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Even as entertainment, the picture seldom rises above cheery imbecility. The fearful light at Alamagordo and the bombing of Hiroshima are well contrived; but the fine opportunities for suspense—e.g., the trial run in the atomic pile under Stagg Field—are largely bungled. And most of the film's many impersonators look as sheepish as rejects from a waxworks. This is all a great pity, for nobody can question the enormous importance of the subject, or the sincerity of this effort. The moviemakers could easily use their marvelous medium to present important issues if they could only learn to 1) regard audiences as capable of facing facts and of worrying about problems, even problems which may prove unsolvable, and 2) stop treating cinemagoers as if they were spoiled or not-quite-bright children.
The Beginning or the End hopefully addresses itself to those who will find it, 500 years hence, in a time capsule. By that time it may be regarded as a rather foolish "document"—in case anyone at all is around to open up the capsule.
Angel and the Badman (Republic) is a pleasantly unconventional picture. John Wayne, whose first production it is, has dared to make a genteel western. What is more remarkable, he has gotten away with it. Sample: the Wild West barroom is so decorous it is all but suave. When the blonde entertainer sings (she is requested to, not bawled at), her voice does not rattle the bottles behind the bar. For moviegoers, this is a delightful new experience.
The Angel (Gail Russell) is as pretty a Quaker maiden as ever peered out of a poke bonnet. The Badman (Producer-Star Wayne) is the quickest-triggered man in the Territory (Tombstone, Ariz. & environs). They get to know each other when Mr. Wayne is perforated during a lawless scrap and is nursed back to health by Miss Russell's God-fearing family. By the time Wayne is well enough to tackle his enemy (Bruce Cabot) again, he is trying to do things both his way and the girl's. Since Mr. Cabot and henchmen have not yet adopted a policy of turning the other cheek, this makes for plot difficulties which are ultimately settled happily for the right people.
Movie ruffians are often brought to rectitude through the good offices of an innocent girl, a still more innocent child, or even livestock. As entertainment, the process is seldom either plausible or pleasing. But this movie brings it off. Despite its quietist theme, it contains its fair share of action, played with verve and skill against magnificent landscapes. Its unconventionally gentle stretches are even more engaging. The Quakers and their principles are presented, not as a mock-pious, cynical story angle, but with leisurely good humor and affectionate respect. Thus, John Wayne's uneasy digestion of the idea of nonresistance, and Gail Russell's portrayal of the recklessness possible only to the truly simple, become amusing and touching.
The film will probably convert few gunsters to the Society of Friends, and still fewer Friends to shooting-iron diplomacy. But in a season when horse operas are going stridently sexy, it is nice to see the great open spaces filled with something a little more edifying than heaving, half-bared bosoms.