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John Ford a Biography Andrew Sinclair 9780930621001 Books

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John Ford a Biography Andrew Sinclair 9780930621001 Books

As an avid movie fan, especially of older ones from the Silver Screen era, I’ve been struck by the fact that there were several highly successful, one eyed directors. Raoul Walsh, Andre De Toth, cartoonist Tex Avery, and Fritz Lang all made do with just one peeper and they were some of the most accomplished film makers in the history of American (and world) cinema. Perhaps the fact that they only had one eye made them all the more discerning in what they chose to put on film. It does seem remarkable and it’s a tribute to these directors that they did so much with the little fate left them.

Another trend among directors, not at all an admirable one, is that some appear to have been pretty much complete sons of bitches, miserable, domineering tyrants who delighted in making cast and crew’s lives utter hell. Fritz Lang was notoriously controlling on the set. Another famous jerk was Sam Peckinpah, perhaps one of the greatest Western directors along with Ford and others, but also an out of control substance abuser with a marked proclivity for hurting those in his personal and professional life. Howard Hawks was a control freak who had Lauren Bacall live with him and his wife so they could groom and brainwash her into Hawks’s conception of a movie star. The best thing that can be said for such behavior (and it’s a defense that’s often been made) is that making a film, especially a big, complicated one, is very similar to a military mission such as an expeditionary force (with the film analogy being an on location shoot). The director, the person in charge, has to be in command. Cast and crew have to be driven hard so the film can meet budget and time requirements. The easy counter to this is that many other directors have achieved similar results without having to resort to such high pressure tactics.

Then there is the director who combines both these features, both nearly blind and relentlessly miserable. One example of this, probably the most prominent, is John Ford, the subject of Andrew Sinclair’s 1979 biography. I read this book with great interest. Westerns are pretty much my favorite film genre. John Ford is probably the greatest director of Western films that ever lived (a pretty safe statement to make since the genre is basically dead). More than that, I consider him to be one of the greatest directors whose work I’ve seen. Ford had a painter’s eye for framing scenes. Many of his best works consist of successive images, all beautifully composed, that delight and move the viewer in the same fashion as a series of marvelous paintings in a museum would. The paradox behind it all being that, to achieve these wonderful results, Ford continually and repeatedly engaged in coarse abuse and the meanest sort of practical jokes, always punching down. Cast and crew members who stood the abuse became part of his stock company and received Ford’s loyalty in decades to come with steady work and behind the scenes assistance. Those who refused to cooperate in their own humiliation were quickly dropped.

Sinclair does a workmanlike job in this biography. He describes Ford’s background, brought up in turn of the century Portland, Maine, as part of a large, clannish Irish family from Galway; his early infatuation with the sea and the old ways of his Irish ancestors; how he went to Hollywood originally to work for his brother, Frank, and soon surpassed him; and provides good, succinct descriptions of the many, many films that Ford made during almost fifty years in the business. Sinclair also shows Ford’s hidden depths, the various facets of his personality that made him too complex to just be dismissed as an ogre director: his lack of racial prejudice in an era where such beliefs were commonplace, the decades of unpaid, potentially dangerous intelligence work that he did for the US Navy, and his efforts to help those with disabilities as a result of the horrible things he’d seen in WW II. Ford had a secretive, private nature in many ways. One of the things he seemed to want to hide most from the world was the fact that he really was a sensitive, highly perceptive artist with amazing technical abilities and, what’s more important, very strong insight into the human condition. He kept this concealed through foul language, indifference to his appearance (he was a notorious slob), and regularly engaging in such stereotypical he-man activities as drunken card games and long sea voyages.

The author did a great deal of research on this book. There are extensive quotations from some of Ford’s closest collaborators to include John Wayne, his biggest star, Ford’s wife and family, and numerous members of his crew. My only caveat is that I wish the book could have dwelt a bit longer on Ford’s artistry, his uncanny ability to catch just the right moment on film, his finely attuned knowledge of men engaged in dangerous trades like soldiers and seaman, how he could take what would be the schmaltziest dreck in anyone else’s hands and make it perfectly charming. (I have The Quiet Man foremost in mind with respect to this last point, a film I love despite being silly and sexist and a constant reminder of just about every Irish stereotype there is.)

Despite this last nit, I recommend this book. This is an excellent source for general film buffs, Western fans or folks who really like Old Hollywood (I fall into all three camps.)


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John Ford a Biography Andrew Sinclair 9780930621001 Books Reviews

As an avid movie fan, especially of older ones from the Silver Screen era, I’ve been struck by the fact that there were several highly successful, one eyed directors. Raoul Walsh, Andre De Toth, cartoonist Tex Avery, and Fritz Lang all made do with just one peeper and they were some of the most accomplished film makers in the history of American (and world) cinema. Perhaps the fact that they only had one eye made them all the more discerning in what they chose to put on film. It does seem remarkable and it’s a tribute to these directors that they did so much with the little fate left them.

Another trend among directors, not at all an admirable one, is that some appear to have been pretty much complete sons of bitches, miserable, domineering tyrants who delighted in making cast and crew’s lives utter hell. Fritz Lang was notoriously controlling on the set. Another famous jerk was Sam Peckinpah, perhaps one of the greatest Western directors along with Ford and others, but also an out of control substance abuser with a marked proclivity for hurting those in his personal and professional life. Howard Hawks was a control freak who had Lauren Bacall live with him and his wife so they could groom and brainwash her into Hawks’s conception of a movie star. The best thing that can be said for such behavior (and it’s a defense that’s often been made) is that making a film, especially a big, complicated one, is very similar to a military mission such as an expeditionary force (with the film analogy being an on location shoot). The director, the person in charge, has to be in command. Cast and crew have to be driven hard so the film can meet budget and time requirements. The easy counter to this is that many other directors have achieved similar results without having to resort to such high pressure tactics.

Then there is the director who combines both these features, both nearly blind and relentlessly miserable. One example of this, probably the most prominent, is John Ford, the subject of Andrew Sinclair’s 1979 biography. I read this book with great interest. Westerns are pretty much my favorite film genre. John Ford is probably the greatest director of Western films that ever lived (a pretty safe statement to make since the genre is basically dead). More than that, I consider him to be one of the greatest directors whose work I’ve seen. Ford had a painter’s eye for framing scenes. Many of his best works consist of successive images, all beautifully composed, that delight and move the viewer in the same fashion as a series of marvelous paintings in a museum would. The paradox behind it all being that, to achieve these wonderful results, Ford continually and repeatedly engaged in coarse abuse and the meanest sort of practical jokes, always punching down. Cast and crew members who stood the abuse became part of his stock company and received Ford’s loyalty in decades to come with steady work and behind the scenes assistance. Those who refused to cooperate in their own humiliation were quickly dropped.

Sinclair does a workmanlike job in this biography. He describes Ford’s background, brought up in turn of the century Portland, Maine, as part of a large, clannish Irish family from Galway; his early infatuation with the sea and the old ways of his Irish ancestors; how he went to Hollywood originally to work for his brother, Frank, and soon surpassed him; and provides good, succinct descriptions of the many, many films that Ford made during almost fifty years in the business. Sinclair also shows Ford’s hidden depths, the various facets of his personality that made him too complex to just be dismissed as an ogre director his lack of racial prejudice in an era where such beliefs were commonplace, the decades of unpaid, potentially dangerous intelligence work that he did for the US Navy, and his efforts to help those with disabilities as a result of the horrible things he’d seen in WW II. Ford had a secretive, private nature in many ways. One of the things he seemed to want to hide most from the world was the fact that he really was a sensitive, highly perceptive artist with amazing technical abilities and, what’s more important, very strong insight into the human condition. He kept this concealed through foul language, indifference to his appearance (he was a notorious slob), and regularly engaging in such stereotypical he-man activities as drunken card games and long sea voyages.

The author did a great deal of research on this book. There are extensive quotations from some of Ford’s closest collaborators to include John Wayne, his biggest star, Ford’s wife and family, and numerous members of his crew. My only caveat is that I wish the book could have dwelt a bit longer on Ford’s artistry, his uncanny ability to catch just the right moment on film, his finely attuned knowledge of men engaged in dangerous trades like soldiers and seaman, how he could take what would be the schmaltziest dreck in anyone else’s hands and make it perfectly charming. (I have The Quiet Man foremost in mind with respect to this last point, a film I love despite being silly and sexist and a constant reminder of just about every Irish stereotype there is.)

Despite this last nit, I recommend this book. This is an excellent source for general film buffs, Western fans or folks who really like Old Hollywood (I fall into all three camps.)