Fifty years ago, when I was in my teens, I saw this film. It must have been on TV. Since then I have never seen it broadcast. The fact that on this site only 31 people have written comments - I will be the 32nd - shows how continuingly obscure it is. That is a terrible shame. Finally having seen it again, and now with more discernment than I possessed in my teenage years, I am astonished at its power its truly stark beauty - not to mention the strength of its message.
Inevitably one sees it now with images of "To Kill a Mockingbird" in mind. (There's also a faint, really faint, almost perverted reflection in John Ford's "The Sun Shines Bright" which came out between the other two.) Great as "Mockingbird" is, the impact of "Intruder" is much more powerful, more visceral. The reason, I think, is that the two films were molded artistically in very different forms. One dilutes, or at least complicates its message with side-plots and story lines. The other goes straight for the jugular. Both tales are told from the viewpoint of a child. Claude Jarman's boy is older than Scout, but she recounts her story in an older voice, as a recollection. Mainly it is this. "Intruder" is brutal, "Mockingbird" is lyrical. We feel the sweetness from the very beginning as Elmer Bernstein's tender music comes in over the credits. No music plays in "Intruder." All is blank, abrupt, indeed savage. The pacing is shockingly fast. No time to become acquainted with the characters, let alone warm up to them. We are dropped into the story in medias res. Events rush on from there. Nothing slows down. It is all gritty realism embedded in Ben Maddow's screenplay. Clarence Brown throws us into it before we can catch our breath. He films on location, with locals, non-actors surrounding every shot. The texture is documentary. Even the motivations are uncertain, documentary style. Why do the characters do what they do? With the one exception of Juano Hernandez's protagonist, whose entire existence is dominated by his determination to maintain his human dignity even as he struggles to clear himself from murder charges, we really don't know. We can only guess. Why does old Miss Habersham unhesitatingly take the black man's side? Why does the country lawyer accept the case? He's not an intellectual do-gooder like Atticus Finch. In fact, he's rather the opposite. It doesn't matter. It is what it is. Tension is constant. Nothing detracts from the story or obstructs its impact.
That observation goes for the acting as well as the direction. Clarence Brown had worked with Claude Jarman, Jr. before, doing the classic "The Yearling." There the character was innocence personified. Here the boy knows how the world works, and he struggles to comprehend it. Both boys inhabit a backwoods environment. But in the one film, though harsh, it is a lush world, full of the beauty of nature. In the other it is unrelentingly bleak No birds sing. No furry creatures appear. One environment is hostile to man, naturally. In the other man has made nature hostile to himself. In the graveyard scene there is no attempt to evoke mystery or haunting. It's just stark, about as obvious, as clinical, as ugly a cemetery as people could create. The actors seem to know that they must be stark in their roles. What can one say about the incredibly subtle performance of Juano Hernandez? He never comes out plainly to tell us his inner motivations. But we detect them in his expressions, in his hesitations, sidelong glances, in his bearing and mannerisms. In a way, the seminal moment of the film comes near the end when, after having paid $2 to cover legal fees, he continues to stare at the camera. "Well?" David Brian asks. "What do you want?" "A receipt." David Brian, Joan Crawford's protégé, often played hardened gangsters. There is more than a touch of a hardened character here. Faulkner himself sought out Elizabeth Patterson. He begged her to take the role of Miss Habersham. Her brittle yet unflinching performance, her stand at the doors to the jail, justified Faulkner's choice.
The same year, 1949, saw the release of another race-prejudice film, "Pinky." That one got much more buzz, all the publicity exploitation Hollywood could muster. It can't compare to "Intruder in the Dust." Too many pulled punches, as usual. Too much saccharine. The more-or-less-black heroine walks away happy and fulfilled. Not at all the case here. One film aims at reality. The other provides schmaltz. All this happened amid the paroxysms of the Hollywood blacklist. HUAC was at its worst. The Committee for the First Amendment had failed in its mission. Screenwriter Ben Maddow and actor Will Geer would soon be hounded from their profession. Clarence Brown, on the contrary, was a conservative. Yet he collaborated with them on a film in its way more subversive of American exceptionalism than almost any other. "All the King's Men" came out in the same year and took heat for its unflattering picture of American "democracy." "Intruder in the Dust" slipped under the radar screen. It richly deserves to be put back on a screen, radar or otherwise, today.
Inevitably one sees it now with images of "To Kill a Mockingbird" in mind. (There's also a faint, really faint, almost perverted reflection in John Ford's "The Sun Shines Bright" which came out between the other two.) Great as "Mockingbird" is, the impact of "Intruder" is much more powerful, more visceral. The reason, I think, is that the two films were molded artistically in very different forms. One dilutes, or at least complicates its message with side-plots and story lines. The other goes straight for the jugular. Both tales are told from the viewpoint of a child. Claude Jarman's boy is older than Scout, but she recounts her story in an older voice, as a recollection. Mainly it is this. "Intruder" is brutal, "Mockingbird" is lyrical. We feel the sweetness from the very beginning as Elmer Bernstein's tender music comes in over the credits. No music plays in "Intruder." All is blank, abrupt, indeed savage. The pacing is shockingly fast. No time to become acquainted with the characters, let alone warm up to them. We are dropped into the story in medias res. Events rush on from there. Nothing slows down. It is all gritty realism embedded in Ben Maddow's screenplay. Clarence Brown throws us into it before we can catch our breath. He films on location, with locals, non-actors surrounding every shot. The texture is documentary. Even the motivations are uncertain, documentary style. Why do the characters do what they do? With the one exception of Juano Hernandez's protagonist, whose entire existence is dominated by his determination to maintain his human dignity even as he struggles to clear himself from murder charges, we really don't know. We can only guess. Why does old Miss Habersham unhesitatingly take the black man's side? Why does the country lawyer accept the case? He's not an intellectual do-gooder like Atticus Finch. In fact, he's rather the opposite. It doesn't matter. It is what it is. Tension is constant. Nothing detracts from the story or obstructs its impact.
That observation goes for the acting as well as the direction. Clarence Brown had worked with Claude Jarman, Jr. before, doing the classic "The Yearling." There the character was innocence personified. Here the boy knows how the world works, and he struggles to comprehend it. Both boys inhabit a backwoods environment. But in the one film, though harsh, it is a lush world, full of the beauty of nature. In the other it is unrelentingly bleak No birds sing. No furry creatures appear. One environment is hostile to man, naturally. In the other man has made nature hostile to himself. In the graveyard scene there is no attempt to evoke mystery or haunting. It's just stark, about as obvious, as clinical, as ugly a cemetery as people could create. The actors seem to know that they must be stark in their roles. What can one say about the incredibly subtle performance of Juano Hernandez? He never comes out plainly to tell us his inner motivations. But we detect them in his expressions, in his hesitations, sidelong glances, in his bearing and mannerisms. In a way, the seminal moment of the film comes near the end when, after having paid $2 to cover legal fees, he continues to stare at the camera. "Well?" David Brian asks. "What do you want?" "A receipt." David Brian, Joan Crawford's protégé, often played hardened gangsters. There is more than a touch of a hardened character here. Faulkner himself sought out Elizabeth Patterson. He begged her to take the role of Miss Habersham. Her brittle yet unflinching performance, her stand at the doors to the jail, justified Faulkner's choice.
The same year, 1949, saw the release of another race-prejudice film, "Pinky." That one got much more buzz, all the publicity exploitation Hollywood could muster. It can't compare to "Intruder in the Dust." Too many pulled punches, as usual. Too much saccharine. The more-or-less-black heroine walks away happy and fulfilled. Not at all the case here. One film aims at reality. The other provides schmaltz. All this happened amid the paroxysms of the Hollywood blacklist. HUAC was at its worst. The Committee for the First Amendment had failed in its mission. Screenwriter Ben Maddow and actor Will Geer would soon be hounded from their profession. Clarence Brown, on the contrary, was a conservative. Yet he collaborated with them on a film in its way more subversive of American exceptionalism than almost any other. "All the King's Men" came out in the same year and took heat for its unflattering picture of American "democracy." "Intruder in the Dust" slipped under the radar screen. It richly deserves to be put back on a screen, radar or otherwise, today.