July 22nd marks the 80th anniversary of William Wyler’s wartime drama, Mrs. Miniver, a film based on the novel and newspaper columns of English author, Jan Struther. Although the film went on to win six Academy Awards and cement the reputation of its stars Greer Garson and Walter Pidgeon, there was far more than celebrity status at stake during its 1942 release. As an example of artistic propaganda, a film that drives home a message while maintaining creative credibility, it remains second to none.

Mrs. Miniver in its cinematic incarnation bears little resemblance to the Times newspaper column by Jan Struther. Charting the day-to-day dramas of an ordinary British housewife, Mrs Miniver was a reflection of Struther’s own interactions — entertaining but far from extraordinary. As the advent of World War II began, the daily machinations became darker, with allusions to the war more frequent and impactful. Although Wyler’s adaptation is far grittier than the quaint source material, Struther was impressed with the film, stressing her own belief that the threat of war should be palpable in order to garner Allied support, particularly from the U.S., who were reluctant to get involved.

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This sentiment was echoed by Wyler, who was more keenly aware of wartime realities than his Hollywood counterparts, and as a result, remained adamant that his film be a means of rallying the troops, showing Americans that the threat posed by Germany was very real and very much their damn business. Part of the uniqueness of the Mrs. Miniver message is the way in which it presents danger lurking in the most domestic and out-of-action spheres. Wyler was a self-proclaimed war monger who felt citizens all across America needed to have their eyes opened to the threat posed by Hitler. To achieve this, he altered the comparatively meandering feel of Struther’s columns to present what screenwriter Talbot Jennings in A Rose for Mrs. Miniver would describe as “just the right British for us”, a sense that they (the British people) were ready and willing to fight, and therefore so too should the U.S. There was to be no question of delicacy. As far as Wyler was concerned, Mrs. Miniver would be a propaganda film, one which would address his concern that “Americans were being isolationists." And nothing instills fear in the average homeowner quite like a Nazi falling into the backyard.

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Through the heartfelt tale of Mrs. Miniver, Wyler was able to show America the necessity of joining the fight, to garner support from not only the public but also the fat cats of Hollywood who had been reluctant to take sides. These studio powers were wary of any interference to European sales, and whilst happy to greenlight projects that showed support for the Allies, overt offense was off-limits, and therefore so was any depiction that might be antagonistic towards that naughty l’il Führer. In short, Hollywood and the citizens of the U.S. were, by and large, oblivious to the idea that it could or should be as involved in war as Europe, and remained on the fence until war became inevitable.

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The sense that Mrs. Miniver was relevant to everyone was enhanced by the sheer normality of the opening scenes: a middle class family with middle-class concerns — in this instance, whether one should buy a hat, and casual political disagreements within the household. These frivolous issues are swiftly overridden with the declaration of war, at which point the film does an about-face from quaint domestic comedy to a powerful story of family in wartime. Each character, young, old, mother, daughter, socialist, aristocrat, are all fighting the same fight, serving as a demonstration that the realities of war can and will hit any class, any gender, and any country. In one way or another. Mrs. Miniver is everyone’s story.

There is an art to the film, if not a subtlety. Screenwriters had been pleading with studios for permission to make anti-Nazi films which would show more of the atrocites being committed by Hitler in Germany, but were met with lukewarm approval. It took Wyler’s no-more-farting-around approach to inject a much-needed reality check into Hollywood and the cinema-going public, as he constantly fought with MGM founder Louis B. Mayer, who was shocked at his director’s interpretation of Struther’s German pilot (Helmut Dantine) who falls into the yard of an unsuspecting Kay Miniver (Garson). Initially written as a more sympathetic. haracter at the mercy of circumstance, Wyler took it upon himself to show the pilot as the epitome of viciousness, a launch-code and Persian cat away from pantomime. Mayer was aghast, resulting in several heated exchanges between producer and director, with the latter defending his interpretation as a mere “shadow of the nastiness that’s going on over there.” Mayer remained adamant that the film would be less focused on propaganda, insisting the German characters remain off-screen. This was not entirely out of a concern for sales or creative merit but also a reality of the times, with the Hays Office having banned the making of anti-Nazi films until 1940.

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According to Nicholas Wapshott in his book, The Sphinx: Franklin Roosevelt, the Isolationists, and the Road to World War II, the U.S. Ambassador to England, Joseph Kennedy, had also instructed studios to stop making pro-British and anti-German films due to his belief that “British defeat was imminent” and with “England licked, the party’s over.” Eddie Mannix, Mayer’s assistant and more commonly known as a Hollywood “fixer” sided with Wyler, believing that “someone should salute England,” and that a somewhat more aggressive Mrs. Miniver would be an appropriate acknowledgement to their efforts. As far as Wyler was concerned, acknowledgements shmoledgments. Refusing to compromise, the director insisted that with only one German character, he would need to be “a typical Nazi son of a bitch…not a friendly little pilot but one of Goering's monsters.”

Dealing in hypotheticals is a tricky business, and it took a direct assault on the U.S. to change Mayer’s mind. The attack of Pearl Harbor proved to be the wakeup call Hollywood needed, resulting in Mayer’s decision to allow the now infamous scene. In his authorized biography, Wyler stated that he found satisfaction in a film’s “contribution to the thinking of the people” and with the release of Mrs. Miniver achieved more than he could have imagined. With its clear message, the heroics of off-screen characters and stoicism of its central family, Mrs. Miniver refuses to entertain the idea that Hitler was just a disgruntled painter with daddy issues, or that Nazis simply didn’t know better, but instead presents a clear-cut case of Good versus Evil, an Us versus Them dynamic with beauty, charisma, and tragedy in unlikely places. The death of Carol (Teresa Wright) is a noteworthy reminder of the impact of war and the necessity of fighting the good fight on all fronts. The tragedy of her death lies not just in her youth and bravery throughout, but in its irony — her fears for her husband, Vin (Richard Ney), go unfounded, while it is she who falls victim to German machine gun fire on the way home from the village flower show. Anyone. Anywhere. Anytime.

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A critical and commercial success, Mrs. Miniver topped the box office with its initial release grossing more than any MGM film of the time. Needless to say, its message was spreading like wildfire amongst the public and became one of the most important weapons of allied forces. Nearing the end of the film, the Vicar (Henry Wilcoxon) delivers a sermon in a bombed-out church, in which he delcares the fight to be “the war of the people, of all the people. And it must be fought not only on the battlefield…”. So rousing was the response that President Roosevelt requested MGM translate the scene into multiple languages, which were then recorded and air-dropped over German-occupied territory, as well as being printed in national magazines. Winston Churchill's response was less grand but equally enthusiastic, declaring the film to be “propaganda worth 100 battleships”, while none other than Nazi Propaganda Minister (and Satan incarnate) Joseph Goebbells cited it as a movie with “a profound propagandistic tendency (which) has up to now only been dreamed of."

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and Goebbells attempted the ultimate compliment by making a German version of his newest obsession, switching the narrative to the story of residents in a Berlin apartment complex as they attempt to live their lives during enemy bombings. The hero, a scientist and patriot, is hell-bent on creating a weapon to destroy the enemy and bring freedom to the country. Titled Life Goes On, the film encountered multiple setbacks including the nuisance of key landmarks being bombed prior to filming, civilians too preoccupied with rescuing their possessions from rubble to smize at the camera, and cities being destroyed before camera and catering arrived. Needless to say, these issues proved more difficult to navigate than the odd rain delay. Facing imminent defeat, Goebbells became less concerned with making Mrs. Miniver Goes To Berlin, with no remaining footage of the abandoned project save for the original storyboards, newsreel footage of the production, and of course, its inspiration, Wyler’s own Mrs. Miniver.