MR SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON (1939)
A naive youth leader, thrust into the U.S. Senate, grapples with corruption and deceit, both at home and from his revered mentor.
A naive youth leader, thrust into the U.S. Senate, grapples with corruption and deceit, both at home and from his revered mentor.
In a world fraught with myriad complexities and overlapping, tortuous systems, it’s easy to think that one person is incapable of doing anything meaningful. A prominent concern in 20th-century literature, particularly in the works of Franz Kafka and George Orwell, it seemed that any philosophy which extolled the virtues and power of the individual was one riddled with naivety. Still, some artists believed that, even despite the various machines that drove human civilisation, one person could make a difference.
A hopeless romantic, it’s an idea Frank Capra explored to great effect in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. After a US Senator dies, Jefferson Smith (James Stewart) is elected to take his place. He’s an idealistic patriot, the leader of the Boy Rangers, and completely out of his depth; he’s never even been to the nation’s capital before, let alone inside the Senate. However, the more he becomes acquainted with the political world of Washington, the more he begins to suspect something is rotten in the District of Columbia. With the help of his secretary Clarissa Saunders (Jean Arthur), Jefferson resolves to clean up politics.
Perhaps a testament to the film’s greatness is how it’s still capable of rousing hope, even 85 years on. Despite the numerous political scandals and legal controversies which have transpired between now and then, Capra’s unshakeable optimism is a palpable force, one that has the power to inspire conviction in even the most embittered of cynics. Though some of the cinematic platitudes on display are guilty of being simplistic, one could just as easily argue it is such simplicity that ensures the film’s enduring legacy, as well as the strength behind the story’s central message: one good person is all that’s needed to prevent evil from spreading.
From the opening sequence, we can see that it’s already spread quite far: the roots of this virulent weed have dug wide and deep, becoming an extensive network of backroom dealings and hushed subterfuge. From the intricate network of political figures involved, it would appear that government corruption is not only rife but impenetrable—what good would it do to scold a den of vipers?
Much like Chinatown (1974) explored 35 years later, one would think it’s completely impossible to do the right thing in a place with such skewed ethics. Even if someone were to discover a backbone or moral scruples after so long, they’d be coerced into collusion: Jim Taylor (Edward Arnold) wields power mercilessly, blackmailing those who don’t kowtow immediately. It would seem that any ideals one may have die on the steps of the Senate: to get through the door, it must first be opened for you, usually by someone with ulterior motives.
There’s no altruism in Washington D.C. The Biblical command to love thy neighbour is depicted as a fool’s axiom; only the gullible would believe in the innate goodness of man or the sound intentions of their neighbour. Politics is shown to be a game just as artful as it is cut-throat, and the utterly guileless Jefferson is wholly incompetent to play properly. Even having the game explained to him by the likes of Saunders and newspaperman Diz Moore (Thomas Mitchell), he’s starry-eyed, and his innocence makes him easy to exploit.
It’s not that he’s gormless, it’s just that he believes in people, which is shown to be something of a character flaw in politics. As Senator Joseph Paine (Claude Rains) makes clear to him (speaking to him in a soft voice as though he were explaining the concept of death to a child), there are many connections in the political world, one that any adept senator must be aware of if they are to get anything done. However, even to the inexperienced Jefferson, the all-encompassing interrelationship between business, media, and politics appears suspect.
While his foray into the deep waters of political corruption reveals much more than he’d ever anticipated, his mission never quite separates these seemingly inseparable bedfellows. Indeed, while the scurrilous dealings are eventually divulged, we can’t be sure that anything will actually be done about it; everyone in the Senate is shown to be deeply uninterested in Smith’s version of events, no matter how fantastical they may sound.
This, perhaps, could be a comment on the passivity of authority figures and the ineptitude of modern democracy. It’s a theme which presents itself on several occasions throughout the film, most expertly done by the seasoned (and consequently disillusioned) Saunders. When Jefferson wants to write a bill so that he might present it the next morning, Saunders struggles not to laugh in his face. Instead, she patiently explains the agonisingly slow pace of bureaucracy to the young hopeful: “Your bill is ready. You get to your feet in the Senate and take a long breath and start spouting—but not too loud, because a couple of the Senators might want to sleep.”
But Jefferson Smith wants to wake them all up. Despite the self-interest, the lies, the corruption, and the inefficient democracy that surrounds him, Jefferson’s intent on making a difference. Much like Capra himself, Jefferson is a hopeless romantic, an incorruptible idealist. He takes off his hat in front of Abraham Lincoln’s statue, regarding the nation’s capital with total awe. Everyone starts looking around them through his eyes—a child’s eyes.
Unsurprisingly, everyone mocks him for his naivety. To those battle-hardened reporters, shrewd polemicists, and weary, old senators, he’s little more than an honorary stooge. It’s why he was picked for the job, after all—Paine believes such an innocent character could be controlled very easily: “A young patriot? Who recites Jefferson and Lincoln? Turned loose in our nation’s capital?”
If he believes in the rhetoric of such men, he’s clearly an idiot and will be woefully unequipped to deal with the reality of the city. Presenting nationalists as simpletons, and country bumpkins as pathetically delusional, Jefferson is seen by everyone around him as the Don Quixote of Washington D.C., fighting windmills in the Senate with nothing but his words. However, an important shift occurs when Smith becomes aware that it’s not enough for him to be an isolated romantic—he has to convince all around him that change is possible.
Tellingly, the first person he convinces is arguably the most pessimistic of them all: Clarissa Saunders. At the beginning of the film, Clarissa speaks with Paine, informing him that she wants to profit from the scheme he’s delicately set up: “Look, when I came here, my eyes were big blue question marks. Now, they’re big green dollar marks.” Saunders typifies the pessimistic urban dweller, but even she is charmed by Smith’s rose-tinted perspective.
It’s undeniable that Jefferson Smith’s impassioned and fervent belief in national values possesses power. As he discusses the importance of the boy’s camp he resolves to establish, he imparts his unadulterated love for his country in a stirring display of both credulity and integrity: “Liberty is too precious to get buried in books, Miss Saunders. Men ought to hold it up in front of them every day of their lives and say: ‘I am free—to think, to speak! My ancestors couldn’t. I can. My children will.’”
American identity is thus inextricably linked to the virtuous battle for lost causes. Very early on in the story, it’s revealed that the cost of standing up for ideals is death: Smith’s father, a newspaper editor who refused to capitulate to bribery, blackmail, or threats, was shot in the back. Paine, who was Jefferson’s father’s closest friend, recalls the moment he saw his comrade’s corpse: “I can see him at that old roll-top desk, still with his hat on… still with his hat on…”
Paine is arguably the most interesting character in the story. Once a champion of lost causes, he has allowed himself to be corrupted. He’s obviously haunted by the memory of his friend’s demise, perhaps because he recognises he would not have had the strength to do the same thing. More to the point, he sees that he hasn’t had the same fortitude to resist the same kind of pressure, selling himself to men like Taylor. It’s why he regards his old friend’s integrity with a grave sense of respect: “His last fight was his best.”
It’s no accident that there are parallels between Smith’s father and Abraham Lincoln. The former being his actual father, the latter being the father of their contemporary America, with both being shot from behind by men too cowardly to stare an honourable man in the face. According to Jefferson, respectable men are the one thing starkly lacking from the political climate he finds himself within: “You’re not gonna have a country where these kinds of rules work, if you haven’t got men that have learned to tell human rights from a punch in the nose.”
Similarly, that Jefferson Smith becomes a Jesus Christ figure was no coincidence either. Briefly standing up in defiance of Taylor, Paine states that he refuses to crucify the boy. However, he is quickly coerced into cooperation, and the Senate floor serves as Jefferson’s Calvary. Furthermore, the President of the Senate (Harry Carey) governs much like the impartial Pontius Pilate, though he never quite lets boos from the mob obfuscate the truth.
As Paine tries to instruct Smith on how government and Washington really function, he justifies his duplicity by suggesting it’s an evil to attain a greater good: “That’s how states and empires have been built since time began.” However, it’s starkly evident that Capra doesn’t share such an understanding perspective of human organisation. With the unyielding and incorruptible Jefferson Smith as his mouthpiece, it seems as though Capra considers compromise to be America’s original sin, one that noble men must ceaselessly curtail: “There’s no place out there for graft, or greed, or lies, or compromise with human liberties.”
Part of the film’s enduring success can be found in the incredible writing. It’s not just the witty dialogue, replete with civil yet barbed badinage, but the powerful rhetoric that never falters. In a story that reveals the sheer power of words, our protagonist attempts to weaponise his voice (and his determination to use it) to steer the crooked back onto the straight and narrow, to lead the disillusioned out of the tunnel that’s trapped them for so long. From this, we also get to witness beautiful verbal conflict.
Additionally, the plot unfolds brilliantly, and it’s all captured in the gorgeous cinematography of Joseph Walker. As Smith kneels in the shadows, feeling all but defeated, the shadows that fall over him remind you of just how aesthetic cinema from the Golden Age of Hollywood was: it’s the darkest moment in his entire life, and he’s being consumed by shade. In contrast, when Saunders has belief instilled in her for the first time in years, it almost seems as though she’s seen an angel: her face is lit with haunting chiaroscuro lighting, revealing the shimmering glint of a tear in her eye.
However, it’s undoubtedly the performances which have ensured the film’s enduring appeal. James Stewart never quite fails to stir the idealist in me; even when he’s playing a house-bound, cynical Peeping Tom in Rear Window (1954), his willingness to embrace life by the end of the story remains affecting. While he may not truly change as a character in Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, his arc is more concerned with changing the world around him: he must run the gauntlet and emerge unscathed. I think that very few actors could have prevented this story from becoming mawkish, but Stewart is one of them.
He’s aided by the wonderful Jean Arthur, who deserves just as much credit for revealing the film’s beating heart as Stewart does. Watching her move from snide pessimist to infatuated heroine is heart-warming. In the same vein, it is Paine’s fall into suicidal despair that ensures the ending remains moving. Much like Judas hung himself from a tree after witnessing the crucifixion of Jesus Christ, Paine realises that he was behind the destruction of one of the very few good men in the world, and it’s enough to make him collapse in remorse: “Expel me! Expel me!”
Though the ending is abrupt and slightly predictable (most endings of Capra’s cinema are, after all), I always get goosebumps at this finale. It isn’t just Smith collapsing to the floor, exhausted by his extensive filibuster, but it’s the visual evidence of the effect one man can have on those that surround him: as Smith faints from exhaustion, even his most ardent of deriders stand to see if he’s alright. The man has spoken for roughly 25 hours—if he’s not mad, then he must be damned determined to make sure the right thing was done.
Standing against corruption, even as everyone else buries their head in the sand, isn’t easy. However, it’s been said that all that’s necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing. With that in mind, watching one good man do something, even if it’s speaking until collapse, is enough to stir emotions.
Perhaps Capra’s idealism is a tad saccharine for some, but I believe his ability to craft cinematic magic remains unrivalled. It’s powerful storytelling that edifies without becoming sententious, and it inspires without feeling simplistic: “It’s a 45-foot dive into a tub of water, but I think you can do it.” As a touching portrayal of the power to do good against all odds, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington remains a deeply moving film, even after 85 years.
USA | 1939 | 126 MINUTES | 1.37:1 | BLACK & WHITE | ENGLISH
director: Frank Capra.
writer: Sidney Buchman (and Myles Connolly, uncredited contributor; based on the unpublished story ‘The Gentleman from Montana’ by Lewis R. Foster).
starring: James Stewart, Jean Arthur, Claude Rains, Edward Arnold, Guy Kibbee, Thomas Mitchell, Eugene Pallette, Beulah Bondi, H.B Warner, Harry Carey, Astrid Allwyn, Ruth Donnelly, Grant Mitchell & Porter Hall.