How does one approach Gone With the Wind (1939)? Possibly the most popular film of all time (it's still the reigning box-office champ, adjusted for inflation), it's certainly the most iconic, with its characters, set-pieces, music and dialogue ("Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn!") all pop culture watchwords. It won Best Picture in 1939 over a truly amazing field including Stagecoach, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Wizard of Oz, Ninotchka and other enduring favorites: that was one year that having ten nominees worked.
Reputation aside, this viewer finds Gone With the Wind highly problematic. It's unquestionably a beautiful film, but otherwise a mixed bag. Is it a melancholy portrait of a bygone era, or a nasty bit of commercialized racism? Is it a sweeping romance on an epic scale, or a tiresome, overwrought soap opera? Is its protagonist a grimly determined, admirably self-sufficient woman or an obnoxious, unlikeable hussy?
Scarlett O'Hara (Vivien Leigh) is the insufferable daughter of Gerald O'Hara (Thomas Mitchell), owner of the Tara plantation, who cares not a whit when Georgia secedes from the Union. She's too wrapped up in her affection for the romantic Ashley Wilkes (Leslie Howard), whose decision to marry Melanie Hamilton (Olivia de Havilland) ruins Scarlett's well-laid plans. Also catching Scarlett's eye is dashing scoundrel Rhett Butler (Clark Gable). The Civil War devastates Georgia, leaving Scarlett and her colleagues to rebuild a society swarming with Yankee carpetbaggers and recently freed slaves. With Ashley unavailable as ever, Scarlett marries businessman Frank Kennedy (Carroll Nye) to take advantage of his successful lumber mill. Finally, after Frank's death Scarlett gives in to Rhett's advances, resulting in an even more miserable marriage.
Gone With the Wind is a truly remarkable production. Selznick went through three directors, including George Cukor and Victor Fleming, but it's clearly a Selznick picture from beginning to end. Everything is writ larger than life, with beautiful matte paintings, wonderfully detailed and complex sets (designed by the legendary William Cameron Menzies) to Ernest Haller's indescribably gorgeous, otherworldly Technicolor photography. The shots of Scarlet standing defiantly against a vivid red-and-orange sky are some of the most beautiful ever filmed. Creative montages by Hal C. Kern help a great deal, too. Max Steiner's beautiful, sweeping score keeps things involving even when the story goes into melodramatic overdrive.
As a collection of set-pieces, Gone With the Wind remains without peer. The most famous sequence is a beautifully-realized crane shot, as Scarlett walks through an army of wounded Confederates lying in a train station. Rhett and Scarlett's escape from a burning Atlanta swarming with looters is the high-point of the film, beautifully photographed, suspenseful and gripping. Other scenes are equally impressive: the Atlanta charity ball, Scarlett's encounter with a Union deserter, the night where Rhett decides to have his way with Scarlett. The film lacks battle scenes but the scope on display, with its incredible sets, ravishing photography and cast of thousands, is impressive enough to compensate. Even the jaded cynic immune to romance will find something to appreciate here.
There's no questioning Selznick's craftsmanship; even the abominable Duel in the Sun looks great. In Gone With the Wind, helped by a good story, great acting and a mostly-good script, Selznick pulls off something both nice to look at and entertaining. Other areas, however, are problematic and often disquieting.
It's fashionable to chastize the movie's racial politics. At a glance this seems unfair, given the film's setting, but the movie goes beyond the requirements of a period film. I give author Margaret Mitchell credit for Mammy (Hattie McDaniel), a well-rounded and dignified character, but there's the submissive Pork (Oscar Polk), very much the "good darky" of Southern legend, and the supremely-annoying Prissy (Butterfly McQueen). These slaves gleefully march off to dig trenches for the Rebel army, and later stay loyally by Miss Scarlett through Reconstruction. The white characters lecture each other on the proper way to treat "inferiors," with Ashley claiming that owning slaves is alright if you don't mistreat them!
As a Yankee scoundrel, I detest the film's historical commentary in other areas. It's hard to argue with the depiction of Sherman's March, though many viewers neglect to note that the "burning" of Atlanta is the result of Confederate actions. Other elements are still harder to swallow, from the depiction of greedy carpetbaggers straight out of Birth of a Nation, to making free blacks either stupid or corrupt. In the most unintentionally disquieting scene, Frank, Ashley and others attend to a "political meeting" to take the law into their own hands. That's right, our noble, romantic heroes ride off to join the Ku Klux Klan and we're expected to sympathize when one gets himself killed.
I usually try to avoid grandstanding, but it's hard to let this pass without comment. You can claim, as the purple-prose title cards do, that the antebellum South was a bygone, chivalrous era, but that era came complete with a cruel caste system and chattel slavery. Besides my moral revulsion, I find it supremely hard to sympathize for characters who never worked a day in their lives losing everything because of a war they supported. You mean you'll have to farm your own land without slaves helping you, Scarlett? Boo freaking hoo.
Still, Wind is a well-crafted melodrama up to the intermission. But the second half starts to drift, losing the historical context and narrative drive in a series of tiresome, repetitive vignettes. The movie really loses it in the last hour, with a series of overwrought tragedies that wouldn't pass muster on a daytime soap. Selznick really beats the audience over the head: You will feel emotion, dammit! This sheer emotional excess undermines the power that the finale, and Scarlett's final change of heart, ought to have.
Vivien Leigh gives one of the best performances of all-time. Her Scarlett is hard to sympathize with, going from spoiled brat to cold-hearted, conniving schemer. Her unrequited affections for Ashley, her ruthless efforts to rebuild Tara and confused feelings towards Rhett make it difficult to like her, yet she completely dominates the film. Not until the end does she develop anything like decency. Leigh's portrayal of this difficult character is absolutely perfect, and damned if Scarlett, for all her faults, isn't a compelling protagonist.
Clark Gable was never better, giving his usual dashing rogue a few extra dimensions: the love-sick lecher, the resident cynic with an unfortunate streak of nobility. Olivia de Havilland (The Adventures of Robin Hood) is perfect casting as the angelic Melanie: beautiful, and impossibly innocent, she's everything Scarlett isn't. Leslie Howard (Pygmalion) is the weakest protagonist, a starry-eyed romantic whose inability to express his true feelings frustrates the characters - and the audience. Ashley brings unpleasant memories of Doctor Zhivago, with its similarly passive protagonist.
Hattie McDaniel won an Oscar for her portrayal of Mammy, managing to slag off the cruder elements of her caricatured role. Butterfly McQueen is less successful as the obnoxious Prissy. The Warners stock company gets a workout, with a slew of familiar faces in supporting roles: Thomas Mitchell (Stagecoach) as Scarlett's tragic dad, Ward Bond (The Searchers) as a tough Union soldier, Victor Jory (Cheyenne Autumn) as a nasty scalawag, Harry Davenport (Juarez) as a doctor, Jane Darwell (The Grapes of Wrath) in a tiny bit, George Reeves as one of Scarlett's suitors and legendary stuntman Yakima Canutt as a two-bit crook.
Like so many classic films, Gone With the Wind is very much a product of its time. This doesn't mean it should be dismissed - it's too good a film for that - but neither does that make it above criticism. Most of its fans love the romance and spectacle while ignoring the flawed politics and weak story, so what do I know?
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