#18. Psycho (1960)

Previous to this endeavor I had seen exactly zero films directed by Alfred Hitchcock. Now, after having seen several I have come to the realization that he is one of my favorite filmmakers. However, I also have to say that part of the thrill is lost on me because of how unrealistic the circumstances in his AFI films tend to be. I just don’t see a lot of likelihood in being drugged, kidnapped and framed for murder like in “North by Northwest,” being duped into unwittingly participating in a wife killing like in “Vertigo” and in no universe that I am aware of does elderly Jimmy Stewart get to bang young Grace Kelly ala “Rear Window.” What sets “Psycho” apart from the rest of these films is that, with the exception of the whole amateur familial corpse-preservation storyline, “Psycho” is totally conceivable. I’m not afraid of being attacked by a crop-duster, but I have met a lot of people who remind me of Norman Bates and staying in a shady, off-the-beaten-path motel is a universally recognized creepiness.

The credits are presented with several horizontal lines wiping the names across the screen and wiping them off, which will eventually cleverly transition into a set of venetian blinds (much the same way the graph-effect morphs itself into skyscrapers in “North by Northwest”). Inside the window is a seedy motel room where the lead character Marion Crane (Janet Leigh) has just finished having sex with her boyfriend Sam. Though there is nothing morally objectionable about their relationship, Sam still prefers to keep it discreet because he is divorced. Whether this is an excuse to keep Marion a certain length away or because the motivation he offers (being ashamed that he is too poor to be a husband or even serious boyfriend) is indeed noble is not quite clear, though it seems he is a little more sleazy since every turn in their conversation goes back to sex. What is clear is that Marion desperately wants them to have a future together sooner rather than later.

Needless to say, when the opportunity for her to embezzle $40,000 from her job presents itself, Marion seizes it. Despite the fact that she has just committed grand larceny, Janet Leigh does a remarkable job of illustrating that she is by no means a career criminal or even a bad person, but rather just someone driven to extreme measures by desperation. She stumbles through her escape, is constantly paranoid and generally seems very awkward and confused. Trying to get to Sam in California, Marion is forced to stop for the night at the remote, desolate Bates Motel. Though it is extremely early in the film, the entire segment at the Bates Motel is both incredibly important as well as technically flawless.

From the moment she checks in, there seems to be something creepy about the propreitor Norman Bates (Anthony Perkins). Perhaps it is his awkwardness with women, his love for taxidermy or his unusual doting over his mother- either way it doesn’t feel natural or normal when Norman asks Marion to join him for dinner. In just this short segment, so much foreshadowing and stage-setting occurs; Norman compares Marion to a bird (with several dead birds staring her in the face from the walls) Norman has a conversation with his mother where she chastises him for lusting after Marion and a very ominous yet relatable line where Norman tells her “we all go a little mad sometimes.” While this would normally creep someone out to hear, Marion can’t deny this as, the whole time she has been fleeing Phoenix for California, she has been hearing various voices in her head.

After the unsettling dinner, Marion goes to her room where she seems to have a moment of clarity and appears ready to turn back, face the music and give back the money she stole. In another brilliant use of foreshadowing, Marion starts to undress for her now legendary shower and struts around the room in a black bra and black panties; if there is anything silent films have taught me its that black clothes only ever indicate death. And besides, she was wearing white underwear in the hotel room with Sam so we know she owns other colors.

The brilliance of the shower scene isn’t just the way it is directed; the multiple jumping camera angles, the best use of music in a film probably ever, the strategic way every part of Marion’s body besides her naughty bits are shown, the unsettlingly gruesome stabbing sounds etc- but the sheer irony. The shower is supposed to represent a fresh start or Marion washing away her wrongdoings, instead it proves to be her undoing- it also effectively bookends Marion’s onscreen time by accentuating the point that her worst moments tend to occur in motels.

“A boy’s best friend is his mother…” (Norman Bates, “Psycho”)

Norman destroys the evidence of Marion’s visit and blames the murder on his overbearing mother and the object of the film soon becomes Sam and Marion’s sister Lila’s search for Marion. This is not only interesting because it is a unique take on the murder mystery theme, but also because the primary character winds up having such little screen time in the grand scheme of things. Also, this concept had the potential of being disastrous as it was in “2001: A Space Odyssey” by not having a well-defined protagonist/antagonist struggle, but somehow it still pulls it off.

As the mystery unravels “Psycho” begins to break all sorts of new ground in terms of addressing things in film. Norman suffers from multiple personality disorder and in fact “becomes” his mother, as his real mother has been dead for years- so all the arguing they do, yeah, that’s him fighting with himself essentially. Also, when he takes on the personality of his mother, he dresses accordingly, which isn’t innovative in-and-of-itself for films of that time, I can recall seeing Buster Keaton and Curly Howard doing it prior to 1960, as well as the entire movie “Glen or Glenda?” being focused on it. However in Norman Bates’ case it isn’t for comedic or demeaning purposes, instead it is a sincere exploration of a mental disorder; thus it is handled sensitively all things considered. Also, despite the fact that he has murdered Marion, in the end Norman Bates winds up being a fairly empathetic villain given the fact that he truly has no control over his state; which coincidentally is what makes him such a frightening villain at the same time. I think my favorite aspect of Anthony Perkins’ performance is something that may not even be noticeable, but really helps develop his character is his stammering and mumbling. It is refreshing to hear a character on screen talk like a real person rather than in an unbelievably crisp theatrical dialect.

The title “Psycho” in itself is also a fascinating element of this movie. While it is easy to assume it is a cut and dry reference to Norman and his mental state, its more complicated than that. Marion clearly at least has a mental breakdown of some kind where she abandons logic and accountability by stealing a huge sum of money and planning to take it to her literally and figuratively distant boyfriend. Even Norman’s mother probably had some issues of her own to have such an eerie and gripping post-mortem control over her son. The “Psycho” tag can be appropriately applied to almost anyone in the picture.

“Psycho” may not be my favorite of the Hitchcock films but it is hard to deny it is the most technically sound and most terrifying. The investigation scenes are actually kind of boring and slow the pace of the movie down, and the dynamic between Sam and Lila implies a level of attraction but is never quite explored fully, but if those are the worst things I can name about this movie then I don’t really have much to complain about. If nothing else, I should sing the praises of “Psycho” simply because of how unconventional it is and because of how many (calculated) risks it takes. Even though the “excessive” sex and violence are tame by today’s standards, I would hold this movie side-by-side against any modern slasher flick and it would blow them out of the water.

#19. Chinatown (1974)

Leave it to a sex criminal to make film noir even darker than it already was by introducing incest into the picture.

There is a fine line between intentional homage and plagiarism, and at times Roman Polanski’s “Chinatown” has a hard time not crossing it but there is also so much individuality inserted into the film that by the end nobody can accuse it of being unoriginal.

I think to refer to “Chinatown” as “noir-inspired” or “in the noir style” is unfair to the film. Even though it wasn’t made in the time of the “Production Code” that limited what movies could discus and depict it just follows the style too closely to be considered anything less. The opening credits include the classic Paramount logo and old Broadway fonts while being rolled over speakeasy music. After the lengthy credits a black and white photo pops up onscreen of a man and woman having sex in a park, then flipping between several more shots of the same couple. The effect employed is amazing, as a popping sound proceeds each new image- it isn’t until the camera pans away that we realize it is someone looking at the pictures and the sound is them being discarded rather than a flashbulb slideshow montage as is implied.

I could have almost copy and pasted the first section of my “The Maltese Falcon” and applied it to this entry when describing the introductory scenes of “Chinatown” but I just don’t operate that way. It turns out the person who took the photos is a private investigator named Jake Gittes (Jack Nicholson) and the man examining them is a client who has hired him to confirm that his wife is cheating on him. Not only does this establish exactly what kind of detective Jake is but also what kind of clientele he attracts as the man (Burt Young) explains that he won’t be able to pay for the services rendered right away. Jake’s next client is another noir fixture, the veiled smoking woman of significant means. Though he doesn’t seem interested in the case Jake is shocked to learn that the woman is the wife of Los Angeles’ Water and Power Administrator Hollis Mulwray and she suspects he is having an affair.

Jake nonchalantly starts his investigation by attending an L.A. City Council Meeting where a debate is taking place concerning the building of a dam and threats of a drought are tossed around. There are some interesting but kind of too “in your face” tactics used to date the film in this scene, including Jake perusing a horse racing guide featuring Seabiscuit as well as a large photo of FDR hanging in the Council chambers (of course assuming they are following protocol by having a photo of the sitting President in a government building)- in other words, depression-era. What we gather from the scene is that Mulwray opposes the dam project and supports his argument by back-referencing a previous, similar blunder. Though the farmers who have shown up to voice their support for the dam are irate at his presentation, the pained, guilty look on Mulwray’s face implies that there is more than meets the eye.

In addition to Mulwray’s nerdy appearance and constantly working on Water and Power related issues the film does an excellent job of implying that he probably is honest and decent as well as implying that the politicians who are pushing for the dam project might be crooked. The more blatant way this is done is through dialogue; the mayor pushing for $8,000,000 so insistently, Mulwray making references to having been tricked before etc. But more artistically, there always seems to be water present- suggesting without suggesting that the drought concerns may be unfounded. This is illustrated in little ways such as Jake being soaked by a drain pipe that liberally spews water near an already well watered, ocean-adjacent cove, an always-full water cooler in Jake’s office, the audible splashing of water as one of Jake’s assistants develops photos of Mulwray and the eventual discovery that Mulwray DOES have a mistress who he is spotted with in a rowboat in Echo Park. So much of the film points to an abundance of water without saying a word about it.

And of course what is a good noir detective story without an interesting plot twist; particularly a threat of legal action from Mulwray’s wife Evelyn (Faye Dunaway) who is decidedly NOT the woman who hired him to spy on Mr. Mulwray. Essentially, the woman who initially arrived claiming to be Mrs. Mulwray was just trying to dig up dirt on him- none of which seems to matter much after Mulwray turns up dead; ironically, his body is pulled from a reservoir.

“Isn’t this something? Middle of a drought and the Water Commissioner drowns! Only in L.A.” (Morty the Coroner, “Chinatown”)

With the focus of the investigation now being who would want to defame and/or kill Mulwray, Jake continues to poke around the various beaches and reservoirs in L.A. While talking with local policemen we find out that Jake was an LAPD officer before becoming a detective. One former colleague in particular mentions that he has been transferred out of Chinatown. Though the conversation seems like small talk, Jake’s reaction to just a mention of Chinatown implies that it represents a lot of demons.

Eventually Jake is able to piece together that Mulwray was murdered because he knew too much in relation to the hoarding of the water supply as well as his opposition to funding the dam project but there are still several missing pieces in the puzzle. Evelyn hires Jake to fill in the blanks- many of which can seemingly be explained by Evelyn’s father/Mulwray’s former business partner Noah Cross (John Huston). Not only does Cross seem unwilling to cooperate, he also tries to divert Jake’s attention away from him by hiring him to find Mulwray’s mistress.

The various twists and turns the plot undergoes all end up pointing to one consistent theme; corruption. Political corruption from the officials who are behind the water scam, police corruption as it relates to Jake’s former associates and superiors in Chinatown and moral corruption- even Evelyn admits to having cheated on her husband as well and even begins sleeping with Jake while he is still working for her. After their first sexual encounter, Evelyn pushes Jake into confiding about the skeleton in his closet relation to Chinatown, though all he is willing to divulge is that the place is “bad luck” and that he quit the police force after a woman he was trying to protect (and presumably cared for) was killed. Again harkening back to the theme of corruption.

A lot of big twists and turns all lead to the one big twist and turn; Mulwray’s “mistress” is also Evelyn’s sister… and daughter. I understand that there needed to be some unspeakable darkness in Evelyn’s life, as well as an act that could cement Noah Cross as something more horrible than just a cartoonish corrupt man of power role. Yes this revelation achieves its aim of extreme shock value but it also feels like it’s a little much. More to the point, the scene where Jake beats this startling revelation out of Evelyn is so absurd it is comedic. He slaps her repeatedly until she blurts out the truth to a point that is reminiscent of a Three Stooges film.

Evelyn attempts to take her sister/daughter and escape her incestuous father’s grasp at the end of the film, culminating in a confrontation involving almost all the principle characters on the streets of Chinatown. Jake’s tragic history repeats itself when the police, now revealed to be under the thumb of Noah Cross, shoot Evelyn to death and turn over his daughter/granddaughter to him. Jake is reminded that it is Chinatown and there is nothing he can do. Both implying that nothing can or will ever be done about the corruption and also that Chinatown will continue to represent demons for Jake. This ending is even less satisfactory due to the fact that we now know it is very possible that Noah Cross could have been behind the initial dark incident from Jake’s past.

“Chinatown” kinda writes a check its butt can’t cash by requiring far too much emotion from Faye Dunaway than she is capable of providing, and there are just too many people involved in the shady goings on, which makes it hard to care about the abundance of characters that get trotted across the screen. It does however do a good job of trying everything together in the end, and at least nobody can accuse it of having an oversimplified plot. Ultimately though, what makes “Chinatown” work is the marriage of contemporary violence and sex with perfectly executed modern noir.

I’ve always said there is something special about watching an artist get to be a fan. Bruce Springsteen’s “Seeger Sessions” Tour, the look on Brian Wilson’s face when he performs a Phil Spector song and Roman Polanski getting to show off his love for film history are my Exhibit A, B and C for this case. And I would much rather Polanski commit this interest to film than some of the other things he’s into. I don’t need to be watchin’ no kiddie porn…

#20. One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest (1975)

I’ve always joked that if you want to make an Oscar movie, all you have to do is make sure it is about mental illness or some sort of disability. While there is a good chance Milos Forman’s “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” may have been the first major film to test this theory, I don’t believe it deserves the scorn that should come with pioneering this phenomenon. While the film does appear to have an awards-darling agenda (profound personal awakening, tragic deaths abound, humanization of a generally discarded segment of society and a primary antagonist so unspeakably evil that they are literally willing to abuse mentally ill people being the most prominent) I don’t think it necessarily falls into my gross oversimplification the way later movies like “A Beautiful Mind” and “Rain Man” do.

The opening shots that accompany the credits sort of give the feeling of being institutionalized, as they depict vast expanses of Oregonian landscape, but are still peppered with plenty of Oregon’s legendary dreary weather. Also, the resolution of these shots is significantly grainier and blurry than the rest of the film; as if perhaps they are seen from incarcerated eyes. At first, it is unclear as to who the protagonist is going to be, since we first see Randle McMurphy (Jack Nicholson) in a very non-flattering light; an obnoxious, crude statutory rapist. McMurphy is feigning mental illness in an effort to serve a prison sentence in the much more preferable confines of an insane asylum.

My previous experience with the films of Milos Forman is basically limited to “Amadeus” and “Man on the Moon.” Two of my favorite films, but two that center on Mozart and Andy Kaufman respectively- with the main characters’ psychological eccentricities being the main thread that is sewn into the storyline. However, in “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” the perspective is much more complex. In the aforementioned two films, the general premise is that the central character is a misunderstood genius and everyone around him is an asshole; whereas in “Cuckoo’s Nest” the main character is, frankly, an asshole but assumes that everyone around him is the asshole. And at first glance, this isn’t a completely baseless theory.

The menagerie of human dregs surrounding McMurphy are, at first glance, the kind of people who you would assume probably belong in a home. Martini (Danny DeVito), a dwarfish sort of developmentally disabled man, Billy (Brad Doriff) a stuttering young outcast who still deathly fears his mother, Taber (Christopher Lloyd) an overgrown bully, Harding, a pretentious and slightly effeminate intellectual who blames his condition on his wife’s infidelity, Cheswick, a man-child who is very easily manipulated and enthralled by anyone who seems to remotely have their act together and Chief, an enormous mute Native American.

What is brilliant about the development of McMurphy’s character is that we are not unrealistically won over by a suddenly acquired sense of goodness or charm; instead it is McMurphy’s sense of humor that wins us over, particularly when directed at the ward’s manipulative head nurse, Nurse Ratched (Louise Fletcher). Her passive-aggressiveness and condescending nature are beyond maddening, particularly when it is revealed that most of the functional men in the ward are voluntarily committed. By entrusting their well being to Nurse Ratched, her abuse of power is especially heinous. McMurphy is outraged at her regimenting of the men’s lives, rationing their personal belongings and relentless badgering to express feelings they may not necessarily have.

The conflict between McMurphy and Nurse Ratched is one of the most creative and unique I’ve ever seen. I especially love the complete reversal of convention; the “good guy” is the violent criminal and the “bad guy” is the supposed Angel of Mercy. Louise Fletcher’s stone-faced demeanor through the entire film is so unique and almost frightening as she is not outwardly hostile, which is so frustrating to the viewer as well as the characters.

It is ultimately this heavy reliance on emotion that makes “Cuckoo’s Nest” a great film rather than a good film. The performances aren’t exceptionally great, Doriff is kind of unbelievably exaggerated in his stammering (though he does have one incredibly powerful scene right before his suicide where he stands up to Nurse Ratched and noticeably loses his stutter as if his act of rebellion represents a curing of his condition) most of the patients don’t have a significant amount of screen time to develop their characters and Jack Nicholson and Christopher Lloyd both play characters very similar to the ones we are used to from them.

“What do you think you are, for Christ's sake, crazy or something? Well, you're not! You're not! You're no crazier than the average asshole out walking around on the streets and that's it!” (R.P. McMurphy “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”)

The first indication that Ratched is losing control of the patients occurs when McMurphy suggests the patients be allowed to watch the World Series, which she viciously opposes as it interferes with the regiment she has set in place. After placing the matter up for a vote and losing Ratched changes the rules of the deal in order to ensure that there will be no baseball watched by the patients. Rather than taking the bait and engaging her further or even more preferrable to Ratched, accepting it, McMurphy begins to simulate the entire game in a booming announcer voice. Though he is sitting in front of a blank screen and the results are completely fictional, the other patients watch and listen as excitedly as if they were in the stands; an effect that is enhanced even further when the reflection of the screen shows the patients sitting bunched together bleacher-style and cheering.

One of the most intentionally symbolic but unintentionally ludicrous scenes in the film comes when McMurphy is able to hijack a school bus used to transport patients and sneak several of the inmates out of the hospital and on an impromptu fishing trip on the Oregon coast. It is one of the only scenes that takes place outside the hospital and is clearly meant to be representative of freedom and liberation. There is nothing less confining than the concept of the open seas, there is wind conspicuously blowing through the men’s hair and the most important part is that they all enjoy themselves and are fully conscious of the fact that they are rebelling against Nurse Ratched. While McMurphy’s defense of the other inmates has previously been paralleled a self-serving agenda, this scene represents the first time he sees them as equals and “normal” people. It is unfortunate that the sheer absurdity of the notion that McMurphy could have orchestrated escape/boat rental slightly tarnishes a very moving and significant scene.

Nurse Ratched tricks the police and the hospital chief into letting McMurphy stay in her care under the guise of concern for his rehabilitation, though she clearly intends to continue controlling him to the point of submission. However, in many ways she has already lost her battle since, from this point, the patients begin to lose respect for her and focus their attention on McMurphy. They disobey her more brazenly, object more to her rules, laugh at McMurphy’s jibes and generally begin to think for themselves. Even Chief finally admits to McMurphy that he has been faking his condition also and is perfectly cognitive. This admission forces McMurphy to the realization that an escape to Canada is immediately necessary.

As a final gesture of friendship to the other inmates, McMurphy arranges a farewell party complete with booze and women. It is the ultimate act of rebellion against Nurse Ratched, but also the ultimate act of self-sacrifice for McMurphy, as it sets into motion events that ultimate doom his character. Rather than take his free chance to escape he uses the time to show the other patients the meaning of freedom, including seeing to it Billy loses his virginity, which McMurphy firmly believes he should be out doing instead of being institutionalized. When everyone drunkenly passes out when the nursing staff arrives in the morning it is obvious that it is too late for McMurphy to escape.

If I had to pick one scene where symbolism is used to the greatest effect, it is Nurse Ratched’s arrival the morning after the party. Her beloved nurse’s cap has been knocked on the floor and dirtied sometime in the evening; she attempts to muster up dignity and put it back on but it is noticeably sullied. Her subsequent shaming of Billy to the point of suicide makes the patients see her in the same tainted, impure way- thus the defiled nurse’s cap comes to be representative of the nurse herself. Driven to inconsolable madness by Billy’s death McMurphy attacks Nurse Ratched so violently that she is almost killed and he is lobotomized.

Not willing to let McMurphy’s fate be in vain, Chief steps up as the unlikely hero, first by mercy-killing McMurphy, knowing he would not have wanted to go on that way and second by lifting a solid marble wash basin (which McMurphy unsuccessfully attempts to do himself early in the film) and throwing it through the window so he can escape. This ending, and honestly the film as a whole, are a real testament to the romanticism of film. Though McMurphy is dead, Chief has escaped into a world that has no prospects for him, Ratched keeps her job, Billy has died and most of the patients remain in the hospital, the ending somehow uplifting and inspiring, at least for a minute…

#21. The Grapes of Wrath (1940)

I’ve never been a firm believer in the adage “the book is always better than the movie.” Maybe I just come from a different generation as the people who say that; after all my generation is that of Spark Notes, the internet and the DVD. Things that basically encourage streamlining work and finding shortcuts any way we can. Or maybe it is because I grew up reading “The Lord of the Rings” and only realized after the movies came out how dreadfully boring those books really are.

No, you won’t catch me lecturing someone to “read the book” when discussing film adaptations, but anyone who sees “The Grapes of Wrath” should indeed read the book too. Not because it is “better” or “worse” per-se, but because they are two wildly different pieces of work. Going into this project I was incredibly nervous about how much I may or may not like a film based on what is essentially my favorite book; thankfully though, John Ford did right by it; probably the only way you can do right by it- by making it different enough from the source material that it is allowed to be a stand-alone piece instead of something that can be compared side-by-side.

Of course the basic premise is still the same; a family of Depression-Era Oklahoman refugees flee the Dust Bowl for California, lured by promises of good paying work for everyone and all the grapes you can eat. The chief protagonist in an extensive crew of protagonists is Tom Joad (Henry Fonda), a recently paroled son of farm people making his way back home. Along the way he encounters Jim Casey (John Carradine), the pastor who once baptized Tom but is now seemingly crazy or overcome by alcoholism, or both.

The dialogue in the scene where they meet is a good indication as to how abbreviated the film will be, as the conversation is hurried, unnatural and way more summational than would typically make sense. Literally within two lines of the apparent strangers seeing each other the preacher blurts out that he recognizes Tom and that he had baptized him. Within four lines he is lamenting that he has lost his desire to minister. The back and forth between the men is awkward largely because they are given lines that are laced with hillbilly inflection but both actors deliver them with far too refined of accents, though I don’t think I should fault people for being classically trained actors. Without so much as an invite, Casey joins Tom in his voyage home.

A prevailing theme of pessimism rears its head for the first time when the two men reach the Joad homestead which looks to be abandoned. In a shockingly cavalier way Tom surmises that his family is dead; though given the fact that he was serving jail time for essentially killing a man in self-defense, his jadedness is easily excusable. Fortunately, it turns out the Joads haven’t died, rather been evicted, as they learn from a fellow sharecropper Muley. Muley’s narrative effectively condenses events far better than the aforementioned conversation with Tom and Casey; his tale is told with vivid flashbacks of being removed from their land and tractors razing the land. Though the server who delivers the news appears to be human, albeit sterile as he tries to explain the eviction to Muley, the true antagonists are the merciless tractors and bulldozers indiscriminately looming over his former property; the more disturbing when you take into account the fact that Muley reveals that several of his family members are buried on that same land.

The next scene introduces us to the rest of the Joad clan, and in various ways all are shown to be generally likeable characters. Tom’s grandparents are the typical crazy old couple who has been together too long and good-naturedly give each other shit, Uncle John seems to be the optimistic leader and Tom’s parents are nothing but loving and caring. As Tom is reintroduced to his extended family, a sort of running gag ensues with every family member assuming Tom has escaped from prison. The family is in the process of loading up a truck and heading to California for fruit picking jobs with little more than vague assurances from mass-spread flyers advertising work. It is so pathetic it is actually almost comical to see the size of the truck the Joad family expects to pile nearly a dozen people into.

On the eve of their departure, Tom’s mother sifts through her meager possessions to determine what to keep and what to leave behind. The tragedy of this scene is not just the lack of material possessions but also the lack of anything giving her any real identity. A news clipping about Tom, a postcard from New York, a knickknack from an expo in St. Louis she may or may not have gone to. This scene is one of the saddest in any film I have ever seen and is indicative of the plight of the entire Joad family and everyone like them.

Once the Joads pile into the truck and head for California, the movie begins to play out like a really unfortunate game of “The Oregon Trail;” complete with wheels breaking, rations running low and family members dying. Through it all, the Joad family remains optimistic almost to an annoyance. Though it is implied heavily, it is never really said that the reason for this is because their hope is basically all they have. It is clichéd and contrived, but it works for no other reason than because of the fact that the film was made so soon after the Great Depression.

One of the most unnerving aspects of “The Grapes of Wrath” is the shabby treatment the Joad family is subjected to as their trip progresses. Despite the fact that they are inching closer to their goal, the people they encounter are progressively ruder and harsher than the ones before; an obvious foreshadowing as to the unforgiving and ultimately fruitlessness (no pun intended) of their circumstances. In fact, their arrival at the first of many migrant worker camps sees the Joads having to sacrifice even further to feed several of the child inhabitants, despite not even having enough food for themselves- yet another foreshadowing of what kind of despair lies ahead.

“What is these 'Reds' anyway? Every time ya turn around, somebody callin' somebody else a Red. What is these 'Reds' anyway?” (Tom Joad, “The Grapes of Wrath”)

When the prospect of work finally does surface even more foreshadowing comes into play, though this time it is more rooted in morality than mortality. A disgruntled worker who has been in California for significantly longer than the Joads begins to explain worker’s rights to the other residents and even implies that a strike could lead to better wages and working conditions. He is labeled an “agitator” and I think we all know where this is going from here.

A sort of communistic overtone begins to take shape, culminating in the arrival at a government-run socialized work camp, which they first spot as “a light up ahead.” The differences between this camp and the others they encounter are very pronounced. Their sign is professionally made rather than crudely written, the units are painted white and resemble cottages as opposed to shantytowns and they are provided with clean accommodations and running water. The film’s final and primary conflict becomes a showdown between the camp residents, who have all been labeled as “reds” and police infiltrators looking to quash any organization of the laborers. In a scuffle that results in Casey being murdered, Tom again commits a justified murder which results in him realizing he has to leave his family behind. His iconic speech/declaration to his mother is another very synthetic piece of dialogue but it does serve to unmistakably drive home the socialistic agenda of the film; most notably Tom’s reference to everyone representing pieces of “the one big soul that belongs to everybody.” Tom decides to embark on a vague crusade of social justice, all but ensuring his travels will lead him from one doomed situation to the next.

The film ends very open-endedly with the remaining Joads leaving the idyllic government camp behind chasing another prospect of work; though this time it is suggested they will actually get it- though most significantly, the ending appears to be more optimistic simply because it doesn’t even begin to compare to the dark ending of the book. Also, the implication exists that what we have seen the Joad family go through is so terrible that the only reason they wouldn’t show us that happens is because their fates actually turn around. That or unspeakable atrocities await them…

“The Grapes of Wrath” is not a perfect movie, and I can nitpick it to death as far as the dialect and advancement of storyline, but ultimately the film has a very specific point and agenda it tries to make and it pulls it off remarkably and more to the point it seems to be a very ballsy movie to have made at any point in history, let alone the time it was made.