In the Natalie Wood thread, commenter “Adrian” rightly wonders:
I’m not sure I quite get your complaint. I’m certainly sympathetic to your reverence for the classics. I live off them. I don’t watch television and see very few new movies. I have often said the studio systems, in their heyday, turned out more good movies in a week than now see release in a year. This is why I have a huge DVD library…Still, all things being equal if the movie is available…and can be rented on Netflix, what more can you ask for…“Splendor In the Grass” doesn’t get enough pulls to justify sitting on [a video rental store] shelf. I understand that.
Well, Adrian, I understand it too. I’m not knocking the video store.
I’m not sure what I’m knocking, because I’m aware that my stance is somewhat irrational about this, a sort of narcissistic “Why aren’t my favorites everybody’s favorites, and available everywhere?” kind of thinking.
It’s not as though most video stores don’t sport a smallish area devoted to the classics. But what they usually stock is random schlock, apparently what was on hand at some remainder store—plus “Casablance” and “The African Queen,” two oldies that have so far avoided sliding down the forgetfulness rabbit hole that seems to have affected so many other wonderful movies of the past.
“Splendor” is one of those sliders. It’s not just that it’s not available at stores, it’s that few people have even heard of it now, much less seen it. Yes, it’s outdated in many ways, with all its furor about “good girls” and “bad girls” and its prohibition on premarital sex. But the performances are—or should be—timeless.
Why do certain movies survive and not others? I don’t know. I seem to recall that, even when “Splendor” first came out, it got somewhat mixed reviews. I didn’t even see it until years later when it was shown on TV, and when I did I was stunned at how moving it was, particularly Woods’s performance, which I consider one of the best (perhaps even the best) acting in American cinema history. That such a work would be made, released, and then lost to later generations through neglect, while other extraordinarily inferior films line the walls of video stores, makes me both sad and even somewhat angry.
These feelings are probably silly, because I know that ’twas ever thus. Only a few masterpieces survive the march of history, and the art that fills any age is usually inferior, because no era can produce uniformly great work. I happen to think that the present two decades have been some of the worst ever for art of all kinds, but I’m also aware that something like that has been a common perception throughout history: nostalgia for the past, and the idea that things were so much better back when.
This viewpoint of mine is hardly limited to films. Don’t get me started on books! But what the hey—last spring, I recommended one of my favorites, and I’ll do so again [emphasis mine]:
A work of great art that was spawned by the 1918 pandemic is the long short story “Pale Horse, Pale Rider,” by Katherine Anne Porter. Porter herself was nearly a victim of the disease, as she describes in this work of fiction that is based on her own experiences. One of the now-neglected masterpieces of American literature (and a beautiful love story as well), it explains better than anything I’ve ever read what the horror of those times must have felt like to those who were there.
In my opinion, there should never be a call to use the phrase “neglected masterpieces.” Of course, I understand there always will be such a need. But still, it makes me sad.