The Therapy of Watching Old Films

Late in 2024, I made a resolution to watch more classic Hollywood films. Of course, everyone has their own idea of what constitutes a “classic.” Some might choose Goonies, others Citizen Kane, and still others the Twilight saga. (Judge not, lest ye be judged!) But I selected what is known as the Golden Age of Hollywood, from the introduction of “talkies” in the late 1920s to the end of the studio system in the 1950s.

I thought this might be a good way to discover films my husband and I would both enjoy, since our contemporary tastes are highly divergent. I also hoped to learn about filmmaking, trace the development of American popular culture, and simply have some fun. What I did not expect is that it would end up being a form of low-cost therapy in a time when the entire world seems on edge.

Of late, not only social media and newscasts, but even private conversations have buried me under an avalanche of fear and bitterness. Regardless of where people live or what politicians they support, everyone seems racked by angst, dreading what is to come. In such times, everyone searches for an antidote, a distraction, a source of relief.

The first classic film I chose to watch was the musical Meet Me in St. Louis, which features the original appearance of the song “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” The lyrics of this now standard Christmas tune have been sanitized multiple times over the years, always to make them less depressing. But there is no escaping the sadness when Judy Garland’s character sings them to her little sister, who cries until the final bar and then departs to behead the snowmen in the front yard. In context, the song hits like a ton of bricks, speaking to the loss we feel at Christmas and the fears we hold for the future.

“Through the years we all will be together / If the fates allow / Until then we’ll have to muddle through somehow.” Those were Garland’s original words, acknowledging the fact that sometimes our grief is so profound, we must simply muddle through life for a while and hope that things will one day be restored. This spoke a better word to me than Bing Crosby crooning, “It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

The following months brought more musicals (Guys and Dolls, Kiss Me Kate), epic quests (The Adventures of Robin Hood, The African Queen), some Hitchcock (Vertigo, Psycho), and adaptations of plays (A Streetcar Named Desire, Twelve Angry Men). I found a film scarier than Psycho in The Night of the Hunter, which features a corrupt clergyman manipulating and abusing people. And I fell completely in love with All About Eve, the finest hour of the incomparable Bette Davis.

As the weeks went by, I became far less interested in reading the news or my friend’s social media posts and chose instead to watch the films of the 1930s, ’40s, and ’50s. It was then that I asked myself, “Am I doing this to escape? If so, why? What is it giving me?”

I soon realized it is not mere escapism. After all, as bad as things may be in the world today, they were objectively worse during the time of the Hollywood Golden Age. The Great Depression, World War II, the outbreak of the Cold War with its threat of mutually assured destruction — these were the major events happening during this period.

The people who originally attended these films were enduring far greater hardships than myself, and many films would have been preceded by newsreels showcasing the rise of the Nazis, the bombing of European cities, etc. (The comedy Ninotchka, set in late 1930s Paris and released in 1939, begins with the disclaimer that it was produced prior to the threat of bombs pulverizing the city.) So, were our ancestors trying to escape?

Yes and no. Unsurprisingly, they had grown as tired of bad news as us. They did not need films to alert them to the evils of their present existence. But clear efforts were made to address those events through the medium of film in two specific genres: film noirs and screwball comedies.

Film noirs are literally dark-toned films that often feature a grizzly detective facing off with a femme fatale to solve a mystery. Think of a man wandering around a city at night with steam rising from the sewer grates, lots of trench coats and fedora hats, and Humphrey Bogart interrogating someone. Although the films are dark (both literally and metaphorically), the stakes are often low. The conspiracies do not run to the very heart of the U.S. government, the Church, or other respected institutions.

This allowed filmmakers to explore the dark aspects of American society without violating the Hays Code (guidelines for morality in film) or offending people’s political sensibilities. The ’30s and ’40s were dark years, even as our own time feels dark. Film noirs provided a way to process those feelings without wading into controversy.

Screwball comedies are generally romantic comedies which derive humor from physical accidents, class differences, witty banter, and a reversal of the usual sex dynamic, with a strong female pursuing and/or antagonizing a befuddled male. During the Great Depression, there was tremendous discontent over the economic inequalities in American society, so screwball tales often feature pampered and ridiculous rich Americans learning lessons from impoverished but earnest heroes. In a time before the full flowering of third-wave feminism, they also provided opportunities for women to triumph in their endeavors and earn respect from men.

Whether I am watching film noirs (Sunset Boulevard, The Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity) or screwball comedies (Adam’s Rib, The Lady Eve, Ball of Fire), I find myself connecting with the characters’ concerns, for societal ills are not so different now. Many are eternal issues human beings must face. Seeing them handled in a humorous manner — whether slapstick or darkly comic — is good for the soul.

Thus, I found that for the price of $3.99 at the highest, I could spend a couple hours improving my mental and emotional health. More than that, I would reap spiritual benefits. Nothing makes me feel better about my own times than remembering that previous generations have experienced far greater trials and survived. As a Christian, I am particularly aware that it is God who is sovereign over history, directing it according to his will, leading it toward a final resolution in the person of Jesus Christ.

This fills me with quiet confidence. If I thought everything was up to me or I could solve the world’s problems if I just spoke up at the right time, I would be having far more trouble in this global moment, for the problems are many and the needs great. While modern technology brings greater awareness of evils committed on our planet, it does not necessarily bring us any closer to banishing them. Rather, it can leave us with the impression that if we just post the right thing on Facebook and get enough people to view it, we will set off a societal movement that will change everything for the better. In fact, such things are exceedingly rare.

If I did not believe that God was in control and possessed the power to end evil and wipe our tears away, I would despair. If I thought it was up to me to save the world, I would be constantly afraid. But because I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end he will take his stand upon the earth, I can spend two hours laughing at a screwball comedy and know it is not simply escapism, but a thing that allows me to muddle through. For we are not conquerors in ourselves, but in the one who has won the victory over the world, the flesh, and the devil.

We must work, yes, but we must also rest. The good things of this earth are reminders of the goodness of God. The happy endings to our stories point to our longing for the consummation of the ages. T. S. Eliot told us that “humankind cannot bear very much reality” (“Burnt Norton,” Four Quartets), and sometimes fantasy helps us deal with reality better than a newscast. For any perspective upon our present hour which ignores the existence of faith, hope, and love is a falsehood leading to despair. In difficult times, we must remember that virtue remains.