As one of the fiction editors at Beyond Bars, I am, it should come as no surprise, fascinated by stories, and how those stories reflect the time and audience for whom they are initially told. When we discussed ideas for blog topics for the Beyond Bars website, I thought it would be interesting to look at how movies from different time periods show the carceral system. I should note that I am neither a film critic nor a film historian. Most of the movies featured here will be first-time watches for me as well. My plan with this series is for each entry to focus on a single movie, mention some of the responses others have made, and highlight aspects I particularly respond to. I hate when reviewers reveal major plot points, so I will try to avoid this as much as possible. One further note: there are a number of excellent and important silent-era films that deal with the carceral system, and you can watch some, such as Maurice Tourneur’s drama/thriller Alias Jimmy Valentine (1915) and Buster Keaton’s two-reel comedy Convict 13 on YouTube for free. I have decided to focus on sound films (aka talking pictures or talkies).

With that out of the way, let’s talk about the first movie I have chosen for this series: 1930’s The Big House. The Big House represents one of, if not the first, talkies to highlight the conditions within the carceral system. In his 2003 review for TCM, Michael T. Toole writes that The Big House also helped “creat[e] and defin[e] the prison movie genre [by] revealing the harsh environment, rampant paranoia and grimy reality of prison life.” The screenplay was written by Frances Marion, who researched the living conditions at San Quentin and took note of characteristics and jargon of those who were incarcerated there. Her attention to detail adds believability to the characters. The screenplay received an Academy Award and made Marion the first woman to win an Academy Award in a non-acting field. The direction, the use of natural lighting, the set design, and editing all stand out as well.

The Big House represents one of, if not the first, talkies to highlight the conditions within the carceral system.

What I found myself drawn to most, however, were the film’s characters, which at times are surprisingly complex. The movie’s opening scene focuses on a man (played by Robert Montgomery) entering the prison for the first time. We watch the process through which the system strips him of his identity, replacing his name with a number, his clothes with prison-issued attire, and finally confiscating his belongings, telling him that he will get them back when his sentence concludes. The methodical way this is rendered, as if there is nothing particularly special about this man or about the process he is going through, has a chilling effect.

The relationship between the two main incarcerated characters is the most compelling part of the movie, and it is a relationship that continues to swing from one emotional extreme to another, sometimes within the same scene. In one scene we watch the two men, Butch (played by Wallace Beery) and Morgan (played by Chester Morris) mourn a loss together in the yard. In a subsequent scene, the two almost come to blows during a fixed insect race and appear on the verge of killing each other. Soon after, we see these same two reassuring each other during a scene when both have been placed in solitary confinement. Their relationship, which forms the heart of the movie, continues to be complex throughout, and it is what I have continued to reflect on.

Between the two actors, it is Wallace Beery’s portrayal of Butch that steals the show. Butch has no legitimate hope of getting out of prison, and Beery’s portrayal is full of a simmering—and sometimes not-so-simmering—anger. Butch oscillates between intimidating and sympathetic, and whenever he is on screen, his presence is felt. In a sequence in the mess hall, Butch nearly incites a riot over the poor quality of the food being served. This sequence, where we see Butch’s indignation explode, showcases the power of Beery’s performance.

The Big House comes from the pre-code era of Hollywood, a period of time when films were allowed to be more daring before the Hays Code of censorship and guidelines came into effect in 1934, and I wonder how the code might have restricted this movie. Fortunately, what we get is a daring film that, over ninety years later, offers us compelling characters and a still effective, suspenseful finale.

Starring: Chester Morris, Wallace Beery, Lewis Stone, Robert Montgomery, and Leila Hyams
Directed: George Hill
Screenplay: Frances Marion
88 Minutes Black and White

About The Author:

James A. Jordan (Editor) is pursuing his PhD at Georgia State. He has served as a contest coordinator for the Tennessee Williams/New Orleans Literary Festival and as an assistant editor for Five Points. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Bitter Southerner, Carve, The Greensboro Review, New South, North American Review, Quarterly West, The Saturday Evening Post Online, and The Trinity Review among others. He received his MFA from the University of New Orleans.