One Paragraph Movie Review: The Grapes of Wrath

One hundred and ninety-ninth film: The Grapes of Wrath, based on both John Steinbeck’s heavy Depression-era realism and Henry Fonda’s face. This is one of those movies where the title is familiar, you know it’s sort of Depression-era-ish, but you don’t know much about it. Then, about two thirds of the way through, the penny drops and you go “Oh! Okay, I’m watching a Marxist movie”. The pervasive hopelessness of itinerant dustbowl poverty has few hopeful glimmers — not even in Henry’s dreamy eyes — but the strongly suggested long term solutions are presented in farming collectives and workers’ unions. Watching it now, in early 2021, I could not feel more receptive to its anti-authoritarian, anti-exploitative rich guy rhetoric, or its unintentional promotion of local tourism. Admittedly little of that feels like it screams fun or entertainment, and the film’s journey along Route 66 is bleakly devoid of kicks, but it’s still a hell of a movie. I have renewed respect for both the proletariat and truck suspension systems. Three and a bit tin cans full of stew out of five.