This family lives in the near-swamp country of 1870 Florida -- Gregory Peck as the stolid, humane pater familias, Jane Wyman as his hard-working wife, a little grim maybe, and Claude Jarman Jr. as their blond, pudding-faced son who finds a tiny fawn and brings it home to raise. The deer, like most animals, gets less cute as he grows up and starts to destroy the family's little plot of corn, which must last them through the winter.
Jarmon tries to take the deer into the woods and lose it but like cats, like dogs, like my ex wife, no matter how far away you take them or how often, no matter how desperate you are to get rid of them, they always find their way home. The deer, Flagg, finally suffers the fate of so many prey animals, an event in which Jarman is coincidentally instrumental.
What's striking about the movie, aside from the story, is the photography and set dressing. Man, this looks like it could be post-Civil-War Florida. The hardy and religious folk talk a kinda patois from the rural end of the folk-urban continuum. "He ain't hurt nobody none." "Ya got ta put him out of his torment." "Lord, why did my boy grow up so crookedly?" It's easy to look at -- what with its swamps and palmettos and blackwater creeks -- and fun to listen to.
The acting is Hollywood professional. Peck's family may be marginal, living on hard work and hopes, their clothes slowly devolving into washrags, but he's always clean shaven and handsome. They went to some effort to deglamorize Jane Wyman. And Jarman Jr. pulls off his role with enthusiasm and at least a modicum of skill. None of the performances is outstanding but none is a disaster. Clarence Brown's direction is functional and lacking in poetry. It gets the job done without being in any way imaginative. When Peck sits on his son's bed and reminisces and fantasizes about his dreams, he stares at the wall. During a long monologue that's all he does. He doesn't blink. He doesn't glance down at his son's face. His gaze doesn't drift. He stares at the same space, as a painted portrait might.
And when poor little Claude Jarman Jr. hears a shot and realizes that Flagg has (sob) been wounded and -- and -- pardon me -- that he must be dispatched with another shot, sob, administered by the very boy who LOVES HIM, why -- excuse me -- there won't be no dry eye in the house.
I don't think they could make anything like this again. Our sensibilities have become too coarsened. We'd have to see the deer's skull shattered by a dozen shotgun pellets, the blood and brain tissue spattering the kid's horrified face. Maybe in slow motion.
And then, Maw and Paw, being the practical people they are, would have to force Jarmon Jr. to EAT the animal he raised and adored. "Cain't have no food going' to no waste round here, Son, tough as it may be -- the situation that is, not the meat, cause you got to admit that venison's a mite tasty. Here, try a eyeball. Do you a power of good. Now stop that snifflin', Son. Ain't no need for no snifflin'. Just for double and triple negatives."
I never read Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings novel. If it's as evocative of a given lifetyle at a given period as the film is, it might be rather good.
Jarmon tries to take the deer into the woods and lose it but like cats, like dogs, like my ex wife, no matter how far away you take them or how often, no matter how desperate you are to get rid of them, they always find their way home. The deer, Flagg, finally suffers the fate of so many prey animals, an event in which Jarman is coincidentally instrumental.
What's striking about the movie, aside from the story, is the photography and set dressing. Man, this looks like it could be post-Civil-War Florida. The hardy and religious folk talk a kinda patois from the rural end of the folk-urban continuum. "He ain't hurt nobody none." "Ya got ta put him out of his torment." "Lord, why did my boy grow up so crookedly?" It's easy to look at -- what with its swamps and palmettos and blackwater creeks -- and fun to listen to.
The acting is Hollywood professional. Peck's family may be marginal, living on hard work and hopes, their clothes slowly devolving into washrags, but he's always clean shaven and handsome. They went to some effort to deglamorize Jane Wyman. And Jarman Jr. pulls off his role with enthusiasm and at least a modicum of skill. None of the performances is outstanding but none is a disaster. Clarence Brown's direction is functional and lacking in poetry. It gets the job done without being in any way imaginative. When Peck sits on his son's bed and reminisces and fantasizes about his dreams, he stares at the wall. During a long monologue that's all he does. He doesn't blink. He doesn't glance down at his son's face. His gaze doesn't drift. He stares at the same space, as a painted portrait might.
And when poor little Claude Jarman Jr. hears a shot and realizes that Flagg has (sob) been wounded and -- and -- pardon me -- that he must be dispatched with another shot, sob, administered by the very boy who LOVES HIM, why -- excuse me -- there won't be no dry eye in the house.
I don't think they could make anything like this again. Our sensibilities have become too coarsened. We'd have to see the deer's skull shattered by a dozen shotgun pellets, the blood and brain tissue spattering the kid's horrified face. Maybe in slow motion.
And then, Maw and Paw, being the practical people they are, would have to force Jarmon Jr. to EAT the animal he raised and adored. "Cain't have no food going' to no waste round here, Son, tough as it may be -- the situation that is, not the meat, cause you got to admit that venison's a mite tasty. Here, try a eyeball. Do you a power of good. Now stop that snifflin', Son. Ain't no need for no snifflin'. Just for double and triple negatives."
I never read Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings novel. If it's as evocative of a given lifetyle at a given period as the film is, it might be rather good.