Johnny Belinda

This was an unusually atmospheric melodrama with four powerful performances from Jane Wyman, Lew Ayres, Agnes Moorehead and Charles Bickford--not to mention two supporting players, Stephen McNally and Jan Sterling who shine in their roles. McNally is the town bully who rapes Belinda, a mute girl being coached to understand sign language by resident doctor, Lew Ayres. The plot thickens when Belinda's father (Charles Bickford) finds out and the story spins toward a taut, melodramatic climax. All of it is raised to a higher level by the quality of the writing, acting and direction. Other top female performances that year (1948)included Olivia de Havilland (for 'The Snake Pit') and Barbara Stanwyck ('Sorry, Wrong Number'). That Wyman won over such competition is a testimony to her brilliant performance. A moving melodrama, absorbing and extremely well acted by the entire cast. A TV version was done more recently but, like most remakes, it paled in comparison.

On the surface, this highly regarded movie, (12 Oscar nominations, though only one win for Wyman), might seem to be little more than a lurid melodrama, but scratch beneath and you'll actually find a scathing scrutiny of life in a small, cloistered community and early markers for societal issues such as single-parenthood, bullying, discrimination against the disabled, victim shaming and rape. Markers mind you, not out and out campaigns for social improvement, at least not overtly, but one would like to think that this serious content opened the eyes and ears of at least some of its widespread audience back in 1948, when it was a big commercial success.

Set in a small community in turn of the 20th century Nova Scotia, whose connection to my homeland might explain some of the very approximate attempts at a Scottish accent by the likes of Charles Bickford and Agnes Moorehead, the plot revolves around Jane Wyman's deaf-mute young woman, Belinda who is demeaningly christened "Dummy" by everyone, including her doughty widowed father and crusty old spinster aunt Bickford and Moorehead with whom she shares farm accommodation. Not that they give her preferential treatment, quite the reverse as, being younger than they, she's given the lion's share of the heavy lifting jobs going.

Things change when a smooth but conscientious doctor, Lew Ayres comes to town and reaches out to Belinda, learning her sign language and lip-reading to encourage her to reach out from behind her invisible walls and connect with society. Unfortunately, society at large connects with her in the loathsome person of the local big-shot, Locky, played by Stephen McNallly, who ruthlessly rapes the defenceless girl and in so doing, impregnates her. So traumatised is she by her experience that she mentally blocks out recollection of the incident, no one is brought to justice for the crime and indeed she's the one who's shamed by the self-styled "principled" citizens of the town, including a sanctimonious shop-keeper and a terrible trio of old, gossiping women who more belong around a witches cauldron. Rumours even circulate that Ayres might be the father, but while he does out of pity offer to marry the girl after she has her child to reduce her local infamy and she clearly loves him, it's in a way he can't reciprocate.

The rapist however can't let alone and decides he wants the child for himself, figuring he can trick his newly-wed wife into getting Belinda to sign adoption papers over young Johnny in their favour. When Belinda's dad gets wind of what he did to his daughter, he confronts Locky, who he's never liked, resulting in a cliff-top fight from which only one walks away. Still Locky persists in his aim, climaxing in a second confrontation with Belinda and her child at the farmhouse which ends with a gunshot.

Well directed by Jean Negalescu in the appropriate noir fashion, (filtered light, dark closeups, darker secrets abounding) and well acted by Wyman, Ayres, Bickford and even, och aye, Moorehead, this is satisfying period noir which probably broke down some barriers both in Hollywood and beyond back in its day.

Every great actress has one signature role, the film for which she's forever identified because of the amazing impression she leaves on the screen. Rosalind Russell has Hildy Johnson in "His Girl Friday," Judy Garland has Dorothy in "The Wizard of Oz," and Jane Wyman has Belinda MacDonald in "Johnny Belinda." Without saying a word, Wyman speaks volumes as the lonely deaf mute who learns about love and tenderness from doctor Lew Ayres as well as fear from bully Stephen McNally. She shines in every scene and creates one of the most touching characterizations ever put on screen. Moments such as her discovery of music and her sign-reading of the Lord's Prayer are beautifully done with a skill exceeding those of the best silent screen stars. Her Oscar was richly deserved.

Wyman, though, is not alone in creating this great film. Ayres, Charles Bickford, Agnes Moorehead and Jan Sterling all give complex, layered performances that make each character believable and memorable. And "Johnny Belinda" would probably not be as powerful or moving without the exceptional black-and-white photography and Max Steiner's lovely score, one of his finest, which underscores every moment. Warner Bros. deserves extra credit for taking on a delicate subject (the rape of a deaf character was hardly typical screen fare in the 1940s) and handling it in a tasteful manner.

Ultimately, the movie is a showcase for Jane Wyman who rightly became Warner Bros.' top female star upon its release. She and the film are unforgettable.

I had always written Jane Wyman off as just the ex-wife of Ronald Reagan and the matriarch of the Falcon Crest clan, but this movie really changed my mind about her. I was completely blown away by her performance as a deaf-mute. It is very easy to fall into stereotypes when playing physically challenged roles (especially in 1948), but Wyman underplays her part with great skill. She rises above the melodrama of the film without saying a single word and everything can be seen in her eyes. This film is truly a shining moment in her career.

To me the Academy Awards are much more a matter of industry politics than real artistic achievement. Here, however, that's definitely not the case. Wyman's deaf mute is one of the more moving portrayals that I've seen in some 60-years of movie watching. She manages to express more with her eyes alone than most actresses do with their entire emoting. Thanks to Wyman, it's a rare glimpse into a delicate soul, though I do hope she wasn't being paid by line of dialog.

In fact, the entire cast is outstanding, though visually McNally and Sterling approach caricature in his dark looks and her blonde cheapness. Of course, the topics of rape and a wedlock baby were pretty explosive stuff for the Production Code of the time, but the writers handle the material deftly. At the same time, the murder of MacDonald (Bickford) is often overlooked in terms of the Code. After all, the murder goes unrecognized in the courtroom accounting and in that sense goes unpunished even in an expanded moral sense.

Something should also be said about director Negulesco's compelling visual compositions. Happily, so many of the interior frames are arranged richly in detail, while the moody landscapes reflect a perceptive artistic eye. All in all, we get both an atmospheric fishing village and a series of eye-catching visuals both of which expertly complement the storyline.

No need to echo more aspects of this much-discussed film, except to say that Hollywood managed here to overcome one of the industry's biggest pitfalls—a kind of soap opera that's truly touching without being sappy. Thank you, Warner Bros.!