GeronBook/Ch13/data/aclImdb/train/unsup/2096_0.txt

Too bad this dramatic powerhouse got lost in 1939's crowded field of movie classics because, as a drama, there was none better. Then too, the film appears an independent production released through United Artists, so it lacked crucial studio backing and all the attention that can bring. Also, producer-director Milestone clearly insisted on an unusual degree of realism in portraying life among California's migrant farm workers. And, let's face it, those conditions were pretty ugly, resulting in a pretty ugly setting from one scene to the next, never much of an audience incentive. For example, when the grieving Candy rolls onto his stomach following the execution of his faithful dog, we don't see the usual intact wardrobe. Instead, his shirttail is frayed and the Levi jacket split along the seam— a penniless old man who's now lost his only friend. Such dedication to detail may add to the realism, yet it can also depress an audience looking for what movies do best—provide escape.<br /><br />But, of course, old Candy is not penniless. Instead, he's been saving his money, and now he has a nice little kitty saved, which raises one of the film's key themes—a workingman's dream of independence. That's what brings the men together-- smart George, slow Lenny, old Candy, and even the racial outcast Crooks. All have spent their lives taking orders and making money for others, never having anything of their own. Yet, each harbors his own version of that dream—a place where Lenny can pet rabbits, where Candy won't be abandoned, where Crooks can find human dignity, and where George can make it all work. And though the point goes unstated, the arrangement shapes up like a farm co-operative where everyone contributes and has a stake, an outcome certainly compatible with the spirit of the New Deal times.<br /><br />The other key theme is George's caring devotion for the slow-witted Lenny. He made a promise to do that, and, by golly, he's going to stick with it, even though he has to live with the often dire results. The screenplay starts with the two of them running from a posse. We learn that Lenny's desire to pet soft things has done something to a girl, but we don't learn exactly what. Yet George refuses to abandon the hulking Lenny, which, as things shape up, may be loyalty to a fault. The script makes clear that their companionship is rare among migrant workers, where the rule appears to be every man for himself. Thus Lenny and George together form a kind of a solidarity core that others can gravitate toward, should they want to. Thus arises the possibility of a co-op and the sense of community this would provide for lost souls such as Candy and Crooks.<br /><br />The trouble is that these two ideals—dreams and loyalty—collide in the screenplay to produce an upshot of uncommon emotional power. Lenny simply cannot control his kindly impulses, such that the hulking man's desire to caress can produce fear and panic in the other, causing Lenny to stop the panic in the only way he knows how—by choking. Thus a desire to show affection ends in deadly violence from one more lost soul who, despite his fearsome appearance, only means well, all of which produces an irony of intense proportions. So when Lennie throttles the trollopy Mae after caressing her hair, events play out in tragic fashion. And the real nature of violence shatters the fragile nature of dreams.<br /><br />Now, I don't think anyone would blame George for his act of mercy, given the circumstances. However, there's an angle here that the emotion of the movie's last few minutes overpowers, and that is whether George's act of mercy does in fact represent the wisest or best decision, all things considered. After all, by honoring loyalty, George destroys the common dream of the four of them, thereby abandoning Crooks and Candy to an unpromising fate. As a result three men (including a likely incarcerated George) are victimized instead of one man, Lennie, being institutionalized, difficult though that would be. Again, I'm not saying George makes a blameworthy decision; in fact it comes across as a noble act of humane loyalty. I am saying there is more of an ethical conflict among the options open to George than may otherwise be recognized. A more general point is that the noble may at times conflict with the greater good, as it appears to here.<br /><br />The movie itself is very well done. Meredith is outstanding as George, hitting just the right pitch as a sensitive man in a complex world. Lennie is a darn difficult role, and while Chaney at times goes over the top, he does convey the essential childlike innocence. And because of that, the ending achieves much of its emotional power. Field looks the part of Mae, the cheap dame with dreams of Hollywood, but she's also stagey as heck, with one of the shrillest voices on record, such that It's almost a perverse relief when she gets throttled. Slim comes across as a rather mysterious character, and Bickford plays him with a compelling low-key dignity. The men obviously respect him, and he appears to be an authority they defer to, even George. But a question has stayed with me over time—namely, why does Slim, a man who can see beyond the moment, approve the killing of Candy's old dog. He understands the devastating effect this will have on old Candy, who sees his own fate foreshadowed in the dog's. So why does Slim go along with Carlson's cruel demand. I've never been able to figure that one out.<br /><br />Anyway, I think producer-director Milestone has come up with a first-rate version of Steinbeck's classic novel. I'm just sorry this slice of blue-collar reality has gotten generally passed over by film historians. In my little book, it's clearly the best movie to come out of that so-called golden year 1939.