 Gone With the Wind (1939) Before going on record with my opinions, I checked a few reviews of the film online just to see if there was some angle I was missing, but the unspoken concurrence seemed to be that this was a flawed film that suffers mainly from its dated social attitudes. Yet no one seemed to want to come out and say that Gone With the Wind was, for the most part, no better or worse than a good season of Melrose Place. Well, I'll say it: Gone With the Wind may be one of the most overrated movies of all time, and if I have to kick Leonard Maltin's whimpering ass to get my point across, why, I'll do it! Hell, I'll do it anyway! Part of the problem is that it's derived from a piece of trash (Margaret Mitchell's book), and no amount of glorious Technicolor is going to deepen the miserable shallowness of these characters. And the social attitudes (dated even for 1939) are palpably awful: slaves are depicted as a bunch of obsequious, simpering "darkies," black servants as furniture or comic relief. Rape is portrayed as a right good solution to a woman's stubbornness, conspicuous consumption as an appropriate balance for former poverty. This movie had more shocking bursts of total offensiveness than Pink Flamingos, and that includes the "singing asshole" scene (in Pink Flamingos, I mean—the "singing asshole" scene in Gone With the Wind was excised, I believe … apparently Clark Gable didn't feel it was his "best side"). Characters are killed in ridiculous ways (TWO characters are killed from falling off a leaping horse) and this is attributed to dramatic parallelism. The cast is more catty and back-biting than an Aaron Spelling celebrity roast, so you never really develop a sense of who to like. The "noble" characters are pretty much total fools (Ashley Wilkes, the "faithful husband" and "war hero" rolled into one, but with all the spine and moral turpitude of Dan Quayle; Ashley's beatified wife, who sees the good in a whore and is able to die happy knowing her man will be taken care of). The cast contains dozens of principals, but none other than the two leads ever really shows any healthy ambiguity. I kept expecting it to be a musical. Scarlett O'Hara & Rhett Butler (Vivien Leigh & Clark Gable) have to be the worst screen couple of all time, although they look good together and probably fuck passionately. I suppose there are a lot of people who look at this doomed pairing and think "Wow—it can be that good? Well, I can still dream!" Essentially, and I'm not really trying to get overly P.C. about it, this is a textbook abusive relationship—erbally abusive from the get-go, then escalating to physical and sexual abuse later, stated explicitly in the film! Rhett's macho bluster is cute enough when the two are flirting, but when he decides he's going to give Scarlett a right-good fucking to show her the error of her ways, that's going way over the line. Worse still, the very first thing you see after this rape takes place is Scarlett waking up—with a beaming smile on her face! I'd almost say it was genius, if it were trying to be offensive. For those unfamiliar with the story, Gone With the Wind basically tells the tale of poor Scarlett O'Hara, the impudent, strong-willed brat who is the eye of every handsome beau in the state—except Ashley Wilkes, who is desirable to her pretty much only because he's taken. Scarlett spends the majority of her life pining away for this waffling wussy, who half-heartedly declares his love both for his wife and for Scarlett, thereby keeping Scarlett's hopes up that "someday they'll be together" (to paraphrase those "darkies" from Motown, The Supremes). Into the mix comes the scoundrel Rhett Butler, a character clearly ripped-off of Han Solo, who desires Scarlett precisely because she is so unabashedly selfish and contrary. Truly, these people deserve each other, but in the end Sid & Nancy have nothing on Rhett & Scarlett. To complicate matters, the Civil War breaks out (I'm not sure if I think it's great or idiotic that they use the Civil War essentially as a plot point—an obstacle to the romance plot), which changes everyone's fortunes. Just before intermission, Scarlett is at Tara, her plantation, screaming about how she'll "never go hungry again!!!" Yet poverty hasn't given her integrity, as we discover—she remains bitchy, and even intensifies her selfishness. Yada, yada. Scarlett finally gives into Rhett, but after their child is born (surprisingly unretarded given all the drinking) things go south quick. Embittered, they both turn into serious alcoholics; Rhett continues to cavort with whores; Scarlett continues to try to seduce her cousin's husband; Rhett throws her down a flight of stairs; their daughter dies in a freak fall from a horse (just like Scarlett's dad! Just like everyone's dad!); etc, etc, etc. The postwar prosperity brings them wealth but not happiness, and in the end, Rhett delivers the film's most famous line—"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn"—after Scarlett asks him what she'll do if he leaves. That's so romantic. The very end of the film has Scarlett rambling on about how she'll return to Tara and start anew, because "tomorrow is a new day." Bullshit, darlin'. Rhett is not coming back any more than Adam Walsh is coming back to guest-star on "America's Most Wanted." It's a serious downer of a movie, with lots of buildup and no payoff whatsoever. In some ways, I think THAT makes it a great film. Depressing things happen to literally every person in the cast, and the misery goes unrelieved by any pretense of a happy ending. That much, I admire. Also, there are some really powerful images—the scene where all the Confederate wounded soldiers are sprawled out on the main street, nearly wall-to-wall, and the camera pans back to reveal the magnitude of this terrible scenario. Walking through the street, Scarlett can't help but pause and look around at the thousands of dying men—it almost makes you forget she's only there to fetch the doctor away (from tending to the survivors) to help her assist in the birth of her cousin's baby. Priorities! Visually, at least, it's an incredible scene, and there are lots of similarly amazing shots throughout the film. Gone With the Wind is sort of like a really touristy state park that has undeniably nice vistas, but attracts a whole lot of white trash. Speaking of white trash, I was surprised to hear that phrase used in the film—I guess I'd assumed it was coined sometime during the Geraldo era—and by the black mammy character (Mammy) no less. Hattie McDaniel, as Mammy, is easily the best character in the cast, with all the good lines and brilliant execution. As stereotypical as her character is, McDaniel at least invests it with a noticeable degree of subversion that lets us know she's very much in on the joke. Almost makes you wish they'd created a series of "Mammy" comedies—Mammy Gets a Home, Mammy and the Kids, Mammy's the One, and Mammy's African Adventure—which would be so taboo nowadays they'd actually have to destroy the existing prints. I would like to see her in something less degrading; she's by far the best part of Gone With the Wind. Leigh is good, showing a lot of spark, somehow totally committed to playing Scarlett in all her tragic "willfulness." Gable is pretty hilarious through most of the movie; it's very easy to see why he was such a star and remains such a big icon. I saw the restored print in the theater, and I'm glad I did, because a) I'm not sure I'd sit through it on video, and b) it really is a beautiful looking picture. It's nice to have finally filled this gap in my knowledge of film, as the movie turned out to be nothing at all what I expected. I always thought it was more a Civil War movie, although the war is not really central to the plot. And I always expected it to be one of those stubborn-at-first-but-then-sappy-happy love stories, and that, sir, it was NOT. I suppose everyone should see Gone With the Wind, as everyone should read Native Son and hear "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik." None of these are very good, but they are so deeply revered in many circles that one should have an opinion handy. It's a watchable, often enjoyable movie that is just totally bending under the weight of its content. A little focus was definitely needed—it isn't surprising to learn that at various times there were actually four or five directors involved in creating this piece of bombast. I will continue to be perplexed by the enduring popular fascination with Rhett & Scarlett as figures of legendary romance. I wonder how many Barbie collectors are sitting at home setting up lavish dioramas of the scene where Rhett throws Scarlett down the stairs. If any, please advance all photos to me courtesy the Loud Bassoon.
Review by DEF |