Fury (1936)

Fury (Fritz Lang, 1936) Fritz Lang's first American film (after fleeing Nazi Germany) taking on a compelling story that, like his German work, exposes the cracks of society within a strong story narrative, this time focusing on this country's scourge of lynching and the fragile way that rights can be trampled by mob rule and political cowardice. Although somewhat compromised by a last-minute studio mandate to tack on a more happy ending to the story, it plumbs the depths of the cruelty that humans can do to each other. 

 

The heads at M-G-M had good reason to be scared. Spencer Tracy stars as an ordinary Joe—Joe Wilson, in fact—engaged to Katherine Grant (Sylvia Sidney) but too poor to get married. Katherine decides to leave Chicago to take a job in the town of Strand, hoping to save enough money so she can come back and marry Joe. For his part, Joe stays in the Windy City with his two brothers, Tom and Charlie, who are mixed in with organized crime. Joe convinces them to go straight and together they open a gas station, which turns enough of a profit that Joe decides to not wait the full year as intended and takes a car to Strand to bring Katherine home, writing her to tell her the time and place they will meet.

His timing could be better. Stopping to camp out half-way between the two cities, he reads about a kidnapping and thinks nothing of it—tomorrow, he'll be in the town of Strand and starting a new life with Katherine.

 

He has no idea that by the next time tomorrow night, his life will be over.

The next morning, driving up to Strand to meet Katherine, he's pulled over by a cop (Walter Brennan) for his out-of-state plates, suspicious that they might be tied to the kidnappers. When told to empty his pockets, Joe tells him that all he has in his pockets are peanuts that he munches on. "Whole shell?" asks the cop. Yes. That's enough reason to bring him to the sheriff (Edward Ellis), and Joe's questioned about the peanuts—the ransom note had traces of peanut dust on them—and about a $5 bill he's carrying—part of the ransom. Joe protests his innocence and tells the Sheriff to call his brothers, they'll vouch for him. The sheriff, being cautious, puts Joe in a holding cell and tells him he'll do some digging.

Pretty soon—thanks to a little of the arresting cop's bragging and encouragement from what they used to call an "outside agitator" (Bruce Cabot) passing through town—a  crowd starts to gather outside the jail, wanting to talk to the sheriff about the prisoner, demanding to see him. The sheriff posts a guard outside the jail and tells them that there's an investigation and that the prisoner is innocent until proven guilty and protected by the law. The city council is also riled up, but are told the district attorney is looking into the case, but hasn't called back, and they should be patient, despite what the news might bring to the town. He also warns them that unless things come under a little bit more control, he's going to call the National Guard on the crowd.

But, the district attorney is told that the Governor won't send out the Guard—towns don't like troops descending on them and making such a move would be a risky political move. By now, the sheriff and his men have moved back inside the jail because the mob has started throwing bricks and refuse at them. Stymied by the locked and barricaded door, the crowd decides to ram it in and take Joe by force. The police fight them off.

By this time, Katherine has been waiting awhile for Joe at their rendezvous and wondering what's happened to him. She's informed that the Strand police have arrested a "Joe Wilson" for the big kidnapping and he's being held in the town jail. Alarmed, Katherine runs to the town to find what's going on. What she finds is a scene right out of hell...and being filmed for the news reels.

Joe is trapped inside the jail as it's set on fire and can only plead with the crowd as they jeer outside, screaming for his death. As if to seal the deal, one of the mob throws dynamite through a cell window and it explodes. The jail burns to the ground. In the morning, the headlines are also screaming, but the town has fallen silent. When the sheriff's office starts their investigation, the town is substantially quieter, no one is willing to speak, lest they themselves get arrested and the district attorney is having trouble drawing up a case. But, wait...remember that news-reel film? In lieu of selfies, it goes a long way to identifying the perp's.

The district attorney indicts twenty-two people...but for what crime? It's not murder, because no body has been found in all the debris. The newsreel footage shows Joe was in the building, but, due to lack of forensic evidence, it looks like the rioters will get away scot-free. Will there be no justice for poor Joe?

Well, don't feel so bad for "poor Joe." It seems he escaped death, and reveals himself to his brothers staying in town to help authorities. And Joe is mad. Mad that the mob who wanted him to burn to death may not getting everything that's coming to him. He wants the death penalty for all of them, and he's willing to do whatever it takes—in secret—to make sure that they're punished for his death...even though he's still alive. He wants to teach a lesson. But, the lesson is not what he thinks. For Joe has become just as vengeful as the mob that burned down the jail. He has become as bad as they were.

 

Revenge stories have always left a bad taste in my eyes. They perpetuate the myth of "an eye for an eye"—which only makes people more blind. And movies—action movies, thrillers, "adventure" movies—are full of these types of themes, giving an impotent public a visceral thrill, supposedly balancing the books—but with a sledge-hammer. What makes Fury different is that it dares to show consequences where the hunter of tigers...actually becomes the tiger. It shows the lynched become the lyncher. And it's not pretty. It's not even satisfying. It is a wrong piled on top of a wrong and Fury knows it's not right. Sure, the mob is vilified. They should be. But, in seeking his revenge, Joe becomes a villain, too. There's no "they got what they deserved" satisfaction to it when the victim becomes a vigilante with murder on his mind. Lang had just come away from a society that lost any sense of justice and lived by the twisted morals of the mob.

 

He found the same symptoms in America. He'd still find them today.