Hollywood outdid itself when it made The Best Years of Our Lives, a classic tale of family and marriage in war’s aftermath, premiering one week before Thanksgiving 1946 on the Feast of the Presentation of Mary.
Bette Davis called it “the finest film ever made.” She would know.
In the opening scene of this well-worn tale produced by Samuel Goldwyn and directed by William Wyler, a trio of returning World War II vets are heading home to “Boone City” — confronting the reality of readjusting to home and work life, sometimes, as in the case of Homer Parrish, now with mechanical hooks for hands.
This former high school star athlete is played by Harold Russell, a real-life wounded warrior. In the film, his mother, seeing the hooks, is overcome by grief while his high school girlfriend, Wilma, has the grace to see only his brave heart and gentle soul, epitomized by that poignant scene when he shows her his new bedtime routine.
Meanwhile US Army sergeant Al Stephenson, formerly a bank executive (Fredric March), surprises his wife Milly (Myrna Loy), muffling the cheers of his two children Peggy (Teresa Wright), and Rob as he arrives back home at their luxury apartment.
He’s restless — “nervous out of the service” — as his older, grayer self, ponders a wife he has not loved for four years and children who have sprouted into young adults. He persuades Milly and Peggy to join him for a frenetic night out on the town so he can rejoin civilization. At their last stop, Butch’s, run by Hoagie Carmichael, a tipsy Al mistakes his wife for a war-time paramour. She has the grace to play it cool, accepting his obvious dalliance while away, without batting an eyelash. He’s back home, they’re in love, she forgives him.
Then, too, Fred Derry (Dana Andrews) – the ace bomber pilot who had previously worked as a “soda jerk” – struggles to adjust to life with his wife, Marie (Virginia Mayo), who wasn’t exactly saving herself for the husband she wed after a 20-day whirlwind romance before he shipped out. The first night he stays with the Stephensons since he cannot even get into Marie’s apartment. Marie belittles his incapacity to adjust, while Peggy shows compassion for the post traumatic stress he is dealing with, as he screams out at night, as if trying to save a crew member who lost his life.
She knows he needs space and time. But, feeling bitter and dejected, he heads to the airfield hoping to catch the first plane out since Al has ordered him, a married man, to stay away from Peggy, and he sees no future in Boone City. Spying a decommissioned B-17 bomber ready for demolition, he climbs into the bombardier’s seat, recalling the missions he so deftly carried out with the medals to show for it. Just the closure he needs. And, while at the airfield he is snagged for the burgeoning prefab industry the demolished B-17s are being used to build.
What an American story, and so very human — fittingly ending with the marriage of Homer and Wilma, while in the midst of the nuptials Fred and Peggy, realizing the depth of their love, seem headed for the altar, too, presuming his quickie marriage is annulled.
The film would go on to win the Best Picture Oscar and a place in the hearts of generations to come. We wonder if, perhaps, it could find a place on the list of the Pope’s favorite films.
