#41: This Land is Mine

This week I am trying something new: publishing two interconnecting blog essays on my two different websites. It is my hope and plan that you, loyal reader, will digest this essay first . . . then watch the movie I am writing about in the essay below . . . and then, next week, go on to an essay with the same title on my K.F. Stone Weekly site.

Thanks, and now on with part 1.
K.F. In the history of Hollywood, there was but one “master of the malaprop” - Samuel Goldwyn. And whether or not he he was the actual creator of the many verbal corruptions known collectively as “Goldwynisms” is of no importance. Some claim that the best of them were really written by such world-class cinematic scriveners as Dorothy Parker, Budd Schulberg and Garson Kanin. Whatever the case, I thank the nameless Muse for Uncle Sammy’s many bits of wit, among my favorites being:

“A verbal contract isn't worth the paper it's written on.”
”Give me a couple of years and I'll make that actress an overnight success.”
”Anybody who goes to see a psychiatrist ought to have his head examined.”
”He's living beyond his means, but he can afford it” and, one of my favorites, dealing with certain screenplays:
”If you want to send a message, call Western Union.”

Indeed, films are created in order to be - pick your poison - fun, entertaining, sometimes dramatic, other times melodramatic, filled with belly laughs and as frightening as hell and - despite the Goldwynism - capable of delivering a sometimes unsettling message. And of course, all of these cinematic genotypes are made in the hopes of turning a profit. I guess Uncle Sammy (or his ghostwriter) was down on films which “send a message” because they rarely put many bucks in the bank.

For my money, one of the greatest of all “message” films was the 1943 gem This Land is Mine, directed Jean Renoir from a screenplay by Dudley Nichols, and starring Charles Laughton (one of the two or three greatest character actors of all time), the luminous 23-year old Maureen O’Hara, George Sanders, Walter Slezak - both of whom, eerily would end their lives via suicide - and perhaps the greatest cinematic scene-stealer of all time, Una O’Connor. This Land is Mine was produced by RKO and shot on a limited budget and mostly on patently artificial studio sets. Although the title card read, simply “somewhere in Europe,” it doesn’t take too long to understand that director Renoir and screenwriter Nichols clearly meant that “somewhere” to be Renoir’s beloved France. In 1943, it was referred to as “Vichy” (a town in central France, which was the seat of the infamous collaborationist government headed by Marshal Philippe Pétain.)

This is My Land tells the story of the painfully meek, socially awkward Albert Lory (Laughton), who teaches boys at the local school. His students have no respect for him; whenever his back is turned they hurl paper airplanes and spit-wads at him. Albert lives with his tiny, emotionally overbearing elderly mother (O’Connor), and is secretly in love with the beautiful Louise Martin (a very young Maureen O’Hara) who teaches the girls. Louise is a fiery patriot who hates the Nazis. Her brother Paul (played by the underrated Kent Smith) is an underground resistance fighter who carries out acts of sabotage against the occupation. Louise is also but she’s also engaged to George Lambert (George Sanders), a local factory owner and fascist collaborator.

Director Jean Renoir (the son of the great impressionist painter Pierre-August) was a solid anti-fascist. Joseph Goebbels declared Renoir’s flawless 1937 masterpiece La Grande Illusion (“The Grand Illusion”) “Cinematic Public Enemy No. 1,” and destroyed every European print he could find. But what makes This Land is Mine so fascinating and compelling after more than 80 years is how Lambert, Manville (Thurston Hall), the collaborationist Mayor, and the Nazi military commander Major Erich von Keller (Walter Slezak) are complex, three dimensional human beings, not cartoon villains. Von Keller is an evil, manipulative political mastermind, but he’s not stupid. He knows that being appointed military governor over a resentful, sullen, occupied people is no easy job. This is Vichy, not Poland. Von Keller not only has to rule with an iron hand. He has to keep up the charade that the local civilian government is still in charge, that Mayor Manville is more than just a puppet. Manville is just the typical politician who bends with the prevailing wind. Lambert (George Sanders) is the most interesting character of all; he embodies the inner conflicts of the bourgeoisie, of the French capitalist who depends on the German occupier to put down a revolutionary proletariat he can’t control himself.

When Louise’s brother Paul hurls a grenade from a second-floor building, killing several Nazis, von Keller declares that unless and until the perpetrator is identified, he will round up ten men at random and put them before a firing squad. One of these men will be Professor Sorel (Phillip Merivale) the headmaster of the school where Albert and Louise teach. Albert considers the professor to be the ideal father figure: cultured, literate and oh so kind. When the ten men are led into a courtyard opposite the school, Albert sees Sorel and yells out his name; putting on his spectacles and spotting Albert, the professor smiles and waves. Suddenly the camera moves back to Albert as we hear the horrifying sound of automatic weapon fire. Albert is heartbroken.

(n.b.If this film were made today [G-d forbid!] we would see the men fall and the blood flow. Not so in 1943 . . . and especially at the hands of Dudley Nichols and Jean Renoir. They knew that the imagination of the movie-goer creates far more gore than his or her eyes could ever provide.)

After seeing the professor - along with the other townsmen - gunned down, Albert remembers one of the last things his mentor told him: that there would come a time when he would have to be a decision. Would he have the courage to die like a man? After being visited by Major von Keller, George Lambert, beset with guilt, commits suicide. At precisely that moment, Albert enters Lambert’s office, sees him lying dead, a pistol close to his body. Albert picks it up just as a clerk enters, and flees, assuming that the cowardly teacher has murdered the railroad yard’s boss.

Albert, who is put on trial, is transformed from coward to a heroic man with a conscience. At his trial - for which he has refused to accept legal representation - he gives a stunning speech . . . given with all the passion and power that Charles Laughton can give. In part, he says:

“It’s very hard for people like you and me to understand what is evil and what is good. It’s easy for the working people to understand who the enemy is because the aim of this occupation and invasion is to make them slaves. But middle-class people like us can easily believe as George Lambert did that a German victory is not such a bad thing. We hear people say that too much liberty brings chaos and disorder. And that’s why I was tempted last night by Major Von Keller when he came to my cell. But this morning I looked out through bars and I saw this beautiful new world working. I saw ten men die because they still believed in freedom.”

In his speech, he even publicly admits his great love for Louise. Found innocent of Lambert’s murder, Albert knows that he nonetheless will be shot . . . for speaking so bluntly against the Nazis. He returns to his classroom. This time, the boys all rise from their seats, respect and admiration in their eyes. Albert tells them that this will be the last time he can teach them. He has chosen to read from Lafayette’s 1789 work (composed with the assistance of Thomas Jefferson) Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen, a fundamental document of the French Revolution. Albert Lory then reads aloud:

"A Declaration of the Rights of Man.
ARTICLE I: All men are born and remain free and equal in rights.
ARTICLE II: The purpose of all political parties is the safeguarding of the natural and inalienable rights of man. These rights are liberty, property security, and resistance to tyranny.
ARTICLE III: The principle of all government resides in the nation itself. No group, no individual can exercise any authority that does not expressly emanate from the people.
ARTICLE IV: Liberty consists in freedom to do all that does not harm others.
ARTICLE V: The law has the right to forbid only those things which are harmful to society.
ARTICLE VI: The law is the expression of the will of the people. All citizens have the right to assist personally or through their elected representatives In its formation. It ought to be the same for all whether it protects or whether it punishes. All citizens being equal in the eyes of the law have equal rights to all dignities, places and public positions according to their capacity and without any other distinctions than those of their virtues and talents."

This is, of course, the movie’s emotional and intellectual climax. Before Albert can complete reading the text, the Nazis come to take him away. Before leaving, he tells his charges that although this book (given to him by Professor Sorrel many years ago) may be burned, it will always remain in their heads and hearts. As he is taken away, he gives the text to Louise, who continues reading to the class . . . fini.

This Land is Mine opened simultaneously at 72 theaters in 50 key cities on May 7, 1943. It set a box office record for gross receipts on an opening day. It won the Academy Award for Best Sound .

This is a film which needs to be seen in 2025. It delivers a message as timely and powerful as anything we could - and should - experience.

I urge you to watch it and let it sink in. Then, next week, go to my other blog, The K.F. Stone Weekly and read yet another take . . . not about Nazis. and French collaborators in 1943, but about the meaning of heroism in 2025.

LINK TO THIS LAND IS MINE