The Americanization of Emily

The Americanization of Emily (Arthur Hiller, 1964) Talk about making a silk purse out of a sow's ear.

On this day before the anniversary of D-Day, let's take a look at one of the movies that featured that turning-point in the second World War. But, where most movies or books treat that fateful attack with respect and even reverence, this movie is satirical...and smart....while still being a member of that branch of cinema known as "the service comedy."

The original novel of "The Americanization of Emily" was written by William Bradford Huie (he also wrote "The Execution of Private Slovik", "Mud on the Stars"—which was adapted by Elia Kazan as Wild River—and "The Revolt of Mamie Stover") and although there are some similarities in characters and incidents, characterizations are slightly different as refracted through the typewriter of Paddy Chayevsky. 

The other difference is in attitude. In the novel, "Americanization" is a synonym for prostitution, as British women are assumed to be more loose sexually in the face of having access to wartime contraband normally rationed during the conflict. Chayevsky tones it down a bit by implying that "Americanization" is merely being influenced by American bootlegging. "Influence" might be a polite term.

It's the anticipatory days of the D-Day Invasion of Normandy and Britain is flush with military of every ally and stripe. None are more prevalent than the Americans. Cutting a considerable swath through the vulnerable island-country is Lt. Commander Charles "Charlie" Madison (James Garner), assistant to Navy Admiral William Jessup (Melvyn Douglas), who has assigned him a cushy job—in the parlance, he's a "dog robber," a fixer, although the less colloquial term might be procurer. It is Charlie's heady task to bring comfort to the allies—the entitled officers and the higher-up the better. For the buying of favors and political influence is its own kind of war, strategic and cut-throat. Charlie's had enough of the other kind. Having survived at Guadalcanal, Charlie had a change of heart about his role in the effort; having seen so many brave men die, he has figured out that the best way to survive it is to be a coward. He became as he says "a self-preservationist." Hence, his job change.

It is Charlie's heady task to make the lives of the higher rank-and-file officers more comfortable and, thus, more malleable in their negotiations by providing them whatever they want—women (mostly "although individual tastes may vary")—local girls who can be persuaded by giving them dresses, fine food, things they're not used to in their severely rationed country to be escorts and discretely silent—as well as liquor—top-shelf—cigars, fine foods, and the services and linens to display them on, clothes for the women (because the men are in their uniform finery), perfumes...and the ever-present Hershey's chocolate bars. The women are seen as a commodity, like the others, bargaining chips merely. They are supplies as surely as the guns, the ammunition, they shoot and the transports that ferry them to and fro...even to Normandy.

This may be upsetting in the era of "MeToo" but one can also make a case that the soldiers are mere commodities, as well, counting more as strength in numbers, than as individuals. One can fall as long as there are replacements who can take their position and, hopefully, last a foot farther in the advance.

Into this capitalist quagmire steers Emily Barham (Julie Andrews) of the motor-pool and self-described prig, whose job is to chauffeur the uniforms around—men-drivers being in short supply at the moment—and doing their part to help "the war effort" in any capacity they can. She is, at first, repulsed by Charlie and his proffered hedonism in a time of sacrifice, but he's a charming rogue—"a rascal" as she calls him—but, his cynicism and forthrightness about it makes him stand out, as does his philosophy of staying out of the action, which is attractive to a recent war-widow, whose family has its share of empty chairs at the dinner table and pictures on a shrine of a wall. Charlie, given his stance, may be around a bit longer for anyone sentimental enough to be thinking about the future, especially a future without loss.

If it wasn't for the bloody war. World wars have a way of getting in everybody's business. And this one conspires to separate Emily from Charlie and Charlie from his life. The Admiral, suffering from grief over the death of his wife, and seeing the Navy's role in the invasion as merely support, wakes up from a drunken stupor with an overarching idea that just may improve the position of the Navy—"The first dead man on Omaha Beach must be a sailor!" ("Was there a contest?" Emily will ask, aghast, later). And so Charlie is volunteered to storm Omaha Beach while his until-recently roguish friend-turned PR enthusiast "Bus" (James Coburn) commands a film crew documenting his efforts and probable death.

It is Charlie's worst nightmare. Not only is he back in a fire-zone, but he's doing it for the reason he knows and understands best—exploitation. But, if a man has to die for something, shouldn't it be as something more than a mere symbol and a ploy to get attention for a better share of budget appropriations? Sure, a man can get killed for doing the right thing and for being noble—as per Charlie's earlier arguments regarding his belief in cowardice*—but, not as a bargaining chip. Maybe there are distinctions and higher purposes. Maybe Charlie has to be fed some of his own medicine to concede such things exist and are worth the fight.

A lot of people don't get past that first caustic hour of Madison monologing his new religion, and it's too bad because the second half turns it on its ear through the blackest of comedy and the absurdity of herd-instinct, military protocol and "Mad Men" thinking. Chayevsky does not temper his language and uses it with scalpel-like precision. You'll find that in this screenplay, he does some deft "three-peating" to get laughs and make points, and it's not enough for one character to see the error of his ways (as would be a typical, safe goal for a movie resolution), but it's much more tougher for two lovers to switch roles as they grow together and are separated by crossing both intellectual and emotional paths coming through the wry. It's a twist that would challenge O. Henry, while keeping its satiric edge while providing a nice, neat (and slightly provocative) comfort zone.

Both stars, Julie Andrews (this was only her second film) and James Garner, have said that, of all of the films they made, The Americanization of Emily was their favorite.

They would appear together again in Victor, Victoria (directed by Blake Edwards) in 1982.

* A chance to revel in some Chayevsky: 

"War isn't hell at all. It's man at his best; the highest morality he's capable of. It's not war that's insane, you see. It's the morality of it. It's not greed or ambition that makes war: it's goodness. Wars are always fought for the best of reasons: for liberation or manifest destiny. Always against tyranny and always in the interest of humanity. So far this war, we've managed to butcher some ten million humans in the interest of humanity. Next war it seems we'll have to destroy all of man in order to preserve his damn dignity. It's not war that's unnatural to us, it's virtue. As long as valor remains a virtue, we shall have soldiers. So, I preach cowardice. Through cowardice, we shall all be saved."