Face in the Crowd, A

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"There's nothing as trustworthy as the ordinary mind--of the ordinary man."
--Lonesome Rhodes

The late 1940s and early 50s ushered in a new era--the era of television. And with it came a number of new and continuing phenomena. It meant that Hollywood had to come up with novel ways to lure people back into theaters now that free shows could be seen at home. Fads like 3-D, ActionScope, Emergo, Smell-O-Vision, and countless other gimmicks came and went, while more substantial fashions like widescreen pictures, stereo sound, and "message" movies gained in popularity.

"A Face in the Crowd" was one such message picture, a black comedy about the rise and fall of a pop-culture media star that offered moviegoers a chance to ponder some ideas they might never have encountered on commercial TV, where sponsors had to be appeased and conservatism was the rule of thumb. Then, too, "A Face in the Crowd" delivered a double whammy: It not only made viewers think critically, it made them think critically about the very entertainment medium they had come to cherish--television.

Released in 1957, "A Face in the Crowd" is as meaningful today as when it was made, nearly fifty years ago. Perhaps it was even prophetic, although one could easily see its import coming. Television reached into virtually everybody's home, not only with sound but with sight. It had, as it continues to have, the potential for creating instant celebrities, for making nobodies into somebodies overnight. Such power in the mass media could have tremendous positive value as well as devastatingly evil consequences, not only for the making of TV wonders but for those pushing their own political, social, and economic issues. Elections could be won or lost on the very image of those running for office; products, people, and ideas could be sold to millions at a single shot; and yesterday's school teachers and accountants could become superstars overnight.

You think it doesn't happen? Ponder the influence of Bill O'Reilly on today's tube. Where was he before television? Teaching high school among other things. Or consider Ray Romano ("Everybody Loves Raymond"). I read recently that he is the highest paid actor in television history. Like Bob Newhart, he was an accountant become striking it rich in television comedy.

All of which brings us back to "A Face in the Crowd," which was written by a fellow who knew television inside out, Budd Schulberg. Schulberg had already scripted scores of TV shows by the time he came to "A Face in the Crowd," as well as writing "Nuremberg," "On the Waterfront," "The Harder They Fall," and the satiric novel, "What Makes Sammy Run?"

Equally important, "A Face in the Crowd" came from noted director Elia Kazan, a filmmaker who seemed incapable of producing anything but serious subject matter. Movies like "Gentleman's Agreement," "Pinky," "Panic in the Streets," "A Streetcar Named Desire," "Viva Zapata," "On the Waterfront," "East of Eden," "Baby Doll," "Splendor in the Grass," and "The Last Tycoon" attest to his willingness to delve into controversial themes that TV was reluctant to touch. Ironically, both Schulberg's and Kazan's liberal stance in moviemaking was countered by their willingness to speak before the House Un-American Activities Committee in the early fifties, adding names to the Hollywood blacklist and infuriating most of the Hollywood community.

Anyway, "A Face in the Crowd" is, indeed, about a nobody who becomes a somebody overnight. Its lead is just such a talent, although not with the same devastating results. Andy Griffith rose to public attention first on Broadway in the play "No Time for Sergeants," followed by his first movie appearance in "A Face in the Crowd." But it was on television that Griffith would gain instant and lasting celebrity, becoming the beloved Sheriff Andy Taylor on the "Andy Griffith Show" in 1960, succeeded by lawyer Ben Matlock some quarter of a century later.

In "A Face in the Crowd" Griffith plays a variation of his own persona: a folksy, guitar-picking good-old-boy named Larry "Lonesome" Rhodes. But unlike Griffith's later characters, this one's got a mean streak in him. Rhodes is a broken-down, besotted, womanizing Arkansas hobo, who just happens to be charismatic as all get out when he needs to be.

When we first meet Rhodes, he's in a small-town jail for drunkenness and disorderly conduct. He's "discovered" there by a local radio-show personality looking for new and unusual talent among the ordinary citizenry. The radio host is Marcia Jeffries (Patricia Neal), and she sees in Rhodes a possibility for her show, "A Face in the Crowd," dubbing him "Lonesome" and persuading him to strum his guitar, sing a little, and tell a few stories on the air. It doesn't take much persuading to loosen Rhodes up; he's just lazy enough to fancy the idea of getting paid for doing virtually nothing but being himself. Besides, Rhodes is part old-time preacher and part old-time con man, so the whole gig is right up his alley.

Needless to say, with Marcia as his manager (and sometimes girlfriend) his popularity skyrockets. He signs on with a local television station and then gets his own nationally televised network show. As his ratings increase, so does the size of his head. Before long he's dizzy with newfound power. Whatever he says, the nation listens. He's more than the new Will Rogers; he's as influential as the President. As Lonesome says, "They love his voice, they love his guitar, they love his ideas!"

"In TV we have the greatest instrument for mass persuasion in the history of the world," says Lonesome's new sponsor, hoping to use his client to impact the country's social and political climate. The network turns Rhodes into a folk hero, a living legend, a "great American." The country begins to name ships after him, even mountains. Yet, despite the money, fame, and glory, he's still the lazy, corrupt, no-good con man he always was, now more contemptuous than ever of the masses he so easily sways.

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