Criterion Pictures is circulating a new 35mm for Elia Kazan’s Wild River (1960). It’s not available domestically on DVD, we just screened it last night, and now it’s headed for the Wisconsin Film Festival where one of Kazan’s daughters will be watching it. We had two show-times, and halfway through the first screening my projectionist excitedly texted me from the booth to say: “The print of Wild River we are running right now may be the best print we have had in the past couple years! It is in mint condition and the colors, contrast and clarity would knock you out of your seat.” I was juggling two social events, a birthday party at my house for a local friend as well as hosting an out-of-state visitor from New Orleans, but that text message helped me to convince everyone at the party to abandon ship and head out to the theater. I’m happy to report that there were no regrets from all involved. 

It’s interesting how when you mention Kazan’s name, the titles that most people bring to the fore are A Streetcar Named Desire (1951), East of Eden (1955) and, of course, On the Waterfront (1954) – and yet Wild River is reportedly one of Kazan’s favorite films (in the seventies he tried to buy the rights to re-release it, but couldn’t afford the studio’s asking price). It also has another lesser-known distinction; it’s a very political film whose setting places the action downstream from a hydroelectric dam in rural Tennessee in the 1930′s – and Wild River gets bragging rights to being the first film to use color to depict 1930′s America (predating Bonnie and Clyde by seven years). Not just any color, either, but the kind of vibrant Technicolor that shimmers with such a scintillating aura that one of my friends, at the end of the film, blurted out: “Dear God, that entire film looks like it was shot during The Magic Hour!” But, no, it wasn’t confined to that surreal time of dusk or dawn when the light hits landscapes in such a way as to magnify every hue with the sublime. But such is the wonder of Technicolor that even an evening shot set in a dilapidated house where Lee Remick is being buzz-bombed by several flies shimmers; and even those unwelcome and unscripted winged intruders seem to carry the shine of gems with weird interior light. The other bonus here comes in form of the luscious CinemaScope landscapes.

Interesting also how politics can retain their standing power despite the march of time. Kazan being no stranger to such things as one of Hollywood’s most famous pariahs due to his testimony before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) in 1952. When he received his Honorary Academy Award 47 years later, in 1999, much was made of those who stood by his side during the ceremonies (Martin Scorsese, Robert De Niro), those who stood up to applaud him (Warren Beatty, Karl Malden, Debbie Allen, Meryl Streep, Kurt Russell, Kathy Bates, Helen Hunt, Lynn Redgrave), those who did not stand up but did applaud (Steven Spielberg, Jim Carrey), and those who refused to either stand or applaud (Nick Nolte and Ed Harris).

The themes covered by Wild River go even further in time to illustrate the persistence of politics. Here’s a film made 50 years ago, about a time now roughly 80-years-past, that will surely resonate with contemporary politics – especially as it concerns the intrusions by Big Government via the New Deal into the lives of rugged individualists who don’t want change. What is fascinating to me about Wild River is that it carries the possibility of appealing to both current Tea Party enthusiasts (for whom the subject of eminent domain provides a quick rally cry for protest) as well as having cachet for pragmatic progressives (who will side with the concept of doing what is necessary for “the greater good”). Left out in the cold are the environmentalists who hate big dams, but anyone with a soft spot for romance might at least go along for the ride to see how things shake out between Montgomery Clift and Lee Remick.

Wild River begins with documentary footage of a flood that sets up the problem; this wild river needs to be tamed or more people will die. Plus, it means more jobs, equitable pay for all, and it means being able to delivery electricity to homes that have none. Chuck Glover (Clift) flies in to assist the Tennessee Valley Authority complete the project. But there’s a problem; there’s an 80-year-old woman living smack-dab-in-the-middle of the river on a small island. Ella Garth (Jo Van Fleet – 46 at the time, but the make-up is effective) refuses to budge. Her widowed daughter-in-law (Remick), however, slowly becomes receptive to all of Garth’s persuasions.

Remick was 25 when this was shot and she delivers a powerful performance, her Technicolor-blue eyes mesmerize and astonish. Clift was 40 and is very stiff by comparison, but his health was in decline due to a 1956 car crash into a telephone pole – one that might have killed him there had not Elizabeth Taylor scrambled to his side while he was choking on his own tooth (she manually extracted it from his throat). His facial reconstruction made it hard to move his lips and left his eyes with a peculiar stare. (Wikipedia notes how the “pain of the accident led him to rely on alcohol and pills for relief,” resulting in a “post-accident career (that) has been referred to as the ‘longest suicide in Hollywood history’”.)

Click on the link below for more on Montgomery Clift (and Marilyn Monroe), but be warned: the picture of Clift’s car crash is not for the squeamish:

http://preview.tinyurl.com/yctlzjj

Final notes on Wild River: Paul Osborn’s screenplay is compiled from two novels: Mud on the Stars (by William Bradford Hule), and Dunbar’s Cover (by Borden Deal). The cinematography by Ellsworth Fredericks is top notch. The director of Medium Cool (and cinematographer on over 60 films, including Mulholland Falls), Haskell Wexler, is an additional (and uncredited) photographer. The original music by Kenyon Hopkins is refreshingly understated, and also the subject of a previous Morlock post by Jeff that can be found here:

http://moviemorlocks.com/2009/01/10/the-elusive-sounds-of-kenyon-hopkins/