THE WHITE CLIFFS OF DOVER (1944)

Filmed more-or-less concurrently with A GUY NAMED JOE, Irene Dunne’s other prestigious, big budget WWII-weepie, each one a huge hit in their day, neither has outlasted the times they were built for.* In JOE, the dead hang around as ghostly presence to watch over us as Dunne moves on from Spencer Tracy to Van Johnson. CLIFFS, though just as death fixated, is more of a Hands-Across-the-Sea plea with MidWest American gal Dunne impulsively marrying a British Baronet just before WWI in Part One; then watching her son join WWII in Part Two. Dunne’s natural empathy works wonders in the first half, especially for normally bland Alan Marshall, unexpectedly charming here, both much helped by director Clarence Brown’s refusal to push things. Quite the lux production, too, with the episodic structure ‘artistically’ bridged with Dunne reading poetic couplets. Yikes! Part Two gets a bit sticky, as young son Roddy McDowall (courting unbilled Elizabeth Taylor) grows into handsome soldier boy Peter Lawford.* It’s all too plush for words, though held back emotionally by a typically weak score by reliably second-rate Herbert Stothart. But very well shot by George Folsey (look for a crane shot moving in on a horse & carriage from above) and gaining goodwill from its well-handled first hour.

DOUBLE-BILL: *Something Steven Spielberg learned to his regret when he remade A GUY NAMED JOE/’43 as ALWAYS/’89.

ATTENTION MUST BE PAID: *Here’s a good chance to note that some actors really do have a ‘good’ side and a ‘bad’ side in profile. With McDowall, definitely go with the Right Side.