There doesn't seem to be an existing thread for the film as such, but in the 'Humor' forum there is a thread on 'It's a Wonderful Life ... in 30 Seconds: THE BUNNIES ARE BACK.'

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Jump, George, Jump!
While watching the new colorization of “It's a Wonderful Life" on DVD - this time they got it right; no longer do you get the feeling you're watching a black-and-white film through stained glass - I thought: you know who would love this? Why, that visionary American innovator Henry F. Potter.
That's right, Mr. Potter - the unsung hero of “It's a Wonderful Life," the canny businessman who tried (and, alas, failed) to turn boring, repressed Bedford Falls - a town full of drunks, child beaters, vandals and racial and sexual harassers - into an exciting new destination nightspot called Pottersville. . . .
You know who doesn't commit any crimes in this movie? Mr. Potter. . . .
In the Pottersville scene, the movie stacks the decks by putting a cemetery in the place of the Bailey Park development. Sorry, George, but without you, people still would have died in Bedford Falls - of boredom. That's because Bedford Falls lacks most of the bars, pool halls, bowling alleys and dance clubs that make Pottersville a lively city instead of a drab hamlet where the only entertainment is to see “The Bells of St. Mary's" at the local monoplex.
Are we supposed to be outraged that Nick the Bartender, in Pottersville, says, “We serve hard drinks in here for men who like to get drunk fast"? What barman would say anything else when asked, as Clarence the Angel does, for “mulled wine, heavy on the cinnamon and light on the cloves"? Remember, the guy who slugs George in the bar does so in Bedford Falls, not Pottersville. . . .
When the folks empty their pocket change and lint on the Baileys' table at the end, it doesn't look like nearly enough to cover an $8,000 shortfall. Not that it matters, since Sam Wainwright agrees to wire $25,000. In the end, the moral is: better to know one rich guy than a lot of losers.
Kyle Smith, New York Post, November 25

It's a Destructive Life
Yet, if there is a dark side of America, the film quite ably captures that aspect as well - and contrary to popular belief, it is found not solely in Mr. Potter. One sees a dark side represented by George Bailey himself: the optimist, the adventurer, the builder, the man who deeply hates the town that gives him sustenance, who craves nothing else but to get out of Bedford Falls and remake the world. Given its long-standing reputation as a nostalgic look at small-town life in the pre-war period, it is almost shocking to suggest that the film is one of the most potent, if unconscious critiques ever made of the American dream that was so often hatched in this small-town setting. For George Bailey, in fact, destroys the town that saves him in the end. . . .
We also learn something far more sinister about Bailey Park toward the end of the film. . . .
George confirms a horrific suspicion: Bailey Park has been built atop the old cemetery. Not only does George raze the trees, but he commits an act of unspeakable sacrilege. He obliterates a sacred symbol of Bedford Fall's connection with the past, the grave markers of the town's ancestors. George Bailey's vision of a modern America eliminates his links with his forebears, covers up the evidence of death, supplies people instead with private retreats of secluded isolation, and all at the expense of an intimate community, in life and in death. . . .
A deep irony pervades the film at the moment of it joyous conclusion: as the developer of an antiseptic suburban subdivision, George Bailey is saved through the kinds of relationships nourished in his town that will be undermined and even precluded in the anomic community he builds as an adult.
Patrick Deneen, December 23

Mr. Potter doesn't commit any crimes? Failure to return the $8,000 when he knows who it belongs to, that's not a crime?

mrmando wrote:
: Mr. Potter doesn't commit any crimes? Failure to return the $8,000 when he knows who it belongs to, that's not a crime?

Smith addresses that:

True, it's unethical for Potter not to return the money that Uncle Billy literally drops into his lap, but Potter's right in accusing George of gross negligence. Entrusting anything more important than a broom to a drunken fool like Billy (he loses track of the money while taunting Potter) makes George an unfit fiduciary.

Whether Potter's action is merely "unethical" or actually "criminal" would depend on the laws in that time and place, I suppose.

And it hardly compares to the charges of child abuse, sexual harassment and so on committed by the other townsfolk, right?

As a board member of the building & loan, Mr. Potter also bears fiduciary responsibility, and he is more negligent than George, in that he keeps the money for himself instead of returning it to be deposited in the building & loan's account. That's embezzlement, and would still be illegal even if Bedford Falls and/or the state of New York had a "finders keepers" policy about lost property. He also files a false report with the authorities, attempting to frame George for the embezzlement—which is tantamount to perjury.

Now THOSE are charges that "depend on the laws in that time and place."

And now I'm thinking of Craig T Nelson's rebuke towards James Karen in Poltergeist, with bodies and caskets shooting up from the swimming pool. What an odd, odd, disconnect.

Deconstructionist, cynical, willful poppycock. What will folks think of Smith and Deneen in 2067, I wonder?

Stories themselves define who the protagonists and antagonists are. An attempt to define those roles otherwise says more about the reinterpreter than it does about the story itself.

Now, we might have an interesting, profitable discussion about what makes Bailey and Potter heroic and villainous, respectively, and how changing mores and times may affect our reading of the intended roles; but insisting that we understand these characters through a contemporary lens without any consideration for how the movie played in 1946 is just silly -- and poor criticism.

The film addressed very specific post-war and post-Depression realities, not to mention problems of labor, suburbanization, and industrialization that were staples of American fiction through the twenties to forties (think Tarkington or Steinbeck, just for starters).

Bailey was a pro-growth boosterizing idealist who rejected conservative small-town values and still got his dreams derailed. The film itself does not suggest anything one way or another about whether Bailey's dreams were "good" or not, or whether he went about fulfilling them, in his own small way, in a worthy manner. The bottom line is that he was in danger of becoming a "warped, frustrated old man" just like Potter -- or, apparently, just like Smith and Deneen.

The fact that 1946 values are still powerfully nostalgic for folks (and that the film didn't explode in popularity until about 1974) is a lot more significant than the revisionist whinings of writers like these two.

Now, if they want to poke holes in purely escapist, romanticized films like Miracle on 34th Street, well... have at it. But the Wonderful Life they criticize is a straw man of their own creation. It's not the film that Capra actually made.

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Regarding Potter and the Bailey Building and Loan deposit: Potter has both the money and concrete knowledge of whence it came -- and it came into his possession on bank property. He'd be guilty of fraud and conspiracy, at the very least, as would his butler/valet/assistant.

Flawed characters in the film are not celebrated because of their flaws, and their faults are not presented for others to emulate.

Mardis Gras and Las Vegas are celebration enough of Pottersville's values. Why ask a Capra film to join the parade?

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Really -- I wasn't gonna comment on this stuff at all. But it still rankles me after several hours and I can't resist.

Man, some people just hate the whole idea of Christmas, love, joy, peace, and quiet.

Greg: Thank you, sir.

Greg Wright wrote:
: Stories themselves define who the protagonists and antagonists are. An attempt to define those roles otherwise says more about the reinterpreter than it does about the story itself.

Oh, now that's a daring concept. Does it apply equally to, say, Charlie Wilson's War or Schindler's List (both of which involve wealthy and well-connected hedonists who find a form of redemption in doing sneaky things on behalf of the oppressed, etc.)?

I think the issue here is not that the interpreter is necessarily imposing himself on the story, but that the interpreter is recognizing that the story ITSELF is an interpretation of an even deeper reality, and so the interpreter is offering a counter-interpretation of the reality which the story itself is trying to interpret.

Of course, one can always argue that fiction is fiction and thus there is NO deeper reality to these stories. And yet, hmmm, the United States WAS undergoing a profound social transition at the time that It's a Wonderful Life came out -- from the front porch to the back patio, as one of Deneen's sources puts it -- and the film seems to have a different interpretation of that transition than Deneen does. Is there any particular reason Deneen should NOT offer a counter-interpretation of that deeper social reality, and thus question the interpretation which the film itself offers?

: Now, we might have an interesting, profitable discussion about what makes Bailey and Potter heroic and villainous, respectively, and how changing mores and times may affect our reading of the intended roles; but insisting that we understand these characters through a contemporary lens without any consideration for how the movie played in 1946 is just silly -- and poor criticism.

I don't think the "times", contemporary or otherwise, are quite the point here. We could almost certainly point to "stories" made and set TODAY which also offer up protagonists who are "really" antagonists, and so forth.

: The film addressed very specific post-war and post-Depression realities, not to mention problems of labor, suburbanization, and industrialization that were staples of American fiction through the twenties to forties (think Tarkington or Steinbeck, just for starters).

Ah, but is suburbanization a "problem" in this film? Deneen seems to think it isn't, but it should be.

And what about the child abuse, the alcoholism, the cops stealing things, and so forth?

: The fact that 1946 values are still powerfully nostalgic for folks (and that the film didn't explode in popularity until about 1974) is a lot more significant than the revisionist whinings of writers like these two.

Well, it is difficult to say what "1946 values" even ARE, when the film captures a moment in time when America was transitioning from one set of values to another. I am reminded of how A Bug's Life presents a happy rural existence but ends on a supposedy happy or promising note of increased mechanization -- whereas Antz, released only a month or two before, is all about how easy it is to lose your soul in a massified, expedited, industrialized society.

: Really -- I wasn't gonna comment on this stuff at all. But it still rankles me after several hours and I can't resist.
: Man, some people just hate the whole idea of Christmas, love, joy, peace, and quiet.

Hey, I take it in the same spirit as that other piece which argued that the Empire was ultimately on the side of good in the Star Wars movies. It's all fun.

What Greg said.

Yeah, but here's the thing. Luke Skywalker, much as he embodies the hero archetype, is not a hero to me. George Bailey is. Yes, he's a flawed hero with a dark side, in a flawed community with a dark side. I watch the movie every year, and I know that not all the darkness is in the alternate reality of Pottersville or in the "warped, frustrated old man" in whose image that nightmare town was made. But still and all I'll go with the valuation of Heaven itself: The world is better off with George Bailey in it than without. Forget Santa Claus. I want to believe in George Bailey.

Smith's indictment of Bedford Falls as "a town full of drunks, child beaters, vandals and racial and sexual harassers" blithely overlooks the obvious implication that Pottersville would have been much worse on several counts and can hardly be thought to have been an improvement on any. Smith tries to gloss this by complaining about how "boring" Bedford Falls was.

Take drunkenness. Smith himself does what he can to neutralize the clear implications of Potterville's Nick the barman's remark "We serve hard drinks in here for men who like to get drunk fast," but he can't have his cake and eat it too.

Don't forget Mr. Gower, a drunken stumblebum in the Pottersville world. Yes, he almost poisoned someone in what was clearly an isolated incident, a moment of grief and alcohol-despair. Super-hip deconstructionists can suddenly get Pharisaically moralistic about things like that while at the same time being easy-peasy about little matters like grand larceny.

And as incompetent as Uncle Billy might have been -- and as foolish as George may have been to trust him with so much money -- in the Pottersville world he wound up in an insane asylum. Decision: The Pottersville world is crueler than the Bedford Falls world.

Yes, George Bailey got slugged in the bar in the real world. In 1940s Hollywood a slug in the jaw was often a salutary thing, a token of righteous indignation and standing up for decent values. What's remarkable about this film is that George Bailey is the hero, yet he deserves the slug in the jaw. But for Smith it's just an opportunity for moralistic finger-wagging.

And if Smith thinks that there was less child abuse, vandalism and racial and sexual harrassment in the "exciting new destination nightspot called Pottersville," he's the one who belongs in Uncle Billy's room at the Pottersville asylum.

My first thought about the cemetary is that Deenan is barking up the wrong tree: It's there for thematic reasons, not narrative ones. It ties into the cemetary at the end of that other classic Christmas fable about a rich oppressive businessman and a poor working stiff, A Christmas Carol. The geography is not the point, I think. I'd have to think about it some more to come to any further conclusions.

What the heck is Deenan talking about regarding the "deep irony" of the end? Does he think that Pottersville would have better preserved the kinds of relationships that save George in the end?

Oh, and Potter's actions with the eight grand are grand larceny, full stop. I'm not interested in playing the subversion game and seeing how far we can implicate George Bailey while exculpating Potter. Except possibly as a purely absurdist goof, which is not what it looks to me like Smith and Deenan are doing, it seems to me a sick, twisted exercise.

Greg. SDG.

Thank you, good sirs.

-s.

Wonderful response, SDG. And since I haven't seen the film in almost two decades, I must stay on the sidelines and merely observe. But as a bystander, what do you make of Smith's remarks regarding the film's "insult" to working women, or the likelihood (or lack thereof) of whatsherface ending up a poor spinster and not the wife of that millionaire she was seeing before George came along? It seems to me that that is one of the key Smith complaints that you haven't addressed yet.

The film doesn't bother to tell us what happened to Sam Wainwright in the Pottersville version of George's world. Who's to say? Maybe he'd have drowned in the swimming pool during the high school prom. Maybe he'd have gone to college and messed around with Mrs. Robinson instead of getting in on the ground floor in plastics. And even if Sam did become a millionaire, who's to say that's what Mary wanted? Here again is a scene from that other legendary Christmas tale. Just suppose the "he" and "she" are Sam and Mary, and see what you think:

He was not alone, but sat by the side of a fair young girl in a mourning-dress: in whose eyes there were tears, which sparkled in the light that shone out of the Ghost of Christmas Past.

"It matters little," she said, softly. "To you, very little. Another idol has displaced me; and if it can cheer and comfort you in time to come, as I would have tried to do, I have no just cause to grieve."

"What Idol has displaced you?" he rejoined.

"A golden one."

"This is the even-handed dealing of the world!" he said. "There is nothing on which it is so hard as poverty; and there is nothing it professes to condemn with such severity as the pursuit of wealth!"

"You fear the world too much," she answered, gently. "All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach. I have seen your nobler aspirations fall off one by one, until the master-passion, Gain, engrosses you. Have I not?"

"What then?" he retorted. "Even if I have grown so much wiser, what then? I am not changed towards you."

She shook her head.

"Am I?"

"Our contract is an old one. It was made when we were both poor and content to be so, until, in good season, we could improve our worldly fortune by our patient industry. You are changed. When it was made, you were another man."

"I was a boy," he said impatiently.

"Your own feeling tells you that you were not what you are," she returned. "I am. That which promised happiness when we were one in heart, is fraught with misery now that we are two. How often and how keenly I have thought of this, I will not say. It is enough that I have thought of it, and can release you."

"Have I ever sought release?"

"In words? No. Never."

"In what, then?"

"In a changed nature; in an altered spirit; in another atmosphere of life; another Hope as its great end. In everything that made my love of any worth or value in your sight. If this had never been between us," said the girl, looking mildly, but with steadiness, upon him; "tell me, would you seek me out and try to win me now? Ah, no!"

He seemed to yield to the justice of this supposition, in spite of himself. But he said with a struggle," You think not?"

"I would gladly think otherwise if I could," she answered, "Heaven knows. When I have learned a Truth like this, I know how strong and irresistible it must be. But if you were free to-day, to-morrow, yesterday, can even I believe that you would choose a dowerless girl -- you who, in your very confidence with her, weigh everything by Gain: or, choosing her, if for a moment you were false enough to your one guiding principle to do so, do I not know that your repentance and regret would surely follow? I do; and I release you. With a full heart, for the love of him you once were."

He was about to speak; but with her head turned from him, she resumed.

"You may -- the memory of what is past half makes me hope you will -- have pain in this. A very, very brief time, and you will dismiss the recollection of it, gladly, as an unprofitable dream, from which it happened well that you awoke. May you be happy in the life you have chosen."

She left him, and they parted.

Yes. I don't think I could add much that to that. But in response to Peter's earlier queries:

"Antagonist" and "protagonist" are not the same thing as "villain" and "hero." The former are formal classifications (with associations that may be valuative, but don't need to be) and latter are valuative assessments of the characters in those roles. Sometimes a story itself will make it plain whether the protagonist is heroic (or anti-heroic). That's the story's prerogative. IAWL very much makes it clear that Bailey is heroic, and Potter villainous. That's the story's choice. It's up to me whether I like that story or not; it's not up to me whether or Potter is a villain or a hero. And yes, of course, that applies to Charlie Wilson's War (or Schindler's list). Wilson is a boozer and womanizer, but he's the story's hero. Not much I can do about that -- except enjoy it (which I did), or not.

Is suburbanization one of the problems the film addresses? Yes, of course it is -- in connection with treatment of the welfare class. It's no accident that Bailey is viewed by Potter as almost a communist for how he conducts "business," and that his housing development is presented as a "salt-of-the-earth" type affair with house blessings and all. (Capra's Catholic heritage coming through pretty clearly.) Again, you'd have to look at the body of American literature from the period to get that in the proper context. Read Tarkington's Growth series if you're interested: The Midlander, The Magnificent Ambersons, and The Turmoil, I think the three books are. Alice Adams is also in that vein as is Kate Fennigate. (Alice Adams and The Magnificent Ambersons were both Pulitzer-winners; we all know about Welles' film of Ambersons, and Hepburn won her first Oscar for Alice Adams -- so these are not some obscure, irrelevant tales. Tarkington's vision of what was happening to middle-America and the fate of the small town was a pretty main-stream topic of mass consumption.)

Deneen seems to think that he's "discovered" that issue beneath the veneer of the film, and that somehow Capra was unaware of it all. Bullocks. Deneen is simply unaware (or at least expresses no awareness) of how the topic was being addressed in popular art. He seems to think analysis of the issue is the domain of contemporary sociologists. Myopic and uninformed.


There's no indication that Mary herself was particularly unhappy about being a librarian, for what that's worth. It was George who was offended by the notion. She still looked great, and carried herself with respect -- unlike poor George's mother, who turned into a veritable witch. In the "real world," Mary didn't throw over Hee Haw for George because she liked him better; she simply didn't care for the other guy -- wouldn't have mattered if he were a millionaire or a bum. (He wasn't a millionaire yet when George came along, fwiw. That came later.) In general, though, women are treated pretty much like they are in, say, a darker version of Leave it to Beaver, which came along a good fifteen years later. So I don't know why we'd expect much different from a 1946 film, or ask it to be something it couldn't be. (It would take an entire film to address that issue properly in that period -- one such as Alice Adams.)

Again, this is the problem with what Smith and Deneen do. I have no problem with criticism that swims against the current -- but when these writers insist that contemporary values and paradigms are the proper way to filter a film's messages, that just doesn't sit right with me. I don't read these pieces as mere fun-poking. They come off as agenda-driven to me. Very bad-natured, and not fun in the least.

I'm also pretty sure Deneen is on the wrong track with the cemetery. I don't think Bailey bulldozed the cemetery to put in the subdivision; it's my impression that Potter put in a cemetery instead of a subdivision -- the implication being that, like Scrooge, Potter simply preferred to "decrease the surplus population." Compare the lines that Potter has in the film with Dickens' lines for Scrooge, and it's pretty clear that Potter is written as an unrepentant Scrooge, and that Bailey is the reformed Scrooge-who-might-have-been. IAWL is an updated Christmas Carol, plain and not-so-simple.

(Thanks for the kind words from Alan, Stef, and SDG.)

Greg, I bow to your knowledge, your wisdom, and your eloquence. Even if I were to see the film afresh, I doubt I could pursue my devil's advocacy any further.

That said, I think you meant "Bollocks" and not "Bullocks".

Oh, nuts. I awoke this morning looking forward to more cantankerous banter. Now I'll just have to be in a good mood all day!


I probably have something sub-psychologically opposed to verbal ejaculations of the sort. But talking about diminutive bovines isn't terribly inappropriate in the context, either, given that they would fit more conveniently on the patio than on the porch; so who knows what I meant? (I doubt it would matter to Smith and Deneen...)

Recently rewatched Capra's film version of YOU CAN'T TAKE IT WITH YOU. Couldn't help but think the night court scene, where all the neighbours pool their money to pay Grandpa Vanderhof's fine, is sort of a trial run for the much more effective use of the same idea in WONDERFUL LIFE. (It's a Capra addition, not in the original play. Would be interesting to know whether it's in the Van Doren Stern short story that's the source for WONDERFUL LIFE. Bet it's not.)

Must say, I got quite a kick out of the two gleefully contrarian articles on WONDERFUL LIFE that open this thread. Thanks, Peter. Funny stuff.

I missed that, but FWIW that final "heartwarming scene" kinda completely changes the film. I wish they'd made it so that Bailey realised how incredible his life was, but didn't get entirely rescued by his many friends.

Matt

As you well know, the entire night court scene is not in the original play, which, like The Man Who Came to Dinner, observes the classical unity of place.

I read something that purported to be the original short story ... it is very short indeed, and consists entirely of a conversation between the George and Clarence characters on the bridge.

Wonderful? Sorry, George, It’s a Pitiful, Dreadful Life
“It’s a Wonderful Life” is a terrifying, asphyxiating story about growing up and relinquishing your dreams, of seeing your father driven to the grave before his time, of living among bitter, small-minded people. It is a story of being trapped, of compromising, of watching others move ahead and away, of becoming so filled with rage that you verbally abuse your children, their teacher and your oppressively perfect wife. It is also a nightmare account of an endless home renovation. . . .
Take the extended sequence in which George Bailey (James Stewart), having repeatedly tried and failed to escape Bedford Falls, N.Y., sees what it would be like had he never been born. The bucolic small town is replaced by a smoky, nightclub-filled, boogie-woogie-driven haven for showgirls and gamblers, who spill raucously out into the crowded sidewalks on Christmas Eve. It’s been renamed Pottersville, after the villainous Mr. Potter, Lionel Barrymore’s scheming financier.
Here’s the thing about Pottersville that struck me when I was 15: It looks like much more fun than stultifying Bedford Falls — the women are hot, the music swings, and the fun times go on all night. If anything, Pottersville captures just the type of excitement George had long been seeking.
And what about that banking issue? When he returns to the “real” Bedford Falls, George is saved by his friends, who open their wallets to cover an $8,000 shortfall at his savings and loan brought about when the evil Mr. Potter snatched a deposit mislaid by George’s idiot uncle, Billy (Thomas Mitchell).
But isn’t George still liable for the missing funds, even if he has made restitution? I mean, if someone robs a bank, and then gives the money back, that person still robbed the bank, right? . . .
Now as for that famous alternate-reality sequence: This is supposedly what the town would turn out to be if not for George. I interpret it instead as showing the true characters of these individuals, their venal internal selves stripped bare. The flirty Violet (played by a supersexy Gloria Grahame, who would soon become a timeless film noir femme fatale) is a dime dancer and maybe a prostitute; Ernie the cabbie’s blank face speaks true misery as George enters his taxi; Bert the cop is a trigger-happy madman, violating every rule in the patrol guide when he opens fire on the fleeing, yet unarmed, George, forcing revelers to cower on the pavement. . . .
Not only is Pottersville cooler and more fun than Bedford Falls, it also would have had a much, much stronger future. Think about it: In one scene George helps bring manufacturing to Bedford Falls. But since the era of “It’s a Wonderful Life” manufacturing in upstate New York has suffered terribly.
On the other hand, Pottersville, with its nightclubs and gambling halls, would almost certainly be in much better financial shape today. It might well be thriving.
I checked my theory with the oft-quoted Mitchell L. Moss, a professor of urban policy at New York University, and he agreed, pointing out that, of all the upstate counties, the only one that has seen growth in recent years has been Saratoga. . . .
Wendell Jamieson, New York Times, December 18

Argh. Warmed-over Smith and Deenan. Publishing this stuff around Christmastime is the film-critical equivalent of Time and Newsweek's special Christmas-and-Easter "The Gospels Are Bunk" issues. Mr. Jamieson can go suck an egg. I don't feel like debunking his crap. The perversity of it just makes me sad, and hang it all, we've done this once already.

Come on, Peter. Just because they write this shit doesn't mean we have to link to -- and quote -- it.

Newsweek's done the "Gospels are bunk" issues. (This year it's that the Bible supports gay marriage.) Time's always been a bit more careful IMHO.

The comments on IAWL are out too lunch. (It's worth nothing that the withered bank examiner himself puts in some money, indicating that he has a better grasp on the situation than withered old Mr. Jamieson.)

I feel sorry for Mr. Jamieson. Anyone who lives with this worldview must be a truly miserable person.

This from our resident von Trier expert.

SDG wrote:
: Come on, Peter. Just because they write this shit doesn't mean we have to link to -- and quote -- it.

Wow.

Suffice it to say that I don't have as, er, religious an attachment to this film as some do, I guess. I find this stuff pretty interesting, myself (especially when people try to ask what would happen if a fantasy like this took place in the real world etc.), but I haven't seen the film in a long time, so I don't know where my own sympathies would lie.

I watch this movie every year with my kids. It is part of our family Christmas tradition. You could say I have a religious (or quasi-religious) attachment to it. Lots of people do.

Mr. Jamieson knows that "lots of people love this movie," but he's complacently "convinced that it's for the wrong reasons." His essay is, in part, a gleeful stick in the eye for those imagined people.

This isn't a serious effort to "ask what would happen if a fantasy like this took place in the real world." Whatever gestures that are made in that direction are window dressing. What we really have here is a warped, frustrated middle-aged man who admires the "dyed-haired, wry, angry-young-man" he once saw himself as, reveling in the deconstructionist irony of declaring his love for fun, happening Pottersville over awful, dull Bedford Falls and the daring nihilism of his conclusion that "Had George Bailey never been born, the people in his town might very well be better off today."

Greg's earlier evaluation -- "Deconstructionist, cynical, willful poppycock" -- about sums up my take on this soulless hipster revisionism.

The thing is, I agree that It's a Wonderful Life is "anything but a cheery tale." That's the falsity of the marketing, not the truthfulness of the movie. I agree, in substance, that it's the story about "growing up and relinquishing your dreams, of seeing your father driven to the grave before his time, of living among bitter, small-minded people. It is a story of being trapped, of compromising, of watching others move ahead and away, of becoming so filled with rage that you verbally abuse your children, their teacher and your oppressively perfect wife" -- though it's a mighty shriveled heart that finds Donna Reed "oppressively" perfect. What the hell do people want out of life, anyway?

The question is: What is one to make of this man who reliquishes his dreams, who allows himself to become trapped, to compromise, even to the point of becoming filled with rage and abusing those around him? Is he an unsung hero, a pillar in his community, giving his all for the greater good? Or is he a pathetic loser whose misguided meddling made the world a worse place rather than a better?

Mr. Jamieson argues for the latter interpretation. What the world really needs is not more decent homes and neighborhoods, but more casinos and nightclubs to keep the economy humming, a few lost souls more or less be damned. (Can casinos possibly be an overall economic plus? I don't see how. Gambling is a zero-sum proposition.)

Mr. Jamieson then goes on to conclude, at least inexplicably if not disingenuously, that he still gets "all choked up" by Harry's declaration of George as "the richest man in town." His essay provides no insight into this touching reaction, unless he is simply moved by the pathos of such a comforting delusion -- the only thing, it would seem on his view, that this shell of a man has left.

To all of which I reply: Kiss my ass, sir. You aren't worthy to untie George Bailey's shoelace.

So there you have it, I did it after all, again. Let's skip this charming ritual next year, please.

An Idea: Peter, why don't you watch It's a Wonderful Life, this year?

SDG wrote:
: An Idea: Peter, why don't you watch It's a Wonderful Life, this year?

Great, more homework. And here I was thinking I already need to make time to watch the two-movies-in-one disc of Going My Way and Holiday Inn that I picked up for seven bucks the other day! (I have never seen either movie, but I do know that White Christmas -- which I have only half-seen -- is a remake of Holiday Inn, plus I already own The Bells of St. Mary's, which I believe is a sequel to Going My Way.)

You should go out of your way to see Holiday Inn, but be forewarned of the blackface bit (which actually is instrumental to the plot...). White Christmas shouldn't be approached until much, much later, since it's a very loose remake, the songs are inferior, and Vera-Ellen's turtlenecks become more obvious to her eating disorder.

BTW, I have this same disc, and I still haven't seen Going My Way yet.

The Week gives a one-page summary of the history of It's a Wonderful Life.

Christian wrote:
: The Week gives a one-page summary of the history of It's a Wonderful Life.

From the article:

Why isn’t it on TV as much anymore?
In 1993, Republic Pictures, a company that took over distribution from the film’s producer, announced that it still held the rights to Stern’s original story. Fearful of being sued for copyright infringement, TV stations stopped showing the movie. Eventually NBC acquired exclusive broadcasting rights and now airs it twice a year, during prime time.

That's ... interesting. I guess, when the film rights to the story were first sold, there was no clause in the contract covering television and video rights, since those things didn't really exist yet at that time. Even so, it seems odd that the source material would still have an enforceable copyright while the secondary material would not.

Also from the article:

“It’s a Wonderful Life shows that every human being on this Earth matters,” says director Steven Spielberg, “and that’s a very powerful message.”

Ah, but does every human being matter in the same way? Maybe some people's lives are improved by the existence of a certain person. But maybe other people's lives are made worse by the existence of a certain person. (Hitler, anyone?) And maybe some people's lives, on balance, would be more or less the same, either way. But of course, if this film covered all those bases, it wouldn't be so popular. No one wants to think that they are the people who make life worse, or the people who don't make much of a difference; they want to imagine themselves as the people who make life better for everyone.

From the article:


It's a Wonderful Life is much better than A Christmas Carol. In fact it could be said that it more or less is A Christmas Carol turned inside out, giving us the vindication of the impoverished, long-suffering, decent Bob Cratchitt figure, George Bailey, rather than the redemption of the wealthy, heartless, oppressive Scrooge figure, Mr. Potter.

It's a more biblical picture in that biblical literature is more interested in the vindication of the poor than the redemption of the wealthy. And it's a more American, democratic picture in that it doesn't reduce the poor working-class man to a helpless victim of the wealthy classes, a victim whose fate turns on the redemption, or not, of the wealthy man.


Spielberg commits the same error as the Capra-corn marketers. You don't have to go to Hitler -- would the world be better or worse without Mr. Potter in it?

The movie doesn't tell us that "every human being" matters. It tells us that a decent, hardworking, self-sacrificing, flawed Joe who never gets the credit that he deserves in this life can make a difference that matters a lot more than he thinks. It tells us that it's better to be such a man than to be the richest man in town and a rotten human being. It tells us that we live in a fallen world fraught with darkness and temptation in every corner, and that this world will go to hell if every decent soul among us doesn't fight the darkness. It tells us that whatever fragile happiness we have in this life we may very well owe to the actions of people we have never properly credited or thanked. It tells us that when we compromise and give in to self-interest we may very well be selling out the happiness of countless people we never even considered.

SDG wrote:
: It's a more biblical picture in that biblical literature is more interested in the vindication of the poor than the redemption of the wealthy.

Heh. My immediate first thought on reading this sentence was to wonder which of the two categories someone like Job would belong to. Obviously, he's wealthy at the very beginning and very ending of that story, but during the story itself...?

: Spielberg commits the same error as the Capra-corn marketers. You don't have to go to Hitler -- would the world be better or worse without Mr. Potter in it?

That example occurred to me too, but it didn't seem as obvious (and who knows, somebody might try to argue here that the presence of Potter in this town DID make it better than his absence would have done).

: The movie doesn't tell us that "every human being" matters.

But the reason the movie is so popular is because everyone watching the film thinks it COULD be about THEM, yes? In that sense, Spielberg may have the pulse of the movie's audience right, even if he gets the movie itself wrong.

That reminds me. Does anyone remember the straight to video/ cable movie that used footage from IAWL? It was a zombie film and they dub Zuzu to say something like "Every time you hear a bell, a zombie sends someone straight to hell.". In the words of Dave Barry, I swear I'm not making this up.

Probably only along with the influence of the Bailey family. As long as the Baileys are around to compete with him, it's harder for Potter to get away with acting like a usurious robber baron. Knowing that his rivals will treat customers fairly may force Potter to do the same, to a greater degree than he really wants to. The Bailey tide may lift even Potter's moral boat, somewhat. Remove the check-and-balance system and you get -- Potterville.

Or, what if it was the evil presence of Potter that compelled Bailey to stay in town and be such salt and light in the first place?

There is some support in the screenplay for that idea, Peter -- but I won't tell you what it is. I bet if you watch the film you'll pick up on it.

It most certainly is there, if I understand you, when George tells Bailey that his father and/or or the B&L is there if for no other reason than so people don't have to go crawling to Potter--meaning that opposition to Potter is itself somehow virtuous, if I recall correctly.

I finally realized the thing that really bothers me about the editorial subverting IAWL. It so entirely misses this central point: George Bailey has found a (if not The) pearl of great price. All his selfish romantic ideas about gaining the whole world have been put into perspective, and he has come to realize the treasure of a Good Life indeed, gaining if not salvation then a perspective on what really matters. It's not that travel and worldly accomplishment are wrong--anything but--it's just that he's come to really, truly understand in his bones that there is something more, at least for him, and that it's a privilege, not a chore. Duty has become delight and labor love.

I also find it interesting to connect this movie with, say, The Wizard of Oz's mantra: "There's no place like home," specifically in the affirmation that a local life is sufficient. TWOO came out well before the US entered WW2, and might better be understood as a statement of provincialism / xenophobia perhaps reflecting a desire to avoid involvement in the war. IAWL is more generous, but still rooted in the home-front value (saving soldier's lives and not, for example, the virtue of liberating the oppressed or restraining evil).

Yes, the editorial is basically a recycled freshman essay on libertarianism. (The classic college formula: x theorist + y film = look how awesome I can think). The soft lede is "Here’s the thing about Pottersville that struck me when I was 15." And he never makes it quite past that. His lynchpin is that "I interpret it instead as showing the true characters of these individuals, their venal internal selves stripped bare." but "Not only is Pottersville cooler and more fun than Bedford Falls, it also would have had a much, much stronger future."

I thought the current economic crash showed the "true character of these individuals" on Wall Street, uncovering their "venal selves." He claims that we need to depart from the IAWL Manhattan and let a little Potterville loose - but if Potterville = venal, then it already is. We have all suffered from Wall Street's unchecked avarice, which is every bit as venal as prostitution. There are lots of muddled thoughts in this essay, with dashes of having cake and eating it too.

"Fifteen years old and imagining myself an angry young man, I got all choked up." Here it is with the adolescent schtick again. What does this really mean? I already knew this at fifteen years old, which must lend it greater credibility? Doesn't this usually work the opposite way? ("When I was a child, I thought as a child...") Potterville seems like a perfectly adolescent solution to economic crisis. Cue Beastie Boys...

Really? A Christmas Carol focuses upon basically telling Scrooge that though he may be rich, in the eyes of heaven, he is worth far less than the poor and destitute. It is about the redemption of the poor in spirit. I find a Christmas Carol and IAWL to be grand companions, family if you will, with important messages, neither greater than the other.





Yeah. It was called 976-Evil 2.

IAWL is much easier/more accessible for kids--and much less scary.

Cool. Thanks. I have no desire to see it again but that was bugging me. Ah, the joys of public domain.

Saw this again last night. It's funny how this movie reinvents itself each passing year, as current events take place. At the forefront of my mind, while watching it, I was thinking of the current banking crisis, but also of lesser things, like Obama's reaching out to evangelicals by inviting Pastor Rick Warren to pray at his inauguration.

The themes between empathy and friendship clashing with cold-hard-business, took upon itself resonance more than I had ever witnessed. And, with apologies to Steven, I started seeing things in this film that I had never really grasped before.

First and foremost, how the final note from Clarence, "no man is a failure who has friends." This is a running theme throughout the film, as George constantly befriends everybody he meets, and helps them, despite himself. The opening sequence with Mr. Gauer, where the cold-hearted-economic thing to do would be to turn Mr. Gauer in to the authorities for attempted, accidental murder, George displays sympathy to him, and promises to never tell anybody. George dances with Mary at his brother's graduation as a favor to Mary's brother. In his first confrontation with Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter talks about Ernie the cab driver's qualifications for a home mortgage, and one of the only things going for him was George Bailey's vouching for Ernie's character.

This theme is reiterated when George defends his father:

For Mr. Potter, appealing to one's friendship is nothing more than "sentimental hogwash." But during the course of the film, Mr. Potter admits that his approach hasn't worked as effectively as George Bailey's approach. and extends his invitation to bring George Bailey on to his team (to the detriment of the Savings and Loan). George initially considers the idea, but then rejects it outright.

I now think of this much, much differently than before. Perhaps it's because I've been tempered over the last year, but there's a part of me wondering if we would be in this crisis today if there were a few more Mr. Potters out there denying mortgages to those who could not afford it, and less George Baileys out there accepting them ("shoot some pool with somebody"). (And even though I currently have a mortgage, I don't see any shame in renting, and have rented for many years.)

Here's an alternate reality. Suppose the Potter-invitation scene was an olive branch, if you will, to George Bailey, to invite him for friendship? Suppose that Potter, who is so business-minded that he has no sympathy for anybody in the town... perhaps he witnesses the power of this sort of friendship, and wishes to learn to integrate this into his own business practices? And then George Bailey, being pompous and full of himself, refuses, seeing (rightly) that this would mean a total monopoly of Potter's economic influence on Bedford Falls.

Suppose Bailey did take the job. He could then afford to care for his family, improve renovations on his own house on an expedited rate, save for college, and take family vacations to see the world. His influence would mean that the hard-working businessmen (like Martini) would still be able to get a house, or that Bailey could improve upon the "broken-down shacks" that Potter has forced renters to reside. Bailey could also bring on Uncle Billy and other S&L employees into Potter's busines, perhaps in a job that does not require them to easily lose the money.

Would Potter have been so adamant to hide the misplaced money if George Bailey was working for him? Why would he?

But, perhaps for the first time in the course of the film, George Bailey refuses this friendship. And I believe that was the moment George started turning into the "warped, frustrated young man" that Potter taunts him with, later in the film.

So instead of a heart-tugging film about the power of one's influence in the lives of those he touches, I am instead cognizant that IAWL is a tragedy at Bedford Falls, where business and friendship are forced to never to be reconciled, due to George Bailey's rejection of Mr. Potter's generous offer. He should have had those 24 hours to think things over.

Because face it; advancing friendship is good business. Some of the wealthiest people today are noted philanthropists, using some of their excess for good. This increases positive word-of-mouth, improves lifestyle conditions, and encourages repeat business. The partnership of George Bailey and Mr. Potter could have been a win/win situation for both--Bailey's positive enhancements for his clients could have been tempered by the solid business practices of Mr. Potter. It's a shame that the film forces the two approaches to be at odds with each other.

I love Steven Speilberg, but his conclusion is a misreading of the film's central message, which is ... well, Nick mentions it below:



It's more than just a running theme: It's the movie's main message. Not that everyone has value, but that "failure" is something that we see too easily in ourselves.

Now, there have been times where I've felt pretty close to "friendless" in this world, and the movie's message has made me despair! That's a sucky place to be, especially during the holidays.

The reason why I stop short from saying it's the movie's main message, is because my alternate interpretation of Bailey's turning down Mr. Potter's generous offer--Bailey's denying friendship to Mr. Potter--shows that the movie itself stops short from actually endorsing friendship to everybody. In fairness to Capra and the filmmakers: George Bailey has a lifetime of evidence to be skeptical over Mr. Potter's change-of-heart. I still have a hard time thinking that Bailey could not have been a positive influence on Mr. Potter from within.

Yeah, but I would say that Bailey thought he was friendless during his moments of despair, thinking that his community of friends would run him out of town. I would say the movie argues, persuasively-to-me, that your influence as a friend can come about in fleeting moments, ones that you may not be intricately aware of. I assure you, the past successes of George Bailey (saving Harry, Mr. Gauer, etc) were the furthest things from George Bailey's mind when he was on that bridge.

I think the movie's central theme runs a lot deeper than friendship. The central value is goodness.

The first lines of the film, from the prayer voiceovers, are not "I really care about George Bailey, I'm worried about my friend," but "I owe everything to George Bailey ... He never thinks about himself, God; that's why he's in trouble ... George is a good guy, give him a break, God."

Likewise, the overwhelming point of the alternate-reality saga is not that if not for George people would have been lonely (other than Mary winding up an old maid), but that Martini and others would never have gotten out of the slum, Mr. Gower would have been a convict and a drunken stumblebum, Ernie would have been divorced, Harry and everyone on that transport would have died, etc.

Clarence's central message to George is not "See how many friends you had," but "See what a hole in the world there is without you." To be fair to Spielberg, Clarence does come close to affirming how much every person matters: "Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around, it leaves an awful hole." Still, the whole story is structured to show how it is George's heroic goodness and selflessness that causes this particular life to leave such a particularly grievous hole.


While I admit the same line of thought fleetingly occurred to me this year watching the film, simultaneous with this thought was the recognition that it is a complete distortion of the reality of the film.

Repairing to the real world, in the last couple of months I've heard a number of stories on NPR and elsewhere about banks that AREN'T failing: little banks in small towns where everyone knows everyone else and a face and a handshake are as good as collateral for getting a loan.

As that suggests, the current mortgage crisis wasn't caused by soft-hearted George Baileys generously lending money to personal friends who couldn't afford it. It was caused by heart-hearted Mr. Potters looking to line their own pockets with predatory lending practices, a different strategy than that of the Depression/WW2-era Potter, but the same modus operandi.

There is no evidence that George ever made a loan to anyone who truly couldn't afford it (though at least once we see him make a gift that he euphemistically calls a "loan"). He worked on a case by case basis, deciding on the merits, and did what he could to help people within their means.


That would indeed be an alternate reality. The invitation scene was a pretext for taking over the Building & Loan, nothing more. Potter offered George a three-year contract. At the end of that three years, the Building & Loan would be gone, and Potter would be under no particular obligation to renew the contract. And even if he did, George would be no more than a hired gun, able to do only whatever Potter authorized him to do. Potter would be calling the shots, and would run the business his own way.


What in the film justifies this optimistic assessment of what Potter would have allowed George to do in his employ?

Note the one moment in the invitation scene where Potter shows his characteristic irascibility: when George asks about the B&L. "Oh, confound it, man, are you afraid of success?" It's pure misdirection. If Potter had really wanted to incorporate Baileyesque principles into his own empire, he could have said, "Don't you understand, George? We won't need the B&L any more -- it's what you do at the B&L that I want to hire you for."

Instead, Potter reacts in a way that clearly indicates that destroying the B&L and transforming George Bailey from an obstacle into a manageable asset is the real goal.


Since in that case it would have been his own money, who cares? One way or another, it would be a step toward another sort of Pottersville.


Why do you assume friendship was legitimately on offer? It wasn't, and George doesn't refuse friendship. He refuses to be bought and paid for -- at great personal cost. The invitation scene is just one more heroic sacrifice of his personal dreams that George Bailey makes in order to be there for the people of Bedford Falls who need them, to be a buffer between them and Potter.


You surely can't mean to say that this is the intended message of the film, that this represents the film's actual moral universe. Your comments are as revisionist as Jamieson's, set in a different moral universe with similar events. You might prefer a different sort of story, set in a universe in which Potter would be amenable to humanizing his business practices, but nothing in the movie indicates that this is the actual world George Bailey lives in.

I could maybe buy an argument that George could have taken a more conciliatory approach to turning Potter down. There are a lot of things George could have done better than he did. The point is not that he always does the best he could have, but that he always chooses to do what is best for others rather than what is best for himself.

I don't think that is TRUE. Indeed, the action of the story absolutely depends on it not being true. George Bailey is a man who thinks about himself ALL THE TIME; what he doesn't do is act on it. George is a man who knows he has ability and is filled with ambition, and believes that in fulfilling that ambition he will find happiness. However, he sees his life as a battle between his ambition and his moral responsibilities. And, being a moral man, he find that again and again his ambition suffers because of his moral responsbilities — and because he identifies his ambition with his happiness, again and again HE suffers. His selfless actions make him more and more bitter and more and more angry, until finally when the money is lost, he just snaps. He is completely played out — he thinks — and with his ambitions and hopes of happiness finally and irrevocably smashed to kindling, he has nothing left to live for.

The Pottersville revelation serves to resolve the conflict that has dominated his life, and does so in three ways.

First, he experiences the shock of seeing all the people around him suffering because he didn't act on their behalf. Now, of course he had always known that they would suffer if he hadn't done what he did, but his feelings about them were caught up in his ambition: he saw them as obstacles to his ambition, and so resented and even hated them for what they were making him do. However, the shock of seeing them suffer makes him forget about his ambition and in doing so he feels the love that had always been blocked.

Second, he realizes that far from blocking his ambition, his moral responsibilities had in fact led to the fulfillment of his ambition; it had been happening all the time but he just never saw it. He created decent lives for thousands of people. His talents had not been wasted, his ambitions had not come to nothing. In fact, he had nothing to resent: if he could do everything over, he would do it all again but this time would do it happily, knowing that he was acting not only on their behalf, but his own as well.

He is already happy when he is returned by Clarence to his home, but he there receives the third and final resolution: people had loved him and he had never known it or felt its real importance. Everything comes together and his life is more complete and more fulfilling in every way than the life that he thought he wanted.

As a postscript, the film is an example of what is known as ethical optimism: the belief that there are no real ethical conflicts: that ethical conflicts are really illusory and stem from mis-perceptions of our own wants and needs. When we think of happiness as coming from the satisfaction of material needs, ethical optimism seems impossible and absurd. This contrary view, that ethical conflicts are deep-rooted and irreconcilable, is called ethical pessimism. A nice feature of the movie is that it includes a rather extreme example of an ethical pessimist in the form of Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter believes that happiness comes solely from having things, and so his happiness is increased to the extent that he is able to take things from others. From the position of an ethical optimist (which is the position of the film), Mr. Potter is wrong, the things he think will make him happy are in fact insufficient and even contrary to his happiness, and while pursuing what he thinks will be his happiness he has only made himself a bitter, angry, and unhappy man. Interestingly, bitterness and anger are characteristic of both Mr. Potter and pre-Clarence George. Both see themselves as blocked by others from achieving happiness: Mr. Potter directly through George's interference, and George indirectly through others' needs.

I admit I haven't seen the film in many years, and this analysis is entirely retrospective. It is this discussion that has led me to think about a movie that had been left little regarded on a mental shelf. Given that I read the discussion with rather more sympathy for the movie's detractors than its defenders, I find it surprising to find myself at this point. I at least have found it a profitable discussion to follow!

Great thoughts, bowen. I agree with you on practically all points.

A small caveat:


Absolutely correct as regards the distinction you're drawing, though Bert the cop's prayer is still truthful in that it is an assessment of George as a moral agent, as regards his actions, not an assessment of his inner psychological life.


For someone who hasn't seen the movie in years, your analysis is remarkably thorough and on point. Thanks for contributing.

Nick Alexander wrote:
: It's funny how this movie reinvents itself each passing year, as current events take place. At the forefront of my mind, while watching it, I was thinking of the current banking crisis . . .

Funny you should mention that. I logged in here partly to post this:

- - -

George Bailey, Subprime Lender
But knowing what we know now, about the dangers of subprime mortgages and the virtues of disciplined bankers, perhaps it's time to reconsider the financial—if not the sentimental—lesson of It's a Wonderful Life. . . .
Perhaps Mr. Potter wasn't just a heartless Scrooge. Perhaps Mr. Potter, in the absence of sufficient regulatory oversight, was the one voice of sanity keeping the good people of Bedford Falls from over-leveraging themselves.
Perhaps, if we had all taken Mr. Potter a little bit more seriously, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.
Liz Gunnison, Portfolio.com, December 23

- - -

: First and foremost, how the final note from Clarence, "no man is a failure who has friends."

Um, well, except that Bailey's near-failure is precipitated by one of his friends, is it not? The guy who is entrusted with all the money and then loses it?

: Here's an alternate reality. Suppose the Potter-invitation scene was an olive branch, if you will, to George Bailey, to invite him for friendship? Suppose that Potter, who is so business-minded that he has no sympathy for anybody in the town... perhaps he witnesses the power of this sort of friendship, and wishes to learn to integrate this into his own business practices? And then George Bailey, being pompous and full of himself, refuses, seeing (rightly) that this would mean a total monopoly of Potter's economic influence on Bedford Falls.

Fascinating.

SDG wrote:
: I think the movie's central theme runs a lot deeper than friendship. The central value is goodness.

But isn't that part of the problem that Nick articulates? That Bailey (and the filmmakers, presumably) have drawn too stark a line between good and not-good, and have made the possibility of reconciliation between Bailey and Potter impossible?

: Repairing to the real world, in the last couple of months I've heard a number of stories on NPR and elsewhere about banks that AREN'T failing: little banks in small towns where everyone knows everyone else and a face and a handshake are as good as collateral for getting a loan.
:
: As that suggests, the current mortgage crisis wasn't caused by soft-hearted George Baileys generously lending money to personal friends who couldn't afford it. It was caused by heart-hearted Mr. Potters looking to line their own pockets with predatory lending practices, a different strategy than that of the Depression/WW2-era Potter, but the same modus operandi.

More accurately, it suggests that the current crisis was caused by strangers looking to take advantage of strangers -- in both directions. So, again, I think Nick's emphasis on the "friendship" aspect of the film may be spot-on, here.

Capra tips his hand that this is the case. IIRC one at least one occasion there is a small skull on Potter's desk. Also Potter obviously does not see George as an equal to be welcomed. He has George sit in a chair so low to the floor that George can barely see over the desk at him. Add to that the fact that Potter tries to tempt George by offering to fulfill his dreams of travel and riches. George shakes Potter's hand but then looks at his hand with disgust and acts like it's covered in slime. He realizes he just shook hands with the devil.