"The Best Years of Our Lives" (1946)

Released in 1946 to massive popularity and critical acclaim, “The Best Years of Our Lives” is an enduring classic, still one of the finest, most entertaining films in American cinema.  The story of three World War II veterans, who return home to face the challenges of readjustment to civilian life, was highly topical and specific to its era.  Decades later, this monumental portrait of genuinely human characters, their fears and hopes, loves and dreams, is universal, and still resonates.

Today, it is a poignant time capsule of a bygone America that seems almost impossible to imagine.  It is also a tribute to those average, quietly heroic postwar Americans, most of whom are gone now, who shared common goals, and who observed an unwritten code of dignity and civility even in the aftermath of war. 

In a time of struggle that is specific to our own era, “The Best Years of Our Lives” still has plenty to say to us.   It’s like a balm to our anxious souls, showing good, imperfect people pulling together and enduring the problems of a changed world with love and strength.

On a personal note, whenever I am asked to name my all-time favorite film, I start to answer that impossible question by naming “The Best Years of Our Lives”.  I first saw it at age 10, on a Saturday television matinee with commercials (and likely some edits for length.)  My early fascination with the characters and their situations has grown into a true affection for the movie.  As I matured, so did my appreciation for it as a truly great piece of filmmaking. 

Perhaps because the film depicts the values and the culture that shaped my parents, I associate the movie strongly with them, and with a kind of life they tried to give me which has all but disappeared.  It’s more than a movie to me; it’s like a companion that I can visit for three hours, whose stories are as fresh, inspiring, and moving as the first time I encountered them.  After dozens of viewings, I have never grown tired of “The Best Years of Our Lives”, and I am moved even more each time.

The film tells parallel stories of the three soldiers who return together on a plane, strangers at first, to a fictional Everytown called Boone City.  They become fast friends, and their lives intersect and affect each other in surprising dramatic ways. 

The three plotlines are woven into a final wedding sequence, bringing all of the characters together. I consider it one of cinema’s most skillful and breathtaking wedding scenes.  It’s a remarkable finale that both ties up loose ends and leaves us with a satisfying ambiguity, as though the characters have real lives after the final credits.

Each of the soldiers represents one of three branches of the military.

Al Stevenson (Fredric March), an Army Sergeant, is the elder of the three.  He is well established back home as a banker, married for twenty years to a lovely, amiable, understanding wife Millie (Myrna Loy), and has two grown children.  Al seems to have it made upon his return, but has feelings of discomfort and alienation, and laments that everyone will try to “rehabilitate” him.   Al’s daughter Peggy (Teresa Wright), a nurse, is mature, good-natured, and lonely.  She plays a big part in two of the intersecting stories.

Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) a Captain in the Air Force, flew bomber planes over enemy targets. He excelled at his job in the air, but did not pick up many skills to re-enter the workforce, aside from his previous dead-end job at a drugstore soda fountain.   Only twenty days before going to war, he made a hasty marriage with Marie (Virginia Mayo), a carefree, immature girl he hardly knew, who fell in love with Fred’s uniform instead of the man wearing it.  Fred meets Peggy (Al’s daughter) after a welcome-home revelry at a neighborhood bar, and a clandestine affair begins, causing dismay for both families, and unhappiness for the otherwise decent and considerate pair.

The final plotline is the most heartbreaking, and maybe the most compelling.  Homer Parrish, a young sailor, loses both of his hands when his ship was bombed and caught fire.  Now he must use metal prosthetic hooks, and worries about the reaction of his family and friends.  Homer is engaged to Wilma (Cathy O'Donnell), his childhood sweetheart who lives next door.  He doesn’t want to burden her with his disability, but Wilma loves him and keeps asking him to give her a chance.  To escape the pitying looks and concern at home, Homer frequents a bar owned by his Uncle Butch (the legendary pianist Hoagy Carmichael), who is the only one he can talk to.  Butch’s Bar will be an important meeting place throughout the movie.

There is a renewed relevance to “The Best Years of Our Lives” as we try to figure out life after coronavirus.  This film about soldiers readjusting to a world that is different from the one they left behind is similar to our own readjustment to a world “opening up”.  Just as Al, Fred and Homer encounter social, economic, and physical aftereffects of the war, we have to consider the virus’ social, economic and physical effects as it moves through the population.

Many people will not be directly affected by the virus, but will choose ways to help and protect others.  Al’s world seems unchanged except to him, and so he uses his position at the bank to assist other veterans desperate for a new beginning.  Fred suffers the shame of underemployment and poverty, risking his marriage and sense of self-worth.  After the War, most viewers identified with Fred’s challenges; maybe those who have lost their jobs due to the virus, and face few prospects, still identify with Fred.  Homer can never recover from his injuries, just like many people will be permanently scarred from side effects of the virus.  Like Homer, they need special people to love them and not give up on them.

“The Best Years of Our Lives” is the product of some of Hollywood’s most respected artists and craftsmen, working at the peak of their talents.  The film is so involving that the artistry is almost invisible, but it has a definite strong effect on the viewer.

Director William Wyler, who continued a string of popular, timely films that struck a nerve with audiences (see “Mrs. Miniver” and “Roman Holiday”, both reviewed in this blog), made this his masterpiece.  He perfected his signature long takes, arranging the actors and their movements in the frame, eloquently expressing multiple bits of information and emotion in each shot.  For a film with a 170-minute running time, it has fewer edits than most.  Wyler’s ability and willingness to let his scenes breathe, and unfold naturally, achieves a quietly powerful effect without forcing that response.  It feels honest.

Cinematographer Gregg Toland perfected his deep-focus technique which he started with “Citizen Kane”. Toland lights his sets and performers with precision to strengthen Wyler’s intricate mise-en-scene. The wedding scene alone is worth high praise.

Hugo Friedhofer’s elegiac, soaring music is a character all its own.  Sometimes romantic, sometimes sly and humorous, and often with a subtle military crescendo, the score is like a tribute to the characters, many of whom have their own themes.  Friedhofer tells us more in his music than pages of written description could achieve.

Robert E. Sherwood’s complex and human screenplay, based on a prose poem by MacKinlay Kantor called “Glory for Me,” deftly leads the viewers through myriad complications in the character’s lives, and it never bogs down.   The dialog is scaled to the cadences and manner of speech of regular people.  There are few lines that draw attention to themselves; but there are many exchanges and monologues that will leave you spellbound, thoughtful, even moved to tears.

Finally, the actors all give the performances of their lives. 

Fredric March has a good time playing Al, providing most of the film’s comic relief.  He comfortably occupies the character and dominates many scenes with his intense gaze, though sometimes playing scenes of merry drunkenness broadly, which at the time was considered acceptably funny. 

The wonderful Myrna Loy plays Al’s wife Millie with grace and wisdom.  Loy communicates so much with a mere nod of her head, or a wistful smile, that we completely believe whatever she has to say.   

Teresa Wright plays Peggy with the right amount of thoughtfulness, accurately portraying a young woman who is confused by forbidden longing. 

Dana Andrews is appropriately handsome and jaunty as Fred, playing a character who undergoes the most change.  Without begging for our sympathy, Andrews earns it, as well as our respect for his character.

Finally, the performer who has the greatest impact in the film is the only non-professional in the cast. Harold Russell, who plays Homer, was a soldier who actually lost his hands in a military accident.  Director Wyler saw him in a training film and cast him for his natural presence on screen. (He objected to Russell taking acting lessons to prepare.)  Audiences were unaccustomed to seeing realistic depictions of amputees, and there was a high level of curiosity. 

Russell essentially plays a version of himself, but Wyler directed him to a performance of great depth. He is so likeable and natural, and elicits such sympathy, that he captured the collective heart of the nation.  The character of Homer remains one of the most memorable aspects of “Best Years of Our Lives.”  

Russell received a Supporting Actor Oscar nomination, but the Academy, feeling he would not win, presented him with an honorary Oscar for “bringing hope and courage to his fellow veterans…”.  Russell went on to win the Supporting Oscar anyway, and remains the only actor to earn two Oscars for the same portrayal.

“The Best Years of Our Lives” swept the Oscars, earning in addition to Russell’s Best Picture and Director, Actor for March, Screenplay, Score, and Film Editing.   It continues to be an important film,  a true classic of Hollywood’s golden age, and will reward the time and attention of viewers for generations to come.