John Ford has tackled literary adaptations before. The Informer, The Grapes of Wrath and How Green Was My Valley won critical praise, many awards and commercial success. The Fugitive, however, lacks the depth and power of these earlier works.
The film moves too far from the source novel. The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene is a morose, introspective tale, intensely personal and psychological. Ford turns it into a pictorial allegory, with more allegiance to Eisnestein's Que Viva Mexico and the Mexican film Maria Candelaria than to Greene's novel.
The film is allegorical to a fault. Even if many sequences of The Fugitive are beautifully composed, on the whole it is an empty canvas. There never seems to be much urgency in the storyline, nor is there sufficient human dimension to the characters.
I wonder if the Production Code stripped the narrative of any objectionable elements. Ford tones down the novel's moral dilemmas, particularly the self-deprecating, intensely bitter character of the priest, full of shame for his sins and his failure as a priest. The sanitized version eliminates any mention of his illegitimate offspring or the local designation as a "whiskey" priest as in the novel. The priest, stripped of his human dimension, is now merely a fugitive, and not much else.
The pacing is slow, almost inert, and the fugitive, on the run from Mexican police during an anti-Catholic purge, does not engage us in his plight. Henry Fonda lacks any deep material to develop his personality. Similarly, Dolores del Rio has little opportunity to move beyond the static Madonna figure posturing. Some interest derives from J. Carroll Naish as a groveling Judas figure, and Ward Bond as a gringo renegade also running from the police. It is the formidable Mexican actor Pedro Armendariz who has the most vigorous presence as the officer in charge of the pursuit.
An insistent musical score, loud and grating, fails to heighten emotions, and may be partially responsible for turning us away from the priest's dilemma.
This is one of several films that employed distinguished Mexican cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa, noted for The Pearl and later for Luis Bunuel's Los Olvidados. The abstract backdrops of arches, town squares, rays of light streaking into abandoned churches, shawled peasant women and police officers on parade give The Fugitive a visual dynamic that is not reflected in the drama itself.
The film moves too far from the source novel. The Power and the Glory by Graham Greene is a morose, introspective tale, intensely personal and psychological. Ford turns it into a pictorial allegory, with more allegiance to Eisnestein's Que Viva Mexico and the Mexican film Maria Candelaria than to Greene's novel.
The film is allegorical to a fault. Even if many sequences of The Fugitive are beautifully composed, on the whole it is an empty canvas. There never seems to be much urgency in the storyline, nor is there sufficient human dimension to the characters.
I wonder if the Production Code stripped the narrative of any objectionable elements. Ford tones down the novel's moral dilemmas, particularly the self-deprecating, intensely bitter character of the priest, full of shame for his sins and his failure as a priest. The sanitized version eliminates any mention of his illegitimate offspring or the local designation as a "whiskey" priest as in the novel. The priest, stripped of his human dimension, is now merely a fugitive, and not much else.
The pacing is slow, almost inert, and the fugitive, on the run from Mexican police during an anti-Catholic purge, does not engage us in his plight. Henry Fonda lacks any deep material to develop his personality. Similarly, Dolores del Rio has little opportunity to move beyond the static Madonna figure posturing. Some interest derives from J. Carroll Naish as a groveling Judas figure, and Ward Bond as a gringo renegade also running from the police. It is the formidable Mexican actor Pedro Armendariz who has the most vigorous presence as the officer in charge of the pursuit.
An insistent musical score, loud and grating, fails to heighten emotions, and may be partially responsible for turning us away from the priest's dilemma.
This is one of several films that employed distinguished Mexican cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa, noted for The Pearl and later for Luis Bunuel's Los Olvidados. The abstract backdrops of arches, town squares, rays of light streaking into abandoned churches, shawled peasant women and police officers on parade give The Fugitive a visual dynamic that is not reflected in the drama itself.