“All atheists are not godless men. I knew one who I hope may now be in heaven.” — Father Chisholm
With its resources as one of Hollywood’s three most prestigious studios of the 1940s, 20th Century-Fox would occasionally, often successfully, go all-out on certain productions, utilizing its very best directors, cinematographers, screenwriters and composers—among composers, there was only one. These films were usually long, lavish and expensive, with large casts, and on a monumental, sometimes portentous subject, based on famous, certainly popular novels.
These extravaganzas were spread out over the 1940s. The Grapes of Wrath and Brigham Young were released in that first year. In ’41 another John Ford film, How Green Was My Valley, then The Song of Bernadette in ’43. After a brief respite, The Razor’s Edge in ’46.
With the advent of television, with theater receipts rapidly decreasing, in ’47 Captain from Castile lost about a million dollars on its initial release. This marked something of an end to the traditional Fox prestige picture—temporarily anyway until the next decade, beginning with The Robe (1953).
The four directors represented in these six films were top echelon—at the pinnacle, of course, John Ford in two of the films; Henry King, Tyrone Power’s perennial director, in another two; Henry Hathaway, ideally suited for “outdoor” stories, in one; and Edmund Goulding, the director of five Bette Davis films, in the last. No runts of the litter here.
And among the cinematographers? Arthur Miller in all but Valley, which was shot by Gregg Toland (Citizen Kane, 1941, and The Best Years of Our Lives, 1946), and Castile, partly shot by an uncredited Joseph LaShelle.
The list of screenwriters in these movies, again, includes some of the finest in the business: Nunnally Johnson, Philip Dunne, George Seaton and Lamar Trotti in two of the films.
The one artist these six films have in common? They were all scored by the studio’s resident composer, the creator of the 20th Century-Fox fanfare, Alfred Newman. He was Oscar-nominated for three of these, and won for Bernadette.
Fox respected and guarded its famous trademark—that towering art deco company name and the gleaming searchlights thrust forward by the fanfare—and The Keys of the Kingdom is one of only a few of the studio’s films which begins without the fanfare, though the logo is shown.
With this kind of talent and resources, The Keys of the Kingdom began production in February of 1944. Strongest ingredients first. From the already excellent source material, A. J. Cronin’s best-selling 1941 novel, screenwriters Joseph L. Mankiewicz and Nunnally Johnson crafted natural, yet aesthetic dialogue. The key asset of the pair was Mankiewicz, who had a sensitivity for words—witness his scripts for A Letter to Three Wives (1949) and All About Eve (1950).
The cinematographer was, again, Arthur Miller and the composer of the score one Alfred Newman, of some repute.
Although the film was nominated for four Oscars, including best score and black and white cinematography, director John M. Stahl was something of an odd man out, and unheralded—and not without reason. His biggest flop, Parnell (1937), and M-G-M’s biggest up to that time, turned its star, Clark Gable, against costume dramas, a main reason for his reluctance to tackle Gone With the Wind (1939). Stahl, in this case however, marshaled all the various aspects of the film—religion, humor, tragedy and war—into one cohesive whole.
In only his second film—following the war-set Days of Glory (1944)—the young Gregory Peck proves himself as the dedicated and humble missionary-priest to China. In the two-hour plus film, in which he is on screen most of the time, he renders a sincere, believable performance, ranging from soft-spoken compassion to almost retaliatory loathing.
As the film begins, Monsignor Sleeth (Cedric Hardwicke) has come to the Scottish village of Tweedside to visit elderly Father Francis Chisholm (Peck), who has, only a year before, returned from a lifetime in China. Having already shaken a disapproving head when Francis appears from a fishing excursion with rods and reels, Sleeth later informs him that he should retire, that the “peculiar” managing of his parish has raised concerns.
When the monsignor retires that night, he finds Father Chisholm’s diary, which initiates a flashback. . . .
Young Francis (Roddy McDowell) is orphaned when both his parents (Ruth Nelson and Dennis Hoey) are swept away in a raging river. Francis lives with distant cousins, whose little daughter Nora (Peggy Ann Garner) he later loves as an adult (Jane Ball).
When, as a young man, he leaves for the Holywell seminary, two old friends, carefree Willie (Thomas Mitchell) and proud Rev. Angus Mealey (Vincent Price), see him off at the train station. Willie is dismayed when Francis throws back the bottle of whiskey he threw to him.
At Holywell, another old friend, kindly Rev. Hamish MacNabb (Edmund Gwenn), counsels Francis’ doubts about becoming a priest. They go fishing together. “It was fine of the Lord,” MacNabb says, “to put all the little fishes in the brooks and to send me here to catch them.”
Soon, news arrives—something is wrong concerning Nora, and Francis rushes home to find she has died. Back at Holywell, when MacNabb suggests Francis would make an ideal missionary to China, he accepts.
Arriving in Paitan, the naive priest believes the waving crowds and cheers are for him, only to discover they are for the town’s mandarin. Francis finds the church has been destroyed by a flood and left unrebuilt by the so-called converted Christians. His weakened faith is restored when a young traveler, Joseph (Benson Fong), offers to help.
The mandarin, Mr. Chai (Leonard Strong), sends an envoy that his son is seriously ill, the Chinese medicines having proven ineffectual. Francis’ operation on the boy’s infected arm cures him. When Francis goes unthanked, he ends a brief personal prayer with “ . . . but they are ungrateful and You know it!”
When Mr. Chai eventually arrives to thank him and offers, favor for favor, to become a Christian, Francis rejects him, saying Christianity is not a “habit” one puts on without belief. Later, Mr. Chai offers, free and clear, land on the Hill of the Brilliant Green Jade and the workmen and material to build a Christian school.
Later arrive an arrogant reverent mother, Maria-Veronica (Rose Stradner), and Willie with medical supplies. During a battle between the Republic and Imperial forces he is wounded and dies, thanking Francis for not trying to convert him.
With the mission nearly destroyed, Francis joins a local army general (Richard Loo) in destroying the enemy’s cannon.
Soon arrives Angus, now a monsignor and grown arrogant with his new position. He announces that the church cannot pay for a new mission, that Francis’ conversion rate is the lowest on church records. Maria-Veronica apologies to Francis for her “shameful” behavior and says, compared with Angus’ condescending regard for the Chinese, his is the true faith.
As time passes, the mission flourishes, only now Francis has competition—a Methodist church comes to Paitan. He sets out to meet the minister (James Gleason) and his wife (Anne Revere) and finds them friendly and agreeable. At last, the time comes for Father Francis to leave. In a grand farewell, this time the crowd’s waves and cheers are for him. . . .
The flashback over, the next day Monsignor Sleeth tells Francis that he has spent the night reading his diary, and that he will relay to the bishop nothing that could in any way affect his hopes for his parish.
While supported by a perfect cast, Gregory Peck makes the film his own. His Oscar nomination for Best Actor was the third for the film. Not an especially strong year for actors, Ray Milland won—it could be said easily—for The Lost Weekend, with the Academy’s proven penchant for alcoholics and dying people. What chance, then, could a saintly, unglamorous priest, however well acted, have against the histrionic, hallucinating role of a drunk?
After three more nominations, Peck would finally win, in 1962, for playing another compassionate man, another kind of “father,” that of Atticus Finch in To Kill a Mockingbird.
It should be remembered, 20th Century-Fox’s gamble on Peck, with a single previous film credit, was no greater than Warner Bros.’ on Errol Flynn in their big production of Captain Blood (1935). The newcomer had had only five previous roles, two uncredited, in five insignificant movies.
Against the current trend for quite different films, The Keys of the Kingdom is all things today’s films aren’t—slow-moving, patient, expository, with long scenes of dialogue and character building. The soft-hued scene, for example, between the elderly Francis and Maria-Veronica as they sit at a table and discuss his accomplishments and forthcoming departure lasts over six minutes, with little cutting and no moving about to “enliven things” with various camera set-ups. Some viewers may think the film sentimental, which maybe it is, but this scene is most moving, and it’s only one of many like it in an inspiring film.
[embedyt] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RmdXdrhL4UQ[/embedyt]