Republic Pictures was known as an action studio, specializing in matinée cowboy features and John Wayne epics. That is, when studio head Herbert Yates wasn't trying to promote the career of his no-talent ladylove Vera Hruba Ralston. So what burst of Zen-like contemplation induced Republic's assembly line to come up with this human-interest gem. Frankly, it doesn't matter since the first three-quarters of this little hayseed sleeper amount to one of the most affecting affirmations of family values that I've had the good fortune to catch up with.
Now, you would think with headline toughies like Cochran and Sheridan that hard-boiled gangsterdom is bound to follow. But no. Instead, a reformed Cochran is returning to his Arkansas farm and family that he deserted in a drunken haze years earlier. In the meantime, country wife Sheridan has taken over running the farm with help from sharecropper Brennan and son. To say she's not exactly thrilled to see the no-goodnik suddenly return is an understatement. But then mischievous little Eyer is Cochran's son, along with the mysteriously mute Jackson as his daughter.
These early scenes of wary re-acquaintance are gems of sensitivity from both the performers and director Springsteen. Cochran certainly looks the part of a former hell-raiser, while Sheridan conceals her feelings behind a stony exterior. Looks like prodigal dad Cochran is agreeable to whatever courtesy his wife might extend. Above all he wants to see his kids now that he's sober. But it also looks like he'd prefer being re- embraced even though he deserves nothing.
So, the question is: has he really reformed or not, and how far should Sheridan let him re- enter the family's bosom. She's still attracted and wants to believe, but then he does have a track record. Still, he's so good with the kids who also like having a dad around. Even little Jackson is warming up in her mute way. No doubt about it, dad's a plus factor as he gets things done around the farm. Nonetheless, whatever the family's feelings, the small surrounding community hasn't forgotten Cochran's drunken ways nor forgiven his act of desertion. That's especially true of the ornery Forrest Tucker who's got his own designs on the comely Sheridan. So, Cochran's not only got a wary wife to convince, but a disbelieving community, as well. Just as importantly, can even we be sure that he's reformed.
It's hard to say enough about the excellence of these scenes. They're low-key, superbly acted, and make convincing use of rural locations. But I'm especially impressed with little Sherry Jackson. Sure, she has no dialog. Yet watch her expressions. They're perfectly calibrated to communicate feelings that are neither cutesy nor stagy. And who could suspect that after so many years at Warner Bros. as a slippery heel, Cochran could fit into such a likable role so well. I almost forgot who he was. Above all, these adjustment scenes come across as both sensitive and effortless.
However, these quieter parts eventually give way to a more melodramatic last quarter that becomes more routine and less special, at least in my view. The exaggerated fist-fight is played for humor, seemingly out-of-place for a mood that's been quietly realistic. At the same time, the cliff-hanging scene may be a knuckle bender, but the staging is clumsily done. Seems to me these action parts should have been better blended with the prevailing whole.
If anything, that prevailing whole is a masterful essay into the quieter virtues, and hazards too, of rural America, a topic Hollywood never had much time for. As human interest, the film remains first-rate, especially in our current era of comic book heroes and exploding cars. In passing—if you liked this movie, be sure to check out another sensitive ode to rural America; namely, The Green Promise (1949), a low-key portrayal of conservative family values that also doesn't rub your nose in it.
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