The Plough and the Stars

John Ford's The Plough and the Stars (1936) should be good. Based on Sean O'Casey's controversial Easter Rising play (which caused riots in Dublin during its initial 1926 run), it seems like a no-brainer for the director who'd just won an Oscar for The Informer (1935). But Ford's stilted handling of the material, mixed with awkward casting and studio meddling, produce a boring misfire.

1916 Ireland erupts into the Easter Rising, an ill-fated rebellion against British rule. Jack Clitheroe (Preston Foster) joins the rebels, wife Nora (Barbara Stanwyck) not comprehending his decision to get involved. Ireland's working class stays aloof from the rebellion, more upset by the Rising's violent chaos than British oppression. The Rebellion is swiftly crushed, the Rising's leaders arrested alongside socialists and antiwar activists. Nora and Jack argue over whether everything was worthwhile.

Ford viewed Plough as a pet project. He received O'Casey's blessing, cast actors from the play's original run (Arthur Shields, F.J. McCormick, Denis O'Dea) and filmed in Ireland. But Ford immediately clashed with RKO producer Sam Briskin, who demanded Ford neuter O'Casey's socialist politics and emphasize the story's romance. Things got so bad that Ford refused to reshoot key scenes with Barbara Stanwyck and Preston Foster, forcing Briskin to bring in an AD. Ford disowned the finished product, complaining RKO "completely ruined the damned thing." The movie received a critical roasting, flopped and was duly forgotten.

It's little surprise then that The Plough and the Stars stinks. Ford and writer Dudley Nichols's ragged narrative diffuses over a large cast of cipher characters. The central romance falls flat, while O'Casey's contrast of working class cynicism with nationalist violence scarcely comes through. We see Maggie (Una O'Connor) lose her shop to rioting Dubliners, while hard-drinking Fluther Good (Barry Fitzgerald) wonders whether nationalist revolt can achieve social justice. There's certainly potential here, with O'Casey avoiding easy resolutions, but Ford's staging falls back too frequently on stentorian position speeches.

After The Informer's Expressionist nightmare view of Ireland, Ford's wartime Dublin feels flat and perfunctory. The repetitive action scenes make liberal use of stock footage; a crude running gag outspoken characters being machine gunned wears thin. Cinematographer Joseph H. August drapes scenes in shadow without motivation, as if darkness self-generates mood. Ford's one memorable set piece has an Irish sniper shot by British troops glide silently off the rooftop, arms outstretched Christlike. The rest is rote hackwork.

Barbara Stanwyck gives an uncharacteristically awful performance. Excellent playing brassy femmes and comedy leads, Babs flounders playing an hysterical wreck, mouthing Nichols' (or O'Casey's?) overripe verbiage without conviction. Preston Foster is stiff as a board. The Irish players fare better: Barry Fitzgerald (The Quiet Man) steals every scene as a cynical revolutionary. Denis O'Dea, Una O'Connor and Arthur Shields have showy bit parts. But they're too thinly sketched to hold more than momentary interest.

The Plough and the Stars is a thoroughly soporific experience. Despite the interesting story it's a dramatic dud that might be John Ford's worst feature.