With a great deal more solemnity and respect than was generally accorded him by his contemporaries, Twentieth Century-Fox has pictured for posterity an epic phase in the life of "Brigham Young—Frontiersman," and in the film of that name, which arrived at the Roxy yesterday, has cast in his true heroic mold this moat famous of Mormon elders. The Mosaic rather than the more familiar sultanic aspect of his life has been reverently treated upon by the great leader's screen biographers, and the fervor of his high moral convictions has been insistently stressed throughout.
Reluctantly, then, we must state that the picture is much more tedious than Brigham's life must have been. Certainly there was more excitement and general liveliness in a community overrun with plural wives (not to mention mothers-in-law) than is indicated in the film. For pretty close to two hours the picture rumbles ponderously across the screen, groaning under the weight of much patient suffering on the part of all. And, in spite of its studied effort to point a parallel between the wanderings of the oft-oppressed Mormons and the children of Israel, it all boils down to just another heavy and conventional covered-wagon trek film, in which (you'll hardly believe it) Tyrone Power plays an incidental role.
The story commences with the tribulations of Joseph Smith and his stalwart band of Mormon saints at Nauvoo, III., and impressively portrays in its early sequences the courageous devotion of these people to their faith despite the whips and scorn of their neighbors. After the dramatically moving death of Smith, however, and the arbitrary acceptance of leadership of Brigham Young, it starts off on the long and monotonous haul by wagon train to Salt Lake, pausing here and there while the people sullenly agitate and Brigham communes with his soul. And, finally, upon reaching the promised land it settles down for a grim, famine-stricken Winter, then ends with a climactic sequence in which a swarm of crickets, which threatens to eat up all the Spring wheat, is miraculously devoured by a ravenous flock of seagulls. Thus is the settlement saved and Brigham divinely vindicated. (This latter event, incidentally, is historically accurate, in the main, and is not just a Hollywood "miracle.")
Considering the restrictions imposed by a heavy story and slow direction, the cast does uniformly well. Dean Jagger, playing his first major role as Brigham, is supremely convincing—a strong, honest, stubborn man impelled by an inner fire. It is his picture. Mr. Power, whose participation is that of a young Mormon zealot who has moments of doubt, is properly earnest. And Mary Astor, Vincent Price, Brian Donlevy, John Carradine and Linda Darnell are all good Mormons in their respective ways.
The absence of any more than casual reference to matrimonial matters and the singular uxorial devotion of Brigham to his No. 1 wife, Miss Astor, is an obvious Hays office compulsion. One or two vague little ladies, such as Jean Rogers, in the background sort of pique one's curiosity, though. It's too bad that "Brigham Young—Frontiersman" had to be so monog—we mean, monotonous.
BRIGHAM YOUNG — FRONTIERSMAN; screen play by Lamar Trotti; based on a story by Louis Bromfield; directed by Henry Hathaway; produced by Darryl F. Zanuck for Twentieth Century-Fox. At the Roxy.
Jonathan Kent . . . . . Tyrone Power
Zina Webb . . . . . Linda Darnell
Brigham Young . . . . . Dean Jagger
Angus Duncan . . . . . Brian Donlevy
Eliza Kent . . . . . Jane Darwell
Porter Rockwell . . . . . John Carradine
Mary Ann Young . . . . . Mary Astor
Joseph Smith . . . . . Vincent Price
Clara Young . . . . . Jean Rogers
Mary Kent . . . . . Ann Todd
Heber Kimball . . . . . Willard Robertson
Doc Richards . . . . . Moroni Olsen
Prosecutor . . . . . Marc Lawrence
Hyrum Smith . . . . . Stanley Andrews
Hubert Crum . . . . . Frank Thomas
Pete . . . . . Fuzzy Knight
Henry Kent . . . . . Dickie Jones
Major . . . . . Russell Simpson
Jim Bridges . . . . . Arthur Aylesworth
Judge . . . . . Tully Marshall
Of all the ages of barbarism ours, at least, shall bear the dubious distinction of being the best documented. With increasing frequency there have been flung across the screens of local theatres purgatorial vistas of falling bombs and wasted cities, premonitions of terror. But not until "Pastor Hall" opened last night at the Globe has any film come so close to the naked spiritual issues involved in the present conflict or presented them in terms so moving. If it is propaganda, it is also more. Out of the despair of its story it has brought a testament of faith, and one which does not require the prolix foreword, spoken by Mrs. Eleanor Roosevelt at the beginning of the film.
Horror is commonplace in our time; it is not tragic until it is personalized. The measure of tragedy lies in the awareness of its protagonist. "Pastor Hall," in our belief, ranks above most of its predecessors for the simple reason that the central character is no melodramatic lay figure, but a human being, seen in depth, whose tormented decision we can share. His struggle is epic, the issues locked in a vast conflict between men of good will and those who cynically destroy. But the end is never in doubt and therein lies its note of exaltation.
Dante wrote his "Inferno" for a medieval mind; it has taken the Twentieth Century to make it real. The scenes here shown of life within a concentration camp are an apocalyptic vision of horror seen through a barbed wire fence. The brute is in command—even the flabby and effeminate variety—a searchlight pencils the darkness at regular intervals, cries ring out in the night and the stupefied prisoners raise taut faces at the sound of the warder's heel. "A bullet costs 12 pfennig," they have been told. "The life of each of you is worth no more, no less." It is cheaper to use the lash. Yet it is the boy whispering of how he returned to Germany at risk of his life because of simple homesickness that makes it overwhelming.
Based upon the story by Ernst Toller, which in turn is said to have been derived from the experience of the Rev. Martin Niemoeller, the film unfolds slowly, beginning at a time when Altdorf was only a remote and sleepy town in Germany. When the storm troops and Nazi theoreticians arrive, the pastor withholds judgment. But glass falls in the street and an old man stands beside his wrecked belongings; a 14-year-old maid goes to a labor camp and returns to kill herself rather than to allow her pregnancy to bring shame upon her father; the lives of the villagers are torn from the peaceful moorings by new and sudden hates, and at last the pastor's way is consummately clear. Before he can speak he is thrown into imprisonment. But he escapes and returns to Altdorf to deliver his last sermon before he is shot on the steps of his own church.
In its production the film is mechanically inferior. The sound track is uneven, the lighting occasionally bad. But in its performances it has been well endowed. Much of the film's dignity and cumulative emotion comes from the fine performance of Wilfrid Lawson as the pastor. He has built the role surely from the unassuming kindliness of the man in the early scenes to the restrained passion of the last moments, never lapsing into false heroics. Nova Pilbeam as the daughter and Sir Seymour Hicks as the old general in his ill-fitting uniform are excellent and the remaining cast competent.
It is to the film's credit that it rises above its familiar particulars to the stature of its theme. Despite the suffering, it sings. In his valedictory Mr. Lawson achieves a moment of ascendant emotion when he exhorts his congregation to put on "the whole armor of God" to fight the anti-Christ. But it is abundantly clear that it is no less a battle for man's faith in his own humanity.
At the 48th Street Theatre
No mistake was made by the management of the Spanish-language division of the little Forty-eighth Street Theatre in beginning its 1940-41 season with "En un Burro Tres Baturros" (Three Rustics on One Donkey). For this comedy-romance, produced in Mexico by V. Saiso Piquer and directed by José Benavides Jr., is so well done that persons who appreciate excellent acting and real atmosphere can enpoy it even if unacquainted with Spanish.
Starting from Aragon, where the most interesting incidents take place, three rough, but likable, young peasants set out for Mexico, with one burro among them. The story rapidly traces the rise to prosperity of the two survivors (Carlos Orellana and Joaquin Pardavé) and their wives (Sara Garcia and Carmen Gentil Arcos). Then come the customary movie troubles with their children and many funny and sadly sentimental happenings, some of which might be shortened to advantage. Of course, all ends well.
Carlos Lopez Moctezuma and lovely Victoria Alonso are effective in the heavy, romantic parts, while Jorge Mairos and Eliva Salcedo are good as a pair of silly lovers.
At the Globe
PASTOR HALL—Screen play by Leslie Arliss, Anna Reiner and Haworth Bromley; based on a story by Ernst Toller; directed by Roy Boulting; produced in England for Charter Films by John Boulting; distributed by James Roosevelt and released through United Artists.
Pastor Hall . . . . . Wilfrid Lawson
Christine Hall . . . . . Nova Pilbeam
General Von Grotjahnl . . . . . Seymour Hicks
Fritz Gerte . . . . . Marius Goring
Werner Von Grotjahn . . . . . Brian Worth
Herr Velt . . . . . Percy Walsh
Lina Veil . . . . . Lina Barrie
Pipperman . . . . . Eliot Makeham
Erwin Kohn . . . . . Peter Cotes
Freundlich . . . . . Edmund Willard
Nazi Pastor . . . . . Hay Petrie
Heinrich Degan . . . . . Bernard Miles
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