Mrs. Miniver (1942): Eitan's Take

Anyone who has ever seen Kubrick's masterpiece Paths of Glory knows just how immersive and moving a war movie can be, without drifting off into either histrionics or gratuitous sentimentality. Mrs. Miniver is undoubtedly the film that set the trend for explorations of the new kind of war that WWII was. All Quiet on the Western Front beautifully and hauntingly depicted the utter insanity of WWI, which is too frustrating a war to even wrap your mind around; WWII, however, needs to be depicted not only as a war on the battlefield, but a war within the home, and a war within the hearts and minds of those who fall victim to it. With scenes of unparalleled civility, subtetly, and common kindness, Mrs. Miniver was the first Best Picture winner of the lot that truly moved me to tears.

Throughout the film, I remained impressed by the strength of the screenplay -- be it Vincent and Carol's playful intellectual banter or the echoes of battle-won heartbreak drifting through the conversation of Clem Miniver (the wonderful Walter Pidgeon) and his friends as they gather in bars and on boats to sail off to Dunkirk and hold off the Nazis -- and the uniform loveliness of the acting. But it was three truly great scenes in the film that stuck with me the most: Mrs. Miniver watching a fallen Nazi airman gulp down a bottle of milk and tear through a slice of ham in her kitchen, the priggish Mrs. Beldon's transformation into a graceful and kind host as she rewards the humble and shocked station-master Mr. Ballard with the Silver Cup in the town's annual flower competition, and the final scene in the local church -- which we suddenly and heartbreakingly discover has been ripped apart by Nazi shells. The power of these scenes lies in how effectively they convey the complex themes at play: love, honor, duty, and faith.

With a name like Mrs. Miniver, I stupidly expected a dainty tale of the bored upper class in London, replete with doilies, tea parties, and gossip. I am surprised and delighted that the film turned out to be at turns heartbreaking, lovely, and filled with hope coming from the most unlikely sources. I know very few people who have seen this movie, and it is one of the first of these films that I really strongly encourage you to check out. A solid, well-deserved 9/10

Mrs. Miniver (1942): Shira's Take

So finally we have the first movie (and I promise you it will not be the last) to make me all teary. The greatest thing about Mrs. Miniver is how the first 45 minutes or so feel exactly like an episode of Bewitched--funny, quirky, and all about love and friendship. Even after the war starts, it doesn't seem to get too serious until a scene in the Miniver family shelter when an air raid interrupts the nighttime reading of Alice in Wonderland, blowing the door open and furiously shaking the whole shelter with the family trapped inside. Vin Miniver (Richard Ney), son of Clem Miniver (Walter Pidgeon) and Mrs. Miniver (Greer Garson), comes home from the University of Oxford early on a changed man. He is now a self-described "socially conscious" person and wants nothing more than to change the world. He meets Carol Beldon (Teresa Wright), a confident teen, and in an incredibly funny and entertaining scene (humor mostly at the expense of college students who think they know everything about the world), they fall sweetly in love. They rush into marriage, because Vin has joined the Royal Air Force and they want to savor every moment together. In a powerful scene, Carol tells Mrs. Miniver that being with Vin, she is experiencing a lifetime of happiness, because she is afraid Vin will die in the war. Nothing ends quite like the audience expects, but the viewer is left feeling strongly about family ties and contemplating a "people's war". The most amazing part of the movie, though, comes at the end. At Church, the reverend gives a compelling speech about the nature of the war and whether it is okay that it claims civillian lives. All I could say when I turned to Eitan at the end was, "Remember when there were wars worth fighting?" Notes to myself: "Is he still a vegetinarian?" Must never forget the first encounter between Carol and Vin. 8/10

How Green Was My Valley (1941): Eitan's Take

It's a shame that John Ford's How Green Was My Valley has come to be known as "the film that beat Citizen Kane for Best Picture" when it should have already rightfully earned its place among the most well-regarded films of all time. Kane is a distinctly American film, with the labored intellectualism of Orson Welles driving a plot about business, ego, and the "American Dream." Meanwhile, How Green Was My Valley is a different kind of story, built upon foreign family ideals and the traditions of a far-off land few people seem to care about (Wales). However, I feel as though the values set forth in this wonderful -- though utterly depressing -- film are universal: family, faith, hard work, and preserving even the most painful memories of childhood as a way to stake out a vision for the future.

Although Kane was truly a masterpiece of cinematography, it's unbelievable that few look to this film as a perfectly shot specimen of celluloid. Every frame could be a photo; the bleak Welsh coal-mining landscape is rendered beautifully in a gritty black and white, and the angelic face of Roddy McDowall is photographed in such a remarkable way that you feel his optimism break through the dark clouds of grief that permeate the rest of the movie. I've always been a big fan of the look and feel of Ford's similarly depressing/uplifting The Grapes of Wrath (even though it doesn't hold a candle to the book), and it's clear that he knew he had hit the right note with that film one year prior and wanted to stay on a roll. My favorite John Ford movies are still Stagecoach and The Quiet Man, but this one is definitely up there -- maybe even better than The Searchers if I'm even allowed to say that publicly.

I said last night that I was impressed with the unpreachy, totally creepy and awesome Rebecca and how its win broke the trend of "important message movies," and How Green Was My Valley is definitely a sort of return to that mold. Nevertheless, I don't fault it, and I definitely don't fault it for beating out Kane. Orson Welles' masterpiece seems to have won in the end, so I'll tip my hat to Ford's film and award it a solid 8/10.

How Green Was My Valley (1941): Shira's Take

When I haven't gotten enough sleep and a movie can't keep me awake, I of course don't blame the movie. But when I got exactly the amount of sleep I needed and didn't have a very stressful day, and still a movie can't keep me awake, I think the movie is at fault. How Green Was My Valley opened with dreamy narration, beautiful shots of a small Welsch village, and emotion-invoking music. And throughout the movie, those aspects of it never faltered. It was just the interchangable characters and lack of interesting plot that made my eyes droop for parts of it. As is often the case so far with best picture winners, this was a very lovely-made movie, but I just couldn't care too much about the story.

One notable thing about How Green Was My Valley is that almost all of the movie had background music. I think this was very effective in making the viewers feel attached to the valley. It almost felt like home to me by the end--especially in scenes where Huw Morgan, played by Roddy McDowall, goes off to school outside the valley and the viewer gets to compare the atmosphere of the city to that of the valley. 6/10, though it scores higher for prettiness.