NR | 2h 2min | Drama | 1941
Frank Capra’s “Meet John Doe” (1941) is about how our trust in the basic goodness of people can help us live by facing, rather than fleeing, our deepest anxieties. Equally, it’s about how cynicism can lead us to die under the weight of these very anxieties.
The story starts off, familiarly enough, with anxiety driven by failure, something every jobless or homeless man and woman knows intimately. But Capra’s concern isn’t so much about anxieties that flow from failure but those that flow from success.
Anxious over plummeting sales and a promised layoff by her editor, journalist Ann Mitchell (Barbara Stanwyck) cooks up a letter from a random reader, who is neither random nor a reader nor even real. Christened “John Doe,” this imaginary person plans to kill himself in protest against everything that’s wrong with the world.
Mitchell’s letter sets off events that overturn fate, for her and everyone else. Things perk up. The idea of any man, even an imaginary one, expressing the common man’s angst, triggers public favor. It also triggers a promised “reward” for the man from every quarter with a vested interest. And pressure suddenly mounts for a real Doe to show up.
Early on, editor Connell (James Gleason) dismisses “I’m Doe” drunks and derelicts, queuing at his door for their “reward.” Then, against his instincts, he warms to Mitchell’s idea of milking public interest and connives with her to browbeat one such derelict, Willoughby (Gary Cooper), into becoming—and staying—John Doe.
But schemers like Connell and Mitchell are dwarfed by the scheming of their Machiavellian publisher, oil tycoon Norton (Edward Arnold), whose eye is fixed on a little more than oil, and a little beyond newspaper sales. His ambition is to secure fascist political clout for himself, for which he’ll readily compensate those who rally around him and, unblinkingly, crush those in his way.
Compelling Performances from Cooper and Stanwyck
Cooper’s easy physicality and towering frame lent his characters a dignified credibility, instead of threatening through brute presence. Only a handful of actors from that era rivaled his gentle and gentlemanly aura.Here, Cooper gracefully depicts both Willoughby’s naivete in rolling with the farce, and his guilt over being party to it. In one scene, he’s living the good life paid for by Norton, but in the next scene he’s before a “live” audience, delivering his first speech, utterly conflicted. Should he expose his sponsors (and himself) as frauds? Or should he keep on sermonizing, giving an adoring public what they seem to want more of?
At the podium, Cooper clutches an uplifting page of a speech, ghost-written by Mitchell. Hidden in his pocket is another speech, ghost-written by Mitchell’s rival newspaper, that blows the lid off their charade. In that nearly 10-minute sequence, Cooper convincingly morphs from panicky, perspiring Willoughby to confident, cocky Doe.
Stanwyck may have been about a foot shorter than Cooper, but she doesn’t play second fiddle to him, or any man. She’s challenging men and being challenged by them, on equal footing. Watch her three-minute rebuke of Connell’s failure to seize the Doe “opportunity.” With each new quickfire phrase, she raises her pitch by a decibel, spelling out her vision and why Connell shouldn’t ignore her idea. He doesn’t.
Capra’s Widest Cinematic Canvas
Frank Capra often admitted that the triumph of his 1930s films shocked him so much that he sank into a depression, afraid of “what’s next?” “Meet John Doe” was his way of bouncing back, reconciling with the fear of rejection, making peace with the possibility of failure or obscurity. It’s easy to see why.Aimed at Depression-era audiences, this film oozes fear and uncertainty. Its inexplicable twists reflect that anxiety but, unlike Capra’s other films, they don’t resolve it. Its sense of unfinished business still casts a spell over audiences of any generation. It mirrors their “work in progress” lives; they don’t have all the answers because they’re not even sure what the questions are.
The supposed romance between Mitchell and Willoughby? Capra barely touches it. He’s more interested in their character arcs. Willoughby as Doe, wears several hats: disgruntled common man, fleeing savior, condemned betrayer, remorseful follower. Mitchell changes too, but not as convincingly.
Some critics fault Capra for cramming in too many messages. His characters deliver one too many monologues on everything from consumerism to capitalism, from patriotism to fascism.
But here Capra paints on a grander socio-political cinematic canvas than in his earlier films. “Meet John Doe” is his cinematic treatise, articulating the widest possible range of his beliefs. So his direction bears a pulsating intensity that bursts through particular scenes.
When a confused Willoughby tries to escape from it all, he’s hunted down by hordes of admirers who recognize him and implore his leadership of the John Doe movement. Norton and Mitchell join the pleading party. Can Willoughby, please, overlook their dubious newspaper “circulation stunt”? Why kill a movement that’s doing such good, they ask.
An excitable, newly-formed John Doe Club turns up, eager to dissuade Doe from suicide because he’s inspired so many ordinary folk. After a long-winded speech by the starstruck club leader, there’s a tender moment. An aged couple silently walks up to Doe and the old lady simply says “God bless you, my boy,” looks into Doe’s eyes, kisses his hand, and walks away smiling.
A horrified and humbled Willoughby blanches at the reactions he (as Doe) is provoking. It’s a Capra masterstroke. Faced with the prospect of failure and rejection, will Willoughby overcome confusion and reach a new clarity Success, with its heady prospects, only seems to worsen his cowardice; will he find fortitude amidst failure?
Willoughby’s second speech is to a stadium-sized audience. As it unfolds, that scene looks and feels and sounds so real that you’re anxious; you suspect that something’s wrong. Has Capra lost control of his cast and crew or have his extras run amok?
Through that chaos, however, Capra’s saying something. He doesn’t promise that our anxieties will disappear. He’s saying that it’s precisely when you’re losing everything and suffocated by anxiety that you must trust in the basic goodness in yourself and in others. Then, it won’t matter whether you “succeed” or “fail.” Your trust will see you through.
