A "Gone with the Wind" Retrospect

One of history's most celebrated and controversial stories, Gone with the Wind (1939), directed by Victor Fleming and adapted from Margaret Mitchell's novel of the same, is deserving of both such classifications.

And while many rightfully accuse the film's ignorant portrayal of a romanticised American South on the cusp of the Civil War, its stamp on Hollywood legacy is undeniable. From the sweeping direction, the poignant soundtrack, the gorgeous Technicolor, and the powerful performances of most cast members, save for some stereotypical personages, this movie should be recognised for what it is: a classic.

A few years ago many were calling for the censorship or modification of older productions on streaming platforms, and HBO Max's Gone with the Wind was a notable example, being temporarily removed then returned with historical context additions.

This raised an interesting discussion on how we should consume media of the past, now considered outdated, and whether the average person has the common sense to recognise obvious misrepresentations in older films.

Discussion

Having never seen this film before, I entered the experience with an open mind, as it is always best to watch the thing yourself and form one's own opinions, knowing how 1984 legacy media - or rather Big Brother - has become over the last decade. And, too be as honest and clear as crystal, if this movie was not so historically lauded I would have turned off the tv within the first ten minutes, if not the first minute.

The opening crawl reminisces on the "dream" (their words, not mine) of the American South before the Civil War, a time now "gone with the wind", while portraying the verdant scenery of the Georgian state populated with toiling slaves.

While the climate of 1930s America would have been more liberal than the mid-19th century setting, especially in response to growing European fascism at the time, with the film produced by two Californian studios and distributed by an Ohio-based theatre chain, one can't ignore the rather odd choice to label this period in history as a "dream".

The European Americans of this story do enjoy an opulent lifestyle that hardly promises the prospect of war until it is thrust upon its characters, but the cruel burdens of slavery - a life without rights - for the film's African Americans are never explicitly addressed. The cowardly Prissy is threatened with whipping by Scarlett O'Hara many times for her incompetence, and she is barred from entering a pub where Watling and Butler are hosting a party, but this is the most we are shown of true life in the South.

Now, to be fair, some reasonable changes from the book were made. The roles of the two highway robbers were swapped to make the white man the attempted rapist while the black man holds the horse, and Big Sam, a former slave from Tara, still saves the woman under attack. Furthermore, when Ashley and Frank enact revenge on the people responsible - describing their absence as a 'political meeting' - they do so without donning the white sheets of the Klan, which had been an unnecessary detail within the source material.

These changes, however, do not excuse the still glaring, overlooked story detail when it comes to the African American characters; even if some are depicted as virtuous, hardworking, or honest, their non-existent agency under slavery is never addressed. They act as mentors, friends, and saviours, but it's as if the creators didn't have the decency or the courage to observe their roles before and after the war. A real shame that casts a cloud over a film praised for its depiction of desperate humanity.

Nonetheless, to continue watching means getting to know the infamous protagonist of this story, wonderfully performed by her actress Vivien Leigh: Scarlett O'Hara. Rebellious yet stoic, selfish yet brave, a fascinating personage who frustrates the audience with her potential for good simmering underneath spoiled entitlement. One can't seem to hate her; even when she seems irredeemable the film throws Scarlett a curveball demanding that she rise to the occasion.

When her lifelong friend Melanie goes into labour amidst a siege by the "Yankees", Scarlett leaves her behind to seek out the city doctor, who can, obviously, only be occupied with treating wounded Confederates. Scarlett returns and, together with Prissy, delivers the baby despite the possibility of death. Upon escaping Atlanta and returning to her family's plantation, looted and razed by the Union, she vows to "never be hungry again", and together with black and white characters tends the cotton fields to earn a living.

You can't help but keep watching to learn what becomes of Scarlett, as she swings the pendulum from slave-owning narcissist to selfless fighter. And it's this moral whiplash which makes the film's final moments so impactful and memorable.

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." States Rhett Butler when leaving a now empty mansion, the magnetic opportunist who loved wealth and women, but never marriage, until he met Scarlett whose own heart belonged to Melanie's husband Ashley (quite the complicated melodrama half a century before Santa Barbara).

After Scarlett suffered unrequited love, financial hardship, existential crises, and had her life and others' rescued by Rhett when fleeing Atlanta, she finally agreed to marry him, to enjoy a life of indulgence and hedonism that stigmatised her in the eyes of her relatives, who still struggled to make ends meet after the war. And yet, it wasn't enough, because deep down Scarlett still yearned for Ashley's recognition, a man who never loved her and even admitted their differences in character, claiming that a married life together would only lead to strife.

Rhett handles his wife's tumultuous infatuation admirably, until the tragic death of their daughter while horse riding, and Scarlett's miscarriage of their second child. Following Melanie's death from her own stillbirth, Scarlett is given the choice of divorcing Rhett in favour of Ashley, and finally realises that she has wasted her life pursuing a man who could never love her. By now it's too late, as Rhett has fallen out of love himself, and with two children dead and the belief that Scarlett may never change, he leaves her life forever.

A relevant Bible verse comes to mind when reflecting on this picture: "What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?" (Matthew 16:26). Like in the first volume after the war, when Scarlett was at her zenith, she loses everything and everyone: her best friend, her true love, her husband, and both her children. It's bleak, and it's grim, but it is only here that Scarlett's arc begins, and the frustrating narcissist we've grown to hate is reborn.

Gone with the Wind can be remembered with both censure and fondness, because despite its obvious issues it teaches a very telling lesson. Rather than wasting one's years in fruitless pursuits, rather than taking the easy way out and forgetting those closest to us, we should love and appreciate all that we have, for in this gamble called life it can vanish in the blink of an eye. This realisation doesn't crush Scarlett's hopes, but revitalises them, "after all, tomorrow is another day!"