Harold Russell is a revelation

Rating: 9/10 (29 April 2019)

America's love letter to servicemen returning from the war, speaking their truths, and hoping to earn them more appreciation, understanding, and patience. From the beginning we feel something is altered these guys (Frederic March, Dana Andrews, and Harold Russell), starting with Russell's dramatic reveal of missing his hands, and continuing on with all of their difficulties readjusting. In some sense they seem to be misfits in a country that they fought for and saved, and even though they are widely shown some level of respect, at times it feels like lip service, and that the country was ready to move on just a little too quickly.
In ways that are not heavy-handed, the film touches on things that survivors of the war faced, like marital problems, having missed children grow up, alcoholism, night terrors, survivor's guilt, the difficulty of getting a job or a loan, and in one scene, putting up with a loudmouth who questions why they fought in the first place, and didn't just put America First.
There are several touching moments: a father reading his son's commendation, the one the young man would just as soon throw away. March's sharp speech defending giving loans at risk to soldiers, cleverly pointing out the risks they took doing things like taking a hill during the war (they couldn't say "no collateral, no hill"), and that the bank was betting on America's future. Andrews walking out into a graveyard of scrapped war planes, and climbing up into one. And lastly, Harold Russell showing his girlfriend his body and making sure she understood the limits of his situation.
Russell is simply a revelation in this film and deserves special mention out of the strong cast - and I mean that because of his acting. He brings an earnestness and authenticity to the part across a full range - stoicism, dignity, friendly camaraderie, grief, and anger.
Three of the female characters are absolute saints (Myrna Loy, Teresa Wright, and Cathy O'Donnell), and almost too saccharine sweet in their wholesomeness. When Andrews says to Wright, "I think they oughtta put you in mass production," he's probably got it right. Part of all this was undoubtedly the Production Code, and part of it was meant to impart a lesson in kindness and understanding of soldiers returning with physical or mental damage. They are offset a little by Virginia Mayo, the bad girl who shakes her hips while wrapping a scarf around her behind and soon tires of not living the high life on her husband's small salary. Per the morality of the Code he's expected to stick with her despite loving Wright, because as Myrna Loy's character articulates it to her daughter, in a marriage you go through trials and tribulations and even hating the other person, and are expected to just get through it. Of course all of the badness is assigned to Mayo's character, who conveniently exits the scene to ensure things will play out happily.
While the film touches on the darker aspects of returning from war, it's also got that bright, squeaky-clean 1950's American feeling to it, and could certainly have been darker. At the same time, it initiated the conversation on these issues, and it almost certainly helped people heal, and for those things it deserves the credit it's received over the years.
Lastly, I liked the foreboding touches that occurred early on, alluding to the horrifying new era mankind had entered. As a high school boy has learned from his physics teacher, "We've reached a point where the whole human race has either got to find a way to live together, or else..." The point is later echoed by a piano player in the bar (Hoagy Carmichael), who is advocating patience to Russell's character because he's struggling. He softly says some of the best lines in the movie: "You know your folks will get used to you, and you'll get used to them, then everything will settle down nicely. Unless we have another war. Then none of us have to worry because we'll all be blown to bits the first day. So cheer up, huh?"