Seven Days in May (1964) - John Frankenheimer

It's the height of the Cold War. Relations between the United States and the Soviet Union has the U.S. military on edge. When an unpopular president (Fredric March) negotiates a nuclear arms treaty with the enemy, he incurs the ire of the military and the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who see him as soft, and playing politics with the nation's security. Its hard line chairman is General James Mattoon Scott (Burt Lancaster), a popular hero who considers the president a traitor. Scott's aide, Colonel Jiggs Casey (Kurt Douglas), comes across inexplicable and unsettling information. Convinced a military coup is afoot, he takes his suspicions to the White House. The president calls together his most trusted advisers to get to the bottom of matter and, if necessary, stop the coup before it is too late.

Fredric March as President Jordan Lyman

Seven Days in May is a fine follow-up for Director John Frankenheimer, fresh off his critically acclaimed The Manchurian Candidate. As a political thriller, it succeeds even better than its predecessor because the plot is considerably more plausible. Where Manchurian featured an over-the-top U.S. Senator and his wife hell-bent on securing the presidency through any means possible, wrapping itself in the paranoia of the Cold War period, Seven Days in May keeps it characters firmly rooted in reality. It more accurately captures the sense of foreboding and uncertainty of the age, when kids were drilled at school to duck their heads under their desks in the event of an atomic bomb attack, and Russia tried to site missiles in Cuba.

The film, based on a best-selling novel by Fletcher Knebel and Charles Bailey, is a tense thriller with great pacing, a hallmark of Frankenheimer. The plot unfolds innocently enough; Colonel Jiggs stumbles unto what ostensibly is a betting pool among certain officers for the upcoming Preakness Stakes. The junior officer who brought it to his attention is suddenly transferred. Jiggs hears of a secret military base out west, where disturbing amounts of military resources are being housed and directed. None of it makes sense. Once he takes his suspicions to the president, the pace picks up.

Because the cast and script are so good, it's easy to get caught up in the action. Not surprisingly, March is particularly effective as the beleaguered president, willing to sacrifice his political future for what he believes is in the nation's best interest. He looks and reasons like a president, at least how we might wish. His character encapsulates the message of the film when he says it's the nuclear age, and not a person or group that is the enemy. "It has killed man's faith in his ability to influence what happens to him."

A winner of two Best Actor Oscars, March gives another appropriately emotional performance, looking older than his 67 years. His face is clouded in anguish. You believe this man is under crushing pressure, and you root for him to fend off his opponents. He has two terrific scenes. The first in the living quarters of the White House, in a tense confrontation with Scott. Here we have two men, diametrically opposed and passionate, each with the firm belief that he is right.

"Then by God, run for office."

Scott: And if you want to talk about your oath of office, I'm here to tell you face to face, President Lyman, that you violated that oath when you stripped this country of its muscles - when you deliberately played upon the fear and fatigue of the people and told them they could remove that fear by the stroke of a pen. And then when this nation rejected you, lost faith in you, and began militantly to oppose you, you violated that oath by not resigning from office and turning the country over to someone who could represent the people of the United States.

President Lyman: And that would be General James Mattoon Scott, would it? I don't know whether to laugh at that kind of megalomania, or simply cry.

Scott: James Mattoon Scott, as you put it, hasn't the slightest interest in his own glorification. But he does have an abiding interest in the survival of this country.  

President Lyman: Then, by God, run for office. You have such a fervent, passionate, evangelical faith in this country - why in the name of God don't you have any faith in the system of government you're so hell-bent to protect?

The second scene is a press conference at the end of the film, with some of Knebel and Charles' strongest writing. President Lyman offers the nation a hopeful message, though an ironic one, considering that shortly after the film's release the United States found itself mired in Vietnam.

"There's been abroad in this land in recent months a whisper that we have somehow lost our greatness, that we do not have the strength to win without war the struggles for liberty throughout the world. This is slander, because our country is strong, strong enough to be a peacemaker. It is proud, proud enough to be patient. The whisperers and the detractors, the violent men are wrong. We will remain strong and proud, peaceful and patient, and we will see a day when on this earth all men will walk out of the long tunnels of tyranny into the bright sunshine of freedom."

Lancaster and Douglas

Frankenheimer surrounded himself with a solid supporting crew. Jerry Goldsmith provided the effective score, suspenseful and dramatic; and Edward Boyle served as set director. Boyle was nominated for an Oscar for his work on this film. He knew his stuff, having won four years earlier for The Apartment.

Rod Serling of The Twilight Zone penned the taut screenplay. He did a great job translating the book to the screen, making you wish he had done more film work. For dramatic effect, Serling and Frankenheimer made Scott more publicly blatant in his criticism of the president and reduced the involvement of one character in the novel who adds little to the story, a Secret Service agent. Both decisions enhance the story.

Douglas is great as Jiggs, giving one of his most understated performances, confused and, at the end, shocked that the man he so admired could disgrace his uniform. What makes his position so compelling is that he agrees with Scott; he tells the president that the Russians are playing them for suckers. But he understands the role of the military in a civilian government, and though a whistle-blower, he is the true patriot of the film.

Frankenheimer makes good use of closeups, showing the strain on the face of the characters. The best occurs as Jiggs is first relating his suspicions to the president. Lyman feels the officer is beating around the bush and asks him if he "has something against the English language." He tells him to speak plainly. The camera pulls in on Douglas as he finally gets his suspicions off his chest. It's a dramatic moment.

Another great pleasure is the supporting cast. O'Brien (nominated for an Oscar here), Martin Balsam, Andrew Duggan, George Macready, and Ava Gardner are each terrific, shinning in short screen time. O'Brien is the president's good friend, an alcoholic Senator from South Carolina. His accent is a little over the top but his emotions are spot on. His character is involved in the one true action sequence in the film. On a fact-finding mission, he finds himself held incognito at the secret military base, where his captors try to ply him with alcohol. When a friend of Jiggs shows up (Duggan), together they attempt an escape. Considering the amount of armed solders present, it stretches the imagination that they would succeed, but this is a film more about ideas than action, so it's easy to overlook this slight flaw.

The character Clark helps illustrate something else that is surely true about any presidency--it can be an incredibly lonely job. When the most difficult decisions are required, it comes down to one man. He may have a few friends and close advisers he can talk things over with, but in the end the responsibility is his alone. March and O'Brien's relationship brings this front and center.

Edmond O'Brien as Senator Raymond Clark.

There is another small flaw in the film and the novel. In each, the president has the chance to stop Scott through blackmail: in the novel with evidence of income tax fraud, and in the film with a pack of love letters. (The film's approach here works far better than that presented in the novel.) That in neither case is this strategy needed in the end doesn't matter. The president refuses to employ such unsavory tactics. But that decision at the time defies logic as any man faced with similar circumstances would use whatever means necessary to stop a coup. Moreover, it portrays Lyman as being too good and pious, having too much integrity, a clear liberal bias of the authors.

In the end, the film presents hope, and a firm message that democracy will stand triumphant.

Frankenheimer and Lancaster collaborated on seven films. This is one of their best.

The Best Years of Our Lives (1946) -- William Wyler

This is a special and memorable film. Still the best of Hollywood’s Coming Home films and among the greatest American produced ensemble pieces, there is good reason why The Best Years of Our Lives won seven Academy Awards, including Best Film, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Screenplay. Part of it was timing. Released just after the Second World War in 1946, it perfectly captured the nation’s jumbled mix of emotions: relief, angst, hopefulness, and confusion. But most of the explanation for its acclaim lies in its superb craftsmanship.

Homecoming at Butch's.

The story centers on three ordinary veterans. Recently discharged, they form a bond as they share a flight back to their Mid-western hometown, Boone City. Sergeant Al Stephenson (Fredric March), Captain Fred Derry (Dana Andrews), and sailor Homer Parrish (Harold Russell) share something else--the uncertainty all veterans face when trying to readjust back into civilized society, and the frightful question: are the best years of their lives behind them?

The men are from very different socioeconomic backgrounds, and except for the common experience of war and their fears of the future, none of these people would likely have become friends. Of course, that’s part of the beauty of the film. Circumstances have thrown them together, for better or worse. How Director William Wyler makes them interact—together and with family and friends—and what’s in store for them in a post-war world, is the heart of the story. And Wyler tells that story in a lean, honest style that surely touches every viewer, be they a veteran themselves or someone who has lost sleep praying that a family member return home safely from some overseas conflict.   

Homer has the most difficult task, having lost both hands when his ship was sunk. He now wears two hooks. “I can dial telephones, I can drive a car, I can even put nickels in the jukebox. I'm all right,” he explains, “but... well, you see, I've got a girl.” Homer doesn’t want to be a burden to Wilma (Cathy O'Donnell), the girl he planned to marry, and at first pushes her away. Feeling self-conscious, he imagines he only engenders pity. Russell, a real vet with no previous acting experience, is remarkable in a sensitive performance.

In a film loaded with great dialog, one of the best exchanges occurs shortly after the men arrive home. Fred and Al watch expectantly from a cab Homer’s uneasy reunion with Wilma and his family. They see Wilma rush to hug Homer, but he stands stiff and awkward in her embrace. Fred doesn’t notice and merely shakes his head, saying, "You gotta hand it to the Navy. They sure trained that kid how to use those hooks." Al, more observant, catches the moment and replies, "They couldn't train him to put his arms around his girl, or to stroke her hair." 

That exchange is typical of Robert Sherwood’s perfectly paced and understated screenplay. It contains no hint of melodrama, just everyday speech and emotion that puts a lump in your throat. Another lump comes when Al arrives home to surprise his family. He motions for his children to keep quiet. His wife Milly, played with grace by Myrna Loy, is in the kitchen with her back to the room, talking over her shoulder. She suddenly and instinctively knows that her husband is home. She turns abruptly, they lock eyes, and no words are necessary. The viewer knows these two are deeply in love.
 

Homer and Wilma have a moving exchange. 

One of the hallmarks of the film is its open and honest treatment of disabilities. In one particularly moving moment Homer removes his prosthetics to show Wilma how helpless he is without them. He can manage to wriggle into his pajama top, but he can’t button it.

Al is the most financially secure of the three friends. He returns to his pre-war job as a bank executive. It is a good life but everything has changed. His children have grown and he quickly finds that the nation is tired of war and wants to move on. The bank cares little that a loan applicant served his country. What matters is what kind of collateral he brings to the table.

Perhaps the character that most of the 1946 audience related to best is Fred. He is from the wrong side of the tracks and comes home to a dead-end job as a soda jerk, the same one he held before the war. With no better prospects in sight he also must deal with a philandering wife who’s not satisfied with his $32.50 weekly salary. He is miserable. Complicating matters is his growing affection for Al’s pretty daughter Peggy, played by Teresa Wright.

In World War II servicemen hung pinups of Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth in their quarters, but it was women like Wright’s Peggy that they wanted to come home to and marry and have children. She is young, beautiful, innocent, and vulnerable. Wright burst onto the Hollywood scene five years earlier with an astounding record of early success, garnering nominations for best supporting actress in each of her first three films (she won for Mrs. Miniver). Best Years was her sixth film and she is stunning.

Dana Andrews as Fred and Teresa Wright as Peggy.

The second scene at Butch's occurs later when Al asks Fred to stay away from Peggy. He likes Fred, but sees no future in it. Besides he's married and Peggy is too young to know what she's getting into. It is a father protecting his daughter. It is a tense scene with the emotions just under the surface. The conversation here is direct and painful. At one point Fred is unable to look Al in the eye and stares vacantly at the tabletop. Already relying on shaky self-esteem, he understands that Al doesn’t think he’s good enough for Peggy. Facing a hard sobering truth, Fred can’t escape the fact that his own life is a mess. Al, a decent and fine man in his own right, feels like a heel, leaving the viewer sympathizing with both characters.

Wyler and cinematographer Gregg Toland use deep focus photography to close this scene with a remarkable shot of Fred in the far background, calling Peggy from a corner phone booth to break it off. In the foreground, Al pretends to listen to Homer playing the piano with his hooks, but his attention is on Fred—just like the viewer’s. Because everyone has either made such a call or been on the receiving end of one, the scene is particularly personal, poignant, and effective. 
  

Another memorable scene has Fred planning to leave town to find other work after he has been fired from the drugstore. Without Peggy he has no reason to stay in Boone City. He walks dejectedly through an airfield as he waits for his transport. It is littered with abandoned bombers. Like their pilots, the machines are no longer needed and are ready for the scrap heap. Fred climbs into the nose bubble of a B-17 and momentarily goes into a trance, again reliving the horrors of war. Nine-time Oscar nominee Hugo Friedhofer wrote the film score, which here is appropriately dramatic.

The film ends with a marriage and the promise of another. Homer has accepted Wilma's love, and the entire cast gathers for the ceremony. Again, Director Wyler works wonders with misdirection and deep focus photography. As the wedding couple exchange vows, and Homer deftly slips the ring on Wilma's finger using his hooks, Fred and Peggy gaze at each other across the room, oblivious to what else is happening. By now Fred has a new job and is divorced. The young couple move to embrace and kiss. Knowing that they'll face a tough life ahead they profess their love for one another.  
     

The success and effectiveness of the film is more than the sum of its parts. It draws the viewer in completely, giving the sensation of watching real people instead of actors, struggling with everyday problems. The acting throughout is outstanding. March and Russell won Oscars but any of the leads could have. It is Andrews’ best performance. Number 37 on the American Film Institute’s Top 100 American Films, it belongs higher.