Lack of Taste Film Club: Bethel McGrew / On The Waterfront (1956)
Bethel McGrew joins us to discuss her approach to writing and her friendship with Douglas Murray. She also talks about the political and religious elements of Elia Kazan's greatest film.
Welcome to the Lack of Taste Film Club, where we will talk to non-cinephiles about the movies that they love. You will find a different flavor to Film Club entries going forward. Instead of going straight to discussing the movie being chosen, we want to get to know the guest more. A general Q&A will come first, and then we will get to the film. This is the free version of Film Club. I won’t promise there will be more Film Clubs along the way, but if you are really interested in this kind of content, I encourage you all to subscribe. You will get access to an extended interview. You’ll also get to comment on the piece. If you also want to suggest guests that I should talk to, feel free to add.
In this edition, we talk to Bethel McGrew, who goes by the pen name Esther O’Reilly, and is a freelance writer, whose work has been published in The Spectator, First Things, and The Critic, among many other places. Then we dive into On The Waterfront and how its political elements resonate.
LoT: I first came across your work when you reviewed Douglas Murray's Madness of Crowds at Arc Digital. Since it was published, you guys are now friendly with each other. Can you tell me how that evolved from the piece?
BM: We collaborated on a Christian podcast called Unbelievable?, so that brought us together in a really fresh and enjoyable way. When I find a new writer or creative that I like, I tend to binge whatever he's created, so I came well prepared to make sure that wasn't just another boring conversations podcast. We've corresponded a little over a couple of years since then, and we keep up with each other's writing. As far as our differences, they don't seem to have put him off so far! I certainly think he has some weak positions, arguments that are vulnerable to criticism. I get into some of that in the review you mention. I think there's a naivete in his history of the LGBT+ movement, his assumption that the "rights train" was ever going to pull nicely into the station and just stop. I think this is shared by similar gay figures like Andrew Sullivan. But I give these guys credit for putting a high premium on honesty and forthright speech, so even when I'm critical I like to think this is what keeps them coming back to my work (plus the craft, I hope).
LoT: I noticed that Douglas defends the institutions that make Western Civilisation possible, even when it doesn't affect whether or not he believed in a God. I am an atheist, and like him, I see the inherent value of church and religion that you simply can't move on from Christianity. I have met Rod Dreher in real life and I asked how people like me can be involved with Christians moving to a Benedict Option, where they start their own communities based on their religion and away from modernity. His answer? To be critical about postmodernism in all its forms. If you were in my place, what would you recommend be done?
BM: I think Murray models this sort of allyship, as well as someone in his position can. His personal relationship with faith is obviously very complicated, and from my observation, he has some different instincts in tension with each other. On one hand, he's attracted to radical conservative faith, and he's even friendly to some integralist types like Sohrab Ahmari, which is kind of interesting to me. On the other hand, he was an early admirer of revisionist Church of England figures like Richard Holloway, in large part because of Holloway's permissiveness on gay marriage. His being gay himself certainly adds a complicating dimension here. I won't presume to predict his future faith trajectory, but I do welcome his allyship, most especially with things like "assisted dying" legislation where it's distinctly uncool for atheists to speak up. Every time he writes or speaks about that issue, or sanctity of life generally, it gives me a little hope. A really key point of commonality. He also sets an excellent example in his deep concern for the plight of the global persecuted church. Whatever his personal beliefs, he's shown great journalistic integrity and courage in shining a light on these neglected corners of the world. We need more of that sort of atheist.
Backing up to speak to Dreher's general point on postmodernism, shared opposition here has definitely been a motivating factor in reopening various formerly closed lines of communication between old rival modernist "camps" -- the religious right and the old gay lobby, Christian apologists, and New Atheists, etc. It's fun to watch and to be a part of, though to be candid, I think our fundamental differences are still deep enough that there's a "ceiling" on the commonality to be found. And when it comes to thick Ben Op-style community-building, I think this is something Christians still mostly need to work out amongst themselves as Christians. But, sadly, a lot of us have found people outside the Christian community to be better-faith dialogue partners than some Christians. Again, that's not to pretend we have all the same values, but being able to have an honest, good-faith conversation is square one, and too many professing Christians can't even make it to square one these days. It's really dispiriting and unfortunate to watch, but here we are.
LoT: A lot of writers tend to be teachers or academics, including yourself. What do you think are the parallels between writing and teaching?
BM: Well first, I should say not all academics are teachers, but I've always loved teaching. I go back and forth on whether to call myself an "academic," given that I'm not currently doing research in the area where I have my highest degree, mathematics. But I've done independent research and writing in many other areas through the years, literature being a particularly deep love. I think my writing and my teaching do flow from a similar place, both coming out of an eagerness to explain things in a way that makes sense to people. I get that honest on both sides, since both my parents are teachers. I was just handed a lot of knowledge and a lot of tools very early in life that way. Ultimately, I both write and teach from a place of love - love for the reader, love for the student. I never talk down to them. Yes, in some sense I'm here to educate them, but never in a condescending way.
LoT: You wrote in your 'coming out' piece that you were a film and art critic. There's a large monoculture in cultural criticism where there's little diversity in terms of voice. Often they call for more women and minorities to get highlighted, but their political beliefs when they review movies barely differ. How do you approach movies and why aren't there more heterodox people involved?
BM: Andrew Klavan has spoken to this from his own experience and his own story, and I think he's really insightful here. As you say, it's an ideological monoculture. In Andrew's case, he was silently edged out because he didn't want to fall in lockstep with the narrative of demonizing the military during the Iraq War. A brilliantly talented guy, a guy capable of making money, but that wasn't what mattered. What mattered was conformity. So this is an unfortunate situation for many religiously and politically heterodox creatives. They struggle to find a market for their talents. Frustratingly, some of the same people who bang the drum about a lack of creative spark in the Christian art scene aren't very alive to this problem, so they don't perceive the Catch-22 in play here. Obviously, I would love to see Christians write better books, make better movies, etc. But arts culture is so hostile now that it can be an uphill climb to get trained and get your work distributed if you're not content to just make "safe" material. In other words, it's hard to be an artist if you're an actual artist.
I've always approached movies as a lover of cinema and a lover of the arts generally, of the power of story to move and change people. Growing up in a conservative Christian milieu, I had a number of boundaries placed on what I watched at first, but some of the best cinema ever made still fell within those boundaries, so I really don't feel like I grew up deprived. I was a very nerdy, detail-driven kid who lapped up everything I could find on the craft of cinema. Most kids aren't fascinated by making-of documentaries, but I was that kid. I wanted to know what made art tick. That's something I've carried with me throughout my life, for all kinds of art--for film, for novels, for music. What makes it tick? What went into this? What's under the surface? I'll never not be fascinated by that, and my joy and challenge as a writer is to get other people fascinated by it too.
And now. On The Waterfront.
LoT: When I asked you what movie can we talk about, you gave me a long list of films, and one that stood out to me was On The Waterfront. I'll give my reasons to why I chose this film, but what did you like about it?
BM: This is a film I come back to a lot, because it's such a compelling study of conscience, betrayal, and self-betrayal. True story, for my Intro Phil class as a college sophomore, I wrote a paper on self-actualization where I analyzed this film together with Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons. What I find uniquely touching about it is that the hero is not particularly clever or attractive. I mean okay yes, it's Brando, and Brando's got that sort of animal attraction, but in this movie, fundamentally he's just "a dumb kid who's done terrible things," to quote Kazan. It's also a profound study of masculine belonging, that deep-seated need to be accepted by a brotherhood of other men. The brotherhood of the mob is all Malloy has ever known. His story speaks to something universal, the universal agony of the man who finally leaves the brotherhood, who finally blows the whistle.
I also love the character of the priest, who was based on a real historical figure and who stands as a wonderful monument to how Hollywood used to portray men of the cloth--a full-bodied character, a faithful caretaker of souls, tough, passionate, and incorruptible.
LoT: I was interested in On The Waterfront because I think what made it great was its background. It's known to be Elia Kazan's response to his critics when he identified the eight former communists at the HUAC hearings. His rivalry with Arthur Miller, who wrote The Crucible, transpired because of that and when he wanted to make the communists the villains. Would it be fair to say that Terry Malloy, having been betrayed by his unions, is Kazan's surrogate?
BM: Yes, I actually loved the film before learning about the personal history, and I don't think that's necessary to appreciate its greatness, but knowing that history certainly deepens it. And the communist party truly was the ultimate "brotherhood" in that sinister sense. For further reading there, I highly recommend whistle-blower Whittaker Chambers' memoir Witness. Chambers agonized over his choice, even attempting suicide, because he still couldn't shake the feeling that he was a betrayer. The party's gaslighting had left such a mark on him. Kazan seems to have been less agonized and more secure in his choice. The way the mob picks off men who won't be quiet is a chilling allegory for how the communists dealt with those who threatened the party. A line in Chambers' memoir comes to mind, coming from someone who's giving a matter-of-fact explanation of what made another man break and leave: "One night, he heard screams."
LoT: Jonathan Rosenbaum, a film critic with left-wing tendencies, wrote that he can never forgive Kazan for using this movie to out himself. Lots of critics still embrace this movie, even if they disagree with its perspective. But I like how open this was, rather than bury it in subtext and still managed to be a nuanced picture. I notice that movies nowadays, whether it's tinged with left-wing (see Promising Young Women) or right-wing politics (like Run Hide Fight or God's Not Dead), are very open about it, and often come up as preachy. What are some lessons one can learn from On The Waterfront, to go pass that?
BM: I think it's interesting to set this film next to High Noon, which also doesn't immediately present as an allegory but which was the work of a blacklisted writer, Carl Foreman. It's like the photo-negative of Waterfront, because Foreman saw Kane as his surrogate, representing his stand against the evil McCarthy-ites. But as with Waterfront, you really don't need to know any of that to appreciate the piece, and once you do know it, it doesn't detract from the film's greatness. I think this is because whatever personal attachment they had to their work, these writers and filmmakers were committed first and foremost to their craft, not to an ideological agenda.
I think elements of On the Waterfront could be seen as "preachy" in their time, but the story works because the viewer is invested in these people as individuals, not as symbols. Malloy is not Kazan, after all, he's his own distinct character, with his own weaknesses, hopes, fears, and broken dreams. The figure of his brother is also a very nuanced character, a weak character who has to discover inner strength. Their interaction in the cab is so enduring because it's so intimate and personal, a quiet tragedy. Again, none of that feels like it's "about Kazan." Kazan is still focused on the individual.
LoT: We see the priest speaking with Terry Malloy, encouraging foremen to speak out against corruption. As you mention him earlier, what makes him compelling from a religious standpoint?
BM: The priest is on-the-nose, but he's compelling because he arises authentically from his setting. We buy him as a whole character. His convictions might not be the viewer's convictions, but his voice speaks to intuitions we all have, simply because we are human, and conscience can drive us all nuts, as Terry puts it. "I'm not gonna ask you to do anything," he says, "It's your own conscience that's gotta do the asking." Of course, when he preaches over Kayo Dugan's dead body, he frames this in a deeply Christian way. He makes the waterfront his "church." He announces that Christ is present there--"in the shape-up, in the hatch, kneeling right here beside Dugan." And in that moment, it's difficult not to believe him.
LoT: We don't see this kind of movie nowadays, with this kind of ideological background. So could someone make a film like On The Waterfront ever again in this day and age?
BM: I think it would be difficult, especially since there is so little trust in the institutional church now. As a culture, we no longer think "Catholic priest" when we think "voice of conscience/moral authority." One would almost have to frame this kind of story as a story of whistle-blowing from within the church, perhaps a young Catholic seminarian who is convicted to speak up against corruption in the old guard. I don't think that core story of the individual who finds the courage to stand up to the mob will ever go away. It's too archetypal and universal. But how the times have changed when it comes to how to tell it.