Spotlight

Spotlight Date: 21-December-03
Spoiler Rating: Medium

It's a Wonderful Life (1946)

I prefer not to revisit "It's a Wonderful Life" at Christmastime. Although it ends on an upbeat note, the initial 95 minutes of disappointment and desperation don't exactly fit the bill of a "feel-good" movie; also, the meaty, thought-provoking heart of the story is dampened by the cheeseball pop culture associations that have grown up around it, to the point where one feels obligated to focus solely on the last two minutes of the film and the holiday cheer that our society insists it conveys. I wish I could just sit down and watch "It's a Wonderful Life" without any overtones or expectations; maybe then I could more easily appreciate its most important qualities, the ones which its status as an institution of yuletide nostalgia have obscured: one, that it's a complex, mature film; and two, that it's incredibly good --- and not just because it always makes you cry.

I disagree with the prevailing notion that "It's a Wonderful Life" convincingly "tell[s] the weary, the disheartened, and the disillusioned; the wino, the junkie, the prostitute ... that no man is a failure!" (as director and co-writer Frank Capra put it).1 The script has too particular a hero, villain, and set of circumstances to deliver a universal message (which, far from making it inaccessible, helps to give the story its power). Recognizing this helps to diminish the anticipation that the movie will remind you of the meaning of Christmas, or some such hogwash, and aids the recognition of the true value of Capra's most enduring work (whether he recognized it or not).

So what is the true value of "It's a Wonderful Life"? For starters, there's James Stewart as the picture's long-suffering protagonist, George Bailey, in a performance so full of wit, pain, and humanity that it stands as one of the greatest efforts of one of the greatest actors of all time. Then there's George himself, a fully fleshed-out character whose intelligence, honesty, and vision make him the ideal hero, a man destined for brilliant experiences if ever there was one. As the movie ticks off one failure of his plans after another, there's the agonizing illustration of youthful idealism meeting adult realism; it turns out the world doesn't give people what they deserve, at least not in the way they expect. Few scenes, if any, have captured the dreamer's painful surrender to inevitability so well as the weird, scary, and touching moment when George angrily grabs his future wife (Donna Reed), forcing her to share the throes of his lifelong ambitions as they mutate into the unlooked-for desires of the common man.

Fortunately, the frustration of George's life takes tangible form in mean, old, rich Mr. Potter (Lionel Barrymore), who controls everything in Bedford Falls that the Bailey Savings and Loan does not. After an angel-in-training named Clarence (Henry Travers) prevents George from committing suicide, he wishes for and receives the ability to see how the world would be if he had never been born. The alternate reality that he discovers is truly shocking, but not because he didn't save his kid brother from drowning or his wife from becoming a librarian (horrors!). No, it's because he wasn't around to stop Mr. Potter from destroying both the individual and collective spirits of the entire town, turning people into subjects by enslaving them in debt and offering to ease their pain only by catering to their basest desires. The ending of "It's a Wonderful Life" undoubtedly starts the happy tears to flowing, but the joy of the moment doesn't derive solely from the fact that George is loved and Clarence has his wings. As the years pass and the Potters of the world take over, it becomes more and more satisfying to consider that a man can be a force in society whose worthiness derives from the aggregate happiness and independence he promotes. It's a wonderful thought that reaches beyond mere warmth and friendship, and beyond the easy sentiment of the holiday season.

1 The Name Above the Title (1971).

Copyright © 2003 The Jujube (M. I. Kim). All rights reserved.