The Frank Capra adapation of James Hilton's popular novel, Lost Horizon, was somewhat controversial in its day, not polticality but because of its length (several reels were removed after a disasterous preview), and its production design, which many critics found unattractive. Now, in its restored version, we can see the film pretty much as it looked when it came out. Scenes that have not been found are represented by still photographs over which we hear the original dialogue. This is therefore not exactly the movie that was released to the theatres, but a fairly close approximation of it.
The story concerns a planeload of passengers hijacked during a violent uprising in China who find themselves ultimately in Tibet, where the plane crashes, and are met by guides who lead them up a steep mountain to the valley of Shanri-La. In Shangri-La the weather is always perfect. There is no war or violence because the people's motto is 'be kind', and they live up to it. In other words, they are in paradise. The valley has a history, too complex to go into in any great depth, and the perfect climate enables its inhabitants to live very long lives.
As one might imagine, there is trouble in paradise, and some of the visitors decide to leave. Shangri-La does not automatically make people happy. One still has to work at it, albeit under extraordinarily favorable circumstances.
The movie is far from flawless, and the middle section, with the usual romantic stuff, is none too inspired; but it begins with a bang and very nearly ends with one, too. In the chaotic, early scenes there is a palpable sense of danger; and the generous budget enabled Capra to use large crowds, and he makes the most of them. Rarely, on screen, have large numbers of human beings, whether screaming, shooting or pushing, seemed so frightening. The airborne part of the film is likewise very satisfying. There's a good deal of exposition here, but it's so well done that one can scarcely find fault. The scenes of refueling in a remote village are eletrifying, and one isn't sure at first what's going on. Are they being attacked? No, but it takes a while to figure this out. The soaring over the clouds is mesmerizing in its simple beauty; while the crash-landing of the plane at what appears to be the foot of the mountain that leads eventually to Shangri La, is highly effective. And Capra, ever the master of film climate, offers us, briefly, a quite pretty and at the same time literally chilling sense of what it would be like to die, snowbound, in the Himalayas.
But Capra's greatest triumph is the scene of hero Conway's departure from the peaceful valley, with his brother and girl-friend in tow. Conway does not want to leave, but his younger brother is in love with a Russian girl, who is unhappy in paradise and talks aginst the locals. As Conway is discussing the matter with his brother, inside, we hear wordless chanting outside, in what sounds like a religious ceremony, as robed figures carrying candles form a long line that surrounds the building, then pass on. As the talk inside becomes more heated, the voices (and accompanying music) grow louder. By the time Conway has made his decision to leave, and is walking up the hill to the opening in the rocks that will lead him from the warm, friendly valley to the freezing tempratures of the outisde world, the music rises in intensity, to a kind of lugubrious, hynoptic crescendo, providing a perfect auditory counterpart to the journey Conway is embarking on, and his mixed feelings about it. The result is one of the single most moving and lovely scenes in movies, technically and emotionally devastatingly effective. Ronald Colman's heartbreak as he gazes back, with as soulful expression as has been seen in movies, is worth seeing the rest of the picture for, and one of the highlights of American film.
The story concerns a planeload of passengers hijacked during a violent uprising in China who find themselves ultimately in Tibet, where the plane crashes, and are met by guides who lead them up a steep mountain to the valley of Shanri-La. In Shangri-La the weather is always perfect. There is no war or violence because the people's motto is 'be kind', and they live up to it. In other words, they are in paradise. The valley has a history, too complex to go into in any great depth, and the perfect climate enables its inhabitants to live very long lives.
As one might imagine, there is trouble in paradise, and some of the visitors decide to leave. Shangri-La does not automatically make people happy. One still has to work at it, albeit under extraordinarily favorable circumstances.
The movie is far from flawless, and the middle section, with the usual romantic stuff, is none too inspired; but it begins with a bang and very nearly ends with one, too. In the chaotic, early scenes there is a palpable sense of danger; and the generous budget enabled Capra to use large crowds, and he makes the most of them. Rarely, on screen, have large numbers of human beings, whether screaming, shooting or pushing, seemed so frightening. The airborne part of the film is likewise very satisfying. There's a good deal of exposition here, but it's so well done that one can scarcely find fault. The scenes of refueling in a remote village are eletrifying, and one isn't sure at first what's going on. Are they being attacked? No, but it takes a while to figure this out. The soaring over the clouds is mesmerizing in its simple beauty; while the crash-landing of the plane at what appears to be the foot of the mountain that leads eventually to Shangri La, is highly effective. And Capra, ever the master of film climate, offers us, briefly, a quite pretty and at the same time literally chilling sense of what it would be like to die, snowbound, in the Himalayas.
But Capra's greatest triumph is the scene of hero Conway's departure from the peaceful valley, with his brother and girl-friend in tow. Conway does not want to leave, but his younger brother is in love with a Russian girl, who is unhappy in paradise and talks aginst the locals. As Conway is discussing the matter with his brother, inside, we hear wordless chanting outside, in what sounds like a religious ceremony, as robed figures carrying candles form a long line that surrounds the building, then pass on. As the talk inside becomes more heated, the voices (and accompanying music) grow louder. By the time Conway has made his decision to leave, and is walking up the hill to the opening in the rocks that will lead him from the warm, friendly valley to the freezing tempratures of the outisde world, the music rises in intensity, to a kind of lugubrious, hynoptic crescendo, providing a perfect auditory counterpart to the journey Conway is embarking on, and his mixed feelings about it. The result is one of the single most moving and lovely scenes in movies, technically and emotionally devastatingly effective. Ronald Colman's heartbreak as he gazes back, with as soulful expression as has been seen in movies, is worth seeing the rest of the picture for, and one of the highlights of American film.