This is the film that finally got Frank Capra's name above the title. Unfortunately, it's also his most boring. Ridiculously slow paced with no propelling action of any sort, the film is such a slog to get through that I couldn't make it. Despite three attempts to watch it, I couldn't get more than halfway in. And maybe the argument could be made that had I seen it through to the end my opinion might have changed. But I doubt it. It's not like you can't see where this is going from the first frame. And that place isn't particularly compelling.
But the problem with this film isn't really the plot. Rather it's the meandering conversations that get in the way of the plot. After his plane crashes in the mountains, heroic Conway and various other people (the head of a monastery, his fellow crash survivors, local women, whatever) have very lengthy, quasi-philosophical talks about all manner of topics. But these conversations are not really about anything. If they were, they might be compelling in and of themselves. But they aren't. And the viewer is left watching the same two or three shots for five minutes as two decent ordinary characters talk about how great everything is and how much they agree with one another about the greatness of said things. It's dreadfully boring. I'd rate it lower but having not seen the end I'm giving good ol' happy ending Capra the benefit of the doubt.
By the way, it seems that Spielberg's had two legendary precursors (Capra and John Ford). I'd only thought he'd had the one. That makes me think there might always be a Spielberg out there, a great visual stylist who, under the aegis of "giving the people what they want," makes a bunch of good films that shoot themselves in the foot with too much sentimentality and a basic unwillingness to closely examine the failings of their society and their government. Conservative mouthpieces, I guess you'd call them. Just really really talented ones.
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