northsider

Foaming At The Mouth
Attaboy Clarence

Every year I try and every year I fail. I don't generally go for sappy, emotional displays, particularly in movies. But every year when "It's A Wonderful Life" comes on television for its annual broadcast, I watch it, usually while wrapping gifts. Every time I stiffen myself for the end of movie and tell myself, this time I won't let my emotions get the better of me and let so much as a single tear fall from my eye. Every year I try and every year I fail.

For starters, any of my readers under the age of about thirty won't remember the time when "It's A Wonderful Life" had fallen out of copyright protection (Frank Capra allowed it to lapse) and was in the public domain. That meant anyone could broadcast the film without paying for the privilege. Hence, in the days and weeks leading up to Christmas, every low-wattage UHF channel and basic cable outlet had a field day, filling up about six hours of their broadcast day with programming that was pure profit to them. On Christmas Eve, you could spin the dial on your TV set and find, without exaggeration, twenty showings of the movie at any given hour of the day. Then after Frank Capra died, his estate reclaimed the rights to the film (don't ask me the legal details) and Republic Pictures somehow got to license the film out to NBC for one showing a year. Net effect of this for me, the film's emotional impact goes undiluted for 364 days until the next broadcast. You know, kind of like "Charlie Brown Christmas"

So the process begins right after George Bailey has seen the garish and evil Pottersville (nee Bedford Falls) that has risen in his absence. I get a good laugh when Nick Martini, the bartender (played by Sheldon Leonard) gives George and Clarence (Henry Travers) the fish-eye and tells them, "Out you two pixies go, through the door or out the window!" I love that line; I'm biding my time to use it someday in real life. Soon after that, George runs wild through the streets and can't take it anymore, he runs back to the bridge where he contemplated suicide and prays to live again. When Bert the cop recognizes him, George finds Zuzu's petals, and he's overjoyed. Here's where I challenge myself; I'm too sophisticated to be emotionally moved by this schmaltz. I know it's a losing battle.

I can generally keep myself pretty stable until Mary (Donna Reed, whom I always disliked as too prissy) comes running back to the house to tell him a miracle has happened. I know what's coming next so this is where I really begin to slip. All the people in town have heard how George is in a jam and needs money fast. They don't care why or for what reason, they just give to the man who has given them so much already. The parade of townspeople bearing cash for him just keeps marching and all of a sudden I feel like someone's slicing onions right next to me. "I was saving this money for a divorce if ever I got a husband!" "I busta de jookbox'a for yooo!" Just in case you wonder if there's enough money to save the day, the sheriff tears up the arrest warrant and their rich boyhood friend Sam Wainwright wires enough credit to cover everything.

Then comes the ass-kicker. Prodigal brother Harry, the one who got everything George didn't, a college education, a fancy bank job, acclaim as an athlete and war hero, returns to raise a toast to his brother, "The richest man in town," to loud cheers and a chorus of Auld Lang Syne. Right when he delivers that line I cave in. But that's the whole point, no man is poor when he has friends. It's trite to the point of being childish, but it works. I always feel silly that I can't help myself. I wonder why I even try to stop myself from being moved by it. But I keep coming back for more.

Addendum for film buffs: To see how Capra refined his technique for this scene, rent/watch: "You Can't Take It With You" (Best Picture of 1938) and watch the courtroom scene and compare it to this scene, made eight years later.