The Molly Maguires

If Hollywood is chary of addressing political revolutions, they've generally shied away from labor disputes. The late 19th Century saw labor-capital relations rendered into pitiless Social Darwinism. Among the more violent disturbances were the Haymarket Square Riot in 1886 Chicago; the Pullman railway strikes of 1893; and, in Groggy's own backyard, the Homestead steel strike of 1892. Few of these have made it onto film; one exception, John Sayles' Matewan (1987), depicts a bloody conflict in 1920s West Virginia.

From 1970 comes The Molly Maguires. Director Martin Ritt abandons safely-framed message films like Norma Rae and Hombre for a scabrous look at coal mining circa 1876. Dramatically uneven, it's mainly impressive for its grimly realistic staging.

Ne'er-do-well James MacParland (Richard Harris) arrives in a Pennsylvania mining town. Miner Jack Kehoe (Sean Connery) distrusts him, and with good reason: MacParland is a Pinkerton detective, assigned to infiltrate the Molly Maguires. The Mollies are a secret society of Irish miners who engage in sabotage and against the mine bosses. MacParland joins their activities, growing increasingly sympathetic as he witnesses the deprivation of the mining life. But MacParland soldiers on, realizing treachery is his only means of advancement.

The Molly Maguires confronts this subject matter head-on. We see children toiling in mines, employees bilked out of wages, impudent employees beaten by police. Realizing mass strikes only generate massive retaliations, the Mollies rely on subtle subversion. MacParland serves not only as informant but agent provocateur, spurring them on while tipping off his police handler (Frank Finlay). Each action only stacks the deck further: the mine bosses can call on police, Pinkertons and even soldiers to enforce their will. The smug local priest (Philip Bourneuf) inveighs against violence. But terrorism becomes the only means of protest against bosses who regard them as barely human.


More than the message, it's the dirtiness that sticks in the mind. Ritt provides several showy set pieces like the prolonged, wordless opening as Kehoe's men sabotage a mine, while James Wong Howe conjures some gorgeous widescreen photography. But Maguires' main impression is quiet desperation. Scenes impress with their authentic grubbiness, from the claustrophobic mines to the rough-hewn pub or the tiny company town. At one point, James takes lover Mary (Samantha Eggar) for a romantic picnic amidst a barren slagheap. Mining consumes every facet of their lives.

Such despair makes Maguires true to life, but it's not entirely satisfying. Dramatically the movie's rigged like a funnel, the downbeat conclusion essentially inevitable. Ritt and Bernstein work the standard informer plot through its usual paces, while James' romance with Mary merely eats up screen time. Maguires is less effective telling a story than being a slice-of-19th Century life - though it does the latter very well.

Richard Harris gives one of his best performances, uncannily subdued and tormented. Sean Connery matches him; his intense glowers speak more than pages of dialogue. Frank Finlay (The Three Musketeers) makes a pitiless villain. Samantha Eggar does respectable work as the required love interest; Anthony Zerbe gets a rare sympathetic part.

The Molly Maguires flopped big time in 1970 and remains obscure today. Understandably: it's relentlessly morose, unrelieved by humor or cathartic violence. Handsomely produced and well-acted, certainly memorable for all its flaws.