The Mount Rushmore of Film Directors

Hitchcock on Mount Rushmore--from
the North By Northwest poster.

If there was a Mount Rushmore of great American directors, who would you put on it? I pondered this question recently and then posed it to three other classic movie bloggers whom I admire. I gave them two criteria: (1) They could only pick four directors...because it's Mount Rushmore; (2) Their decisions had to be based on the directors' American-made films (after all, we're talking about an American monument here). Thus, directors such as Alfred Hitchcock and Fritz Lang could be considered--but not international greats like Federico Fellini, Luis Bunuel, and Akira Kurosawa. (And, yes, when I say "American," I am referring to the   U.S.--not all of North and South America.)

The Master of Suspense.

Personally, I had little trouble in coming up with three of my four choices. I consider Alfred Hitchcock to be the greatest film director...period...based on his storytelling skills, the complexity of his film's themes, and the body of his work. I don't think another director will ever be able to replicate the astounding number of superb films he made between 1940 and 1964--a period that included Rebecca, Notorious, Shadow of a Doubt, Rear Window, Vertigo, North By Northwest, Psycho, and Marnie. My second choice is Billy Wilder, possibly the most versatile of all filmmakers. He made classic film noirs (Double Indemnity), sophisticated comedies (Some Like It Hot), screwball comedies (One, Two, Three), and courtroom dramas (Witness for the Prosecution). His best films integrated drama and comedy so expertly that they created something uniquely Wilder (e.g., The Apartment, Stalag 17). That brings me to my third choice, a director whose films gave rise to a now common adjective "Capraesque," which one online dictionary defined as "of or evocative of the movies of Frank Capra, often promoting the positive social effects of individual acts of courage." Capra's film's restored faith in human nature when America needed it most--during the Great Depression and after World War II. He also helped make stars out of Gary Cooper and James Stewart. That brings me to my final spot and I struggled mightily here. I considered Richard Brooks, Samuel Fuller, Michael Curtiz, Robert Wise, and Otto Preminger. In the end, though, I went with Anthony Mann. A versatile director like Wilder, Mann helped define film noir in the 1940s with tough, dark films like Raw Deal and T-Men. In the 1950s, he reinvigorated the Western genre with five superb films starring James Stewart. Mann's protagonists were cynical men with violent pasts who found redemption, often by becoming part of a forgiving community (The Far Country, Bend of the River). In many ways, Mann's protagonists paved the way for the flawed "heroes" that dominated American cinema in the 1960s and 1970s.

Ernst Lubitsch.

The Lady Eve, Lady Eve's Reel Life: If not Mount Rushmore, these four filmmakers at least deserve to have their faces carved in stone on the hillside under the Hollywood sign. Here’s why: Alfred Hitchcock was a master of the art of what he called “pure cinema”-- visual storytelling (consider the famed crane shot in Notorious that zooms in on the key in Ingrid Bergman’s hand). And no one has surpassed his ability to draw the viewer so completely into a film or, at times, to identify with the villain (Robert Walker retrieving his lighter in Strangers on a Train, Anthony Perkins sinking a car into a swamp in Psycho). Long touted “the master of suspense,” Hitchcock was, more than anything, a cinematic genius (see also Rear Window and Vertigo). The comedies of Ernst Lubitsch literally sparkle (even the screen itself seems luminous). Brimming with charm and sophistication, his films offer a knowing yet sympathetic glimpse into human yearnings and foibles. His best work (the likes of Ninotchka, The Shop Around the Corner and To Be or Not to Be) has rightly been likened to the soufflé, a deceptively lighter than air concoction that is also deliciously rich and deeply satisfying. "Screwball" comedy existed before Preston Sturges started writing and directing his own films, but he took the concept into another realm. Original and decidedly eccentric, his best films neatly weave sly commentary on social values into byzantine plots involving cockeyed characters who rattle off snappy/smart dialogue at a mile a minute. Unique barely describes The Great McGinty, The Lady Eve, Sullivan’s Travels, The Palm Beach Story, Unfaithfully Yours.... Billy Wilder, like Hitchcock, was a top filmmaker from the ‘40s to the ‘60s. But Wilder began his career as a journalist and so, naturally, his films are marked by strong screenwriting and fine-tuned dialogue. His cynical world view made him a natural for noir, and Double Indemnity stands as a pillar of the genre. But Wilder wasn’t one to be pigeon-holed, as his wild, satirical romp Some Like It Hot would prove. Noir, farce, drama or “dramedy,” Wilder had as much range as he had skill.

Frank Capra.

Annmarie Gatti, Classic Movie Hub Blog:  If I could put four American directors on Mount Rushmore, who would they be???  Well, that's a really tough question...and one that will probably have me second guessing myself for quite some time--but, that said, after much "agony" and deliberation, my picks would be Frank Capra, Billy Wilder, Alfred Hitchcock and John Ford. Here's why:  Frank Capra--for creating some of the most beloved 'feel-good' films of all time that champion the common man and the basic goodness of human nature. Billy Wilder -for his use of script to drive the story (vs elaborate cinematography) and his ability to push the boundaries of mainstream entertainment by expanding the range of acceptable subject matter. Alfred Hitchcock--for his belief in the superiority of suspense over surprise, and his cinematic approach to filmmaking that communicates via images and editing to maximize fear and anxiety. And, last but not least, John Ford--for his sweeping visuals and dramatic vistas, master storytelling, and iconic portrayals of heroes and anti-heroes of the American West. 

D.W. Griffith.

Cliff Aliperti, Immortal Ephemera:  My Mount Rushmore of American directors? Difficult. I approached my selections thinking not necessarily of my favorites, but of the four I'd consider most iconic in their representation of America and the American film industry, while being among my favorites. Faces I'd carve in stone and be happy to leave there forever. That has to start with D.W. Griffith. For all of the issues over the content of The Birth of a Nation (1915), at least the movie is strong enough to warrant our talking about it a hundred years later, fighting over the same issues that incensed a hundred years ago. Griffith's early features that follow Birth are reliably accessible, well-told stories that at least perfect technique if not actually innovating it. If there were no Griffith, silent film would have been a much tougher sell for me during my formative movie-watching years, so Griffith gets the first nod just for all that he’s responsible for exposing me to. It gets more difficult from there because I've seen so many more films in the decades that follow, but two directors whose work I think of as intrinsically American are King Vidor, whose stories are so wonderfully visual while being grounded by the American Dream, and Frank Capra, who relied more on situation and dialogue to show the everyman overcoming bigger challenges. If Vidor had only done his war, wheat, and steel trilogy—The Big Parade (1925), Our Daily Bread (1934), and An American Romance (1944)—he'd have done enough, but that doesn't even include his best film, The Crowd (1928). Capra kept telling the same story by the time of Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), and Meet John Doe (1941), with his underdogs fighting for their place in so many of his other films as well. If Griffith led me to enjoy more silent films then it was Capra, even earlier in my film watching years with titles like Mr. Smith and It’s a Wonderful Life (1946), who allowed me to accept “old” black and white movies as if they were no different from last week’s release. A similar underdog spirit goes to the fourth face on my Rushmore, William Wellman, who could masterfully handle topics from any genre no matter the size of the movie and always seemed to have a great time doing it. A working-class director in that he reveled in the work, Wellman's characters could be as light as his subject matter was heavy. Out of his Great War experiences, he was dedicated to portraying male camaraderie, but I think he had an even keener insight into female characters, especially during the Depression years.

12 Days of Christmas: When Fred Met Barbara - "Remember the Night" (1940)

In my family Now Voyager has long been the movie that we could sit and watch for 24 hours a day; we all know the dialogue and we compete to see who does the best Bette Davis impression. However, another film is poised to take the place of the iconic Warner Bros. romance. Remember the Night stars Barbara Stanwyck and Fred MacMurray, the future murderous lovers of Double Indemnity, in very different roles as improbable soul mates who find the gift of love at Christmas. Although written by Preston Sturges, this is not one of his screwball comedies, but rather a comedy drama laced with darker moments; the bittersweet ending is a still a subject of debate to this day. It is well documented that director Mitchell Leisen ( Midnight, Frenchman's Creek, Hold Back the Dawn, To Each His Own ) made many changes to Sturges' screenplay. He cut scenes out completely, pared down others, and switched the emphasis from Fred MacMurray to Barbara Stanwyck. Although understandably unhappy with Leisen's script tampering, Sturges showed up every day on the set during shooting. He spent a lot of time with Barbara Stanwyck and promised to write a screwball comedy for her, which he did one year later with The Lady Eve. But his negative experience on this film led him to finally fulfill his dream of directing his own scripts; his first film as writer-director was The Great McGinty. Even though Remember the Night opened to favorable reviews, Sturges dismissed it summarily as unadulterated schmaltz

You were wrong Mr. Sturges! The greatness of this film lies in the fact that every moment that could have turned into a melodramatic cliché was transformed into a quietly believable interaction between characters. The growing love between Stanwyck and MacMurray is presented as a series of revelatory exchanges and actions which surprise both of them by creating feelings of affection and attraction which neither had expected. Barbara Stanwyck is magnificent in her portrayal of a petty criminal, cynical and initially unsympathetic, whose view of the world is softened by a holiday visit with MacMurray's family.















The basic story of Remember the Night involves a shoplifter, Lee Leander (Barbara Stanwyck) arrested on Christmas Eve trying to steal a diamond bracelet, facing prosecution by an assistant district attorney, John Sargent (Fred MacMurray) who knows he won't get a conviction from a jury on Christmas Eve and motions to postpone the trial until after the holiday. He feels bad about Lee's spending Christmas in jail and bails her out. She is brought to his apartment believing that he wants her to spend the night as repayment for posting bail. But that is not the case, and John tells her to go home but not before he takes her out to dinner. They are seen together at the restaurant by the judge in the case and leave quickly. Sargent is on his way home to Indiana to spend the holidays with his family and finds out that Lee also is a Hoosier, and offers to drop her off on the way home and pick her up on the return trip. Lee's attempt to reconcile with her estranged mother proves disastrous when the callous and unforgiving woman turns her own daughter out of her childhood home. John takes pity on her, inviting her to spend the holidays with his family. It is during this time that Lee's proximity to a loving family and the joy they share with each other breaks down the barriers she has set up for protection against the harsh world she inhabits. The affection that develops between her and John is depicted in small increments with unexpected outcomes. It is in this nurturing setting that Stanwyck begins to glow, exuding a brilliance, almost an inner light, perhaps reflecting a new found hope for the future. There are scenes in which Lee Leander is no longer a character played by Barbara Stanwyck, but a young woman with a troubled past accepting the kindness she is offered, and taking a new interest in changing the direction of her life. In one scene, while vigorously brushing her hair, Stanwyck seems to acknowledge the possibility that she could establish a better life for herself; with every stroke one more strand of her past falls away. She continues to engage in family-oriented activities; playing the piano and singing on Christmas Eve; and going to the annual barn dance, dressed in an old-fashioned party gown, with corset and layers of undergarments. With a bow in her hair and looking as lovely as a photograph from another era, she weakens John's resistance to his growing affection for her and he professes his love. They embrace and share their first meaningful kiss and John seems to be willing to forsake his burgeoning career in order to be with Lee. This change is not lost on John's mother; she approaches Lee and wistfully explains the hardships that her son endured in order to become a lawyer, intimating that a relationship with her would be detrimental to his future. John however is aware of his mother's objections and will not end his relationship with Lee. On the return trip for the court date John offers Lee a chance for freedom in Canada; with Niagara Falls as the backdrop Lee chooses to continue on to her trial.
















Still determined to prevent Lee from going to prison, John badgers and bullies Lee on the witness stand, until Lee realizes he is trying to throw the case. She interrupts his questioning and declares to the judge that she wants to plead guilty much to John's dismay. He follows her as she is led out of the courtroom and agonizingly questions her decision. For Lee the only way to redeem herself and make herself worthy of John's love is to pay for the crime that she committed. She refuses John's proposal of marriage but tells him that if he feels the same way when she's released she will marry him.


The most poignant moment in this scene however occurs when Lee asks John to hold her hand during her sentencing, indicating that she is frightened by the prospect of prison, but still determined to do the right thing. The ending of this film is written and performed in a way that leaves the audience without a definite idea of what will happen in the future. There is no guarantee that John's love will survive introspection or that Lee's rehabilitation will be successful. The darkness attributed to this ending is another way of saying that the outcome is uncertain as it is in real life.

Remember the Night is essentially a movie for all seasons. It doesn't hammer you over the head with lessons in morality, but rather gently and effectively depicts how love can heal a wounded spirit and change the course of one's life.