And so the
debate continues, with Sullivan arguing for something that will "realize
the potentialities of film as the sociological and artistic medium that it
is," and the executives arguing for the profitability of entertainment. Partly through
the power that his position as a successful director allows him, partly through
sheer stubbornness, Sullivan eventually gets his way, and, disguised as a
tramp, he embarks on a trip to gather material for his picture at first hand.
An unlikely chain of events leads him to confront contemporary social
conditions rather more forcefully than he had anticipated, as a prisoner on a
chain gang. A night at a picture show, the prisoners' only form of
"escape" from their imprisonment, convinces Sullivan of the importance
of entertainment cinema. He eventually returns to Hollywood with renewed
commitment to musicals and comedies.
Sullivan’s
Travels is
itself a product of the multiple logics that shape Hollywood's commercial aesthetic,
as well as a discourse upon them. It rationalizes a commitment to entertainment
cinema as socially responsible. It acknowledges the world of the audience's
response while framing that world within its own conventions. Like Sullivan, it
enacts a compromise, and ends up operating somewhere between social commentary
and slapstick comedy. It satirizes Hollywood and the studio system, but
endorses its capacity to bring pleasure to even the most oppressed. It portrays
the misery of the chain gang with at least as much authenticity as any other
Hollywood movie, and then abandons its critique of American judicial
institutions as soon as Sullivan regains his identity. It is neither slavishly
"escapist" nor unremittingly dedicated to the social realism toward
which it intermittently gestures. Its drive toward profitability has to be
balanced against any social statement it wishes to make.
As a network of competing and
conflicting impulses, Sullivan’s Travels helps to break down our more
monolithic conceptions of Hollywood. We see Hollywood divided against itself,
its various agents in competition and conflict with each other. As Lebrand, Hadrian, and Sullivan debate the most appropriate
social role for cinema, contradictions are raised and explored, and aspirations
set against each other. The resonances of these multiple logics inform our
understanding of the subsequent story at every level. At the end of the plot
the contradictions are tidied up, and Sullivan returns to making Ants in
Your Plants of 1941. We are left with an image of Hollywood as a site of
conflicting voices, held together in tension by the forces that cross it. In
this complex network, a movie is most usefully understood as an object crossed
and shaped by many (often contradictory) intentions and logics, each
transforming it more or less visibly and more or less effectively. As opposed
to auteurism, which supposes and expects a movie to
be narratively, thematically, and formally coherent, a view of the production
process that acknowledges its multiple logics and voices will recognize that
Hollywood's commercial aesthetic is too opportunistic to prize coherence,
organic unity, or even the absence of contradiction among its primary virtues.
This is not, of course, to argue
that Hollywood prizes incoherence, disunity, or contradiction as virtues in
themselves. Like most Hollywood movies, Sullivan’s Travels tells a
perfectly comprehensible (if absurd) story, in which characters' desires
motivate their actions and causes have effects. It provides a good example of
what Kristin Thompson sees as "the glory of the Hollywood system,"
its unobtrusive craftsmanship and "its ability to allow its finest
scriptwriters, directors, and other creators to weave an intricate web of
character, event, time and space that can seem transparently obvious.”
None of the technical facility of its narrative construction, however, can
resolve the contradictions embedded in the movie's exploitation of poverty and
glamorization of suffering. Sullivan's Travels retreats from the
implications of its satire, abandoning its caustic critique to celebrate
"the motley mountebanks, the clowns, the buffoons
... whose efforts have lightened our burden a little." Its retreat does not, however, eradicate the
critique that preceded it. As critic Robert Stam
argues, the movie appears to endorse the dichotomy of art and business in
Hollywood, "between serious message pictures (what Veronica Lake
disparagingly calls 'deep dish movies') on the one hand, and mindless
entertainment on the other ... between 0
Brother, Where Art Thou? and Hay Hay in the Hay Loft!" In its own enactment of this dichotomy,
however, “Sullivan’s Travels is
itself both instructive and pleasurable, entertaining and comic."
Maltby, Hollywood Cinema, 51-52