and instead consider it as a sort of “Brigadoon“-style fantasy, it’s an almost irresistible dose of whimsy and sparking chemistry, featuring an atypical role for John Wayne in a genre far outside Ford’s comfort zone —it’s essentially a romantic comedy. The story is pure hokum: Sean, an American ex-boxer who’d vowed never to fight again, visits the Old Country and falls for local girl Mary Kate. They marry, but due to disputes over land ownership, her brother refuses to hand over the money for her dowry, which incenses Mary Kate, who is even more enraged that Sean refuses to fight her brother and threatens to leave him. Now, one has to be suspicious of any film in which the moral is that there’s no problem so intractable that dragging your wife along by the hair and instigating a good old barney can’t fix it, but when that particular donnybrook goes on for nearly ten minutes, and includes comedic hiatuses, an ever-growing crowd of spectators and, of course, a trip to the pub, it’s hard to stay mad. And in a career not garlanded with too many great female roles, Ford’s casting of a stunning Maureen O’Hara here is a masterstroke —not only is she all flashing eyes and touchpaper temper, but she brings a genuine jolt of raw sensuality to the film. In fact, an unassailable argument for including “The Quiet Man” on any list of essential Ford films, aside from it being a fascinating glimpse at this most American of directors’ take on the Irish heritage that he held so dear, is that it also contains the single sexiest scene that Ford ever shot. To witness Mary Kate and Sean canoodling in the rain in that old graveyard, especially the way Mary Kate, the brazen thing, goes back for a second kiss as Sean’s shirt is plastered to transparency against his body, is a reminder once again that Ford’s reputation as bastion of man’s-man cinema diminishes the true range of his talents.
“The Searchers” (1956)
If it’s now almost cliché to regard this discomfiting masterpiece as the beginning of Ford’s attack on the very myth of the American West that he had been so singularly instrumental in establishing, it’s only because it’s so irresistible a reading with the benefit of 20/20 hindsight. But even at the time, with Ford at the towering apex of his powers and regular cinematographer Winton C. Hoch scaling similar career-best heights, the story, of Ethan Edwards’ (John Wayne) relentless hunt for the Comanche who murdered his brother’s family and kidnapped his niece (Natalie Wood), looked and felt special —the Technicolor vistas and evocative framing (oh, those iconic first and final shots) are certainly extraordinary. However, the torch to the pyre here is Ford’s collaboration with star Wayne, in a subversion of his established persona as the embittered racist bully “hero” of the piece. For him, the inciting tragedy is an injustice not to be righted but to be avenged in blood —his niece’s as well as her captors’— and Wayne never compromises in his portrayal of this deeply unpleasant character. Edwards is anti-heroic, anti-decent, anti-all the roles that Wayne had drawled his way through to reach his unassailable perch as the ultimate mythological American hero —he certainly has a code, but it is an ugly and broken one. Yet that’s not to say this film is truly a revisionist Western —that would come later for Ford (1964’s “Cheyenne Autumn” is a striking example). In fact, “The Searchers” offers nothing so straightforward as a reversal of ingrained genre prejudices (here the Indians are still bloodthirsty “savages”): it is a complication of them, an attempt to work ambiguity and ambivalence and regret into the clean lines of traditional genre Western heroism.
“The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” (1962)
Without even counting his many lost titles, Ford’s massive filmography is so extensive that our assessment of it changes over time, with some films coming into focus as others lose their gloss: it’s a body of work that almost breathes. Something like “How Green Was My Valley,” a Best Picture/Best Director Oscar winner in 1941, can wane in reputation (indeed, its cloying sentimentality kept the nostalgia-drenched story of a woebegone Welsh mining community off this list), while other films emerge as the more lasting classics within his output. “Stagecoach”‘s status as one such seemed assured as soon as it was released; “The Searchers” took a little longer but has by now earned a regular slot in the all-time lists. But it’s a process that is ongoing, and the latest title of Ford’s to receive this kind of upward re-evaluation is his brilliant, beautiful, thoughtful and thrilling “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” which, round these parts anyway, possibly eclipses even those aforementioned titles as the brightest jewel in Ford’s crown. The story sees James Stewart’s aging senator Stoddard return to the dusty town of Shinbone for the funeral of local nobody Tom Doniphon (John Wayne) so that he can finally tell the truth about the killing of Liberty Valance (Lee Marvin) for which he had received credit, fame and political popularity. But as intricately as that story is told (and all the principals are excellent, including Vera Miles as a more dimensional love interest than Ford mustered elsewhere), it’s the metaphorical and self-referential levels on which the films also works that have most ongoing resonance. The film’s most famous quote, delivered by newspaper editor Maxwell Scott (Carleton Young), “this is the West, sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend,” sums up those themes neatly: sometimes, as Stoddard’s subsequent career proves, the greater good is served by maintaining an inspiring fabrication rather than revealing the less illuminating truth. But it’s also an irresistible reading of Ford’s own approach to filmmaking, especially given his demonstrably shaky allegiance to historical fact —”The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance” is a tribute to the power of storytelling and mythmaking as well as an argument for the ends justifying the means. A man’s greatness, Ford seems to be saying, is more than worth any eggs broken or milk spilt on his way there —his achievements transcend the methods by which he attained them. Apply that thinking to the craft of filmmaking in the context of any other director, and it might seem a ridiculously bombastic claim. Somehow, with Ford, it doesn’t.
If these ten titles form a fine John Ford 101, the more advanced course might include any of about thirty other titles. But our suggestions for further viewing would probably start with “Wagon Master” which was reported Ford’s own personal favorite of his films, for a time at least. Then, “7 Women” is a fascinating corrective to a career spent mythologizing men and masculinity; “Mister Roberts” was a miserable experience for Ford, who was eventually replaced as director, but none of that shows in the finished film, which also won Jack Lemmon his first Oscar; and those wishing to experience a little of his pre-talkie career should check out “The Iron Horse,” a sprawling account of the building of the first trans-American railway line. Beyond that, there’s still a wealth to explore —is there something in his filmography you can’t believe we haven’t mentioned? Let us know in the comments below.