Moviemakers seem to have forgotten something that director Frank Capra perfected -- how to be dark and proudly patriotic at the same time. Because while this movie has a lot to say about the plight of the "little guy" and is highly critical of "rich fat cats," it still remains inherently optimistic about the good ol' red, white and blue.
A struggling newspaper columnist (Barbara Stanwyck, playing yet another tough girl) who's been handed her walking papers pulls a Stephen Glass on her final column, penning a completely fictional tale about a unemployed man who's fed up with the inequities of American life and has vowed to kill himself in protest on Christmas Eve.
Predictably, the story is a sensation, and to cover up that it's a work of fiction the columnist and her paper hire a down-on-his-luck ex-baseball player (Gary Cooper, in a great performance) to fill the part -- minus the jumping off of a building part.
Ironically for a paid "actor," John Doe becomes a symbol for integrity and humanity, and a movement promoting personal responsibility and being a good neighbor sweeps the nation. Enter the nasty rich fat cats, led by a manipulating moneybag who offers to finance the entire John Doe movement but plans to turn it toward his own political gain.
There are some creepy, yet telling scenes in here that mirror modern day a little too closely for comfort. "Americans need an iron hand," sneers character actor Edward Arnold. Is it wrong that he resembles Dick Cheney?
With a cast of great supporting actors and loads of Capra charm, the movie is a winner. The biggest misstep is Stanwyck's histrionics at the end, but the guy she loved was about to off himself, so I guess I'll forgive the screeching.
Dark, sweet, and memorable.
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