There's Always Tomorrow (1956)
March 5, 2023 8:30 PM - Subscribe
When a toy manufacturer feels ignored and unappreciated by his wife and children, he begins to rekindle a past love when a former employee comes back into his life.
There's Always Tomorrow is a 1956 American romantic melodrama film directed by Douglas Sirk starring Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, and Joan Bennett. It was produced by Ross Hunter and distributed by Universal-International Pictures on January 8, 1956. The screenplay, based on a novel by Ursula Parrott, is by Bernard C. Schoenfeld, which tells the tales of a toy-maker's unhappiness with his domestic life and his seeking of an exciting adventure with an old flame who pops into town.
Christopher Sharrett: The final scene of family restoration provides a remarkably subversive conclusion that shows Sirk at his usual best, messing with the happy endings Hollywood demanded (spoiler alert). A thoroughly depressed and distracted Cliff returns to the House Beautiful living room, his kids wanting his attention now that their financial well-being and the old order of things have been assured. Norma leaves, Cliff stays put. Cliff glances out of a window at a passing plane—cut to Norma on the plane crying inconsolably, “Blue Moon” on the soundtrack. Marion walks over to Cliff, takes his arm as if he were a hospital patient, and walks him out of the scene. Cliff, looking zombiefied, remarks, “You know me better than I know myself,” his little flirtation with real human emotion over. Nothing in the film warrants the line, which MacMurray undercuts with his performance, suggestive of a man willing to be led to his execution. Sirk underscores the moment’s dread with a final shot of the monstrous children grinning admiringly at the “handsome couple” through the bars of a decorative room divider. No image could be more condemnatory of family life. It concludes a film that may be Sirk’s most underappreciated contribution to the melodrama. Its relative neglect is all the more incomprehensible since its comment on domestic life in postwar America is more caustic than its somewhat more spectacular companion films of the same period.
Aubyn: One look at the movie still above gives you a fair idea on what kind of movie There's Always Tomorrow is supposed to be: the happily married couple allied against the homewrecker. In Douglas Sirk's hands, however, the film becomes a bitter, achingly sad story about a man trapped in a life that is suffocating him to death. The reviews of the time summed it up as a "sudser" and "soap opera" which puzzles me a little since most soap operas have a lot more plot than this film, where most of the action takes place within the character's minds, within their changing views of each other. In comparison to Sirk's other films, this one is more like a chamber piece, shot in beautiful, gloomy black-and-white that turns a large suburban house into a Xanadu-like prison.
Keith Phipps: The film’s final act finds Groves wrestling with realization as his relationship with Norma endangers the home and life he’s built for himself and his family, a life he now seems willing to throw away. There’s Always Tomorrow brings him to the edge of that choice, and makes it look appealing and perilous at the same time. Norma eventually gives Groves’ kids a what-for speech that’s a little too direct for the film’s good, but up to that point, it’s remarkably subtle, employing a few blunt touches with remarkable effectiveness. At one point, Groves compares himself to Rex, the wind-up robot. When he makes his ultimate choice about whether to stay or leave, it’s Rex in the foreground. Even if he stays with his family and the madness of his old love passes, he might not have been wrong about the life awaiting him on the other side of doing the right thing. There’s always tomorrow, until there isn’t.
Trailer
There's Always Tomorrow is a 1956 American romantic melodrama film directed by Douglas Sirk starring Barbara Stanwyck, Fred MacMurray, and Joan Bennett. It was produced by Ross Hunter and distributed by Universal-International Pictures on January 8, 1956. The screenplay, based on a novel by Ursula Parrott, is by Bernard C. Schoenfeld, which tells the tales of a toy-maker's unhappiness with his domestic life and his seeking of an exciting adventure with an old flame who pops into town.
Christopher Sharrett: The final scene of family restoration provides a remarkably subversive conclusion that shows Sirk at his usual best, messing with the happy endings Hollywood demanded (spoiler alert). A thoroughly depressed and distracted Cliff returns to the House Beautiful living room, his kids wanting his attention now that their financial well-being and the old order of things have been assured. Norma leaves, Cliff stays put. Cliff glances out of a window at a passing plane—cut to Norma on the plane crying inconsolably, “Blue Moon” on the soundtrack. Marion walks over to Cliff, takes his arm as if he were a hospital patient, and walks him out of the scene. Cliff, looking zombiefied, remarks, “You know me better than I know myself,” his little flirtation with real human emotion over. Nothing in the film warrants the line, which MacMurray undercuts with his performance, suggestive of a man willing to be led to his execution. Sirk underscores the moment’s dread with a final shot of the monstrous children grinning admiringly at the “handsome couple” through the bars of a decorative room divider. No image could be more condemnatory of family life. It concludes a film that may be Sirk’s most underappreciated contribution to the melodrama. Its relative neglect is all the more incomprehensible since its comment on domestic life in postwar America is more caustic than its somewhat more spectacular companion films of the same period.
Aubyn: One look at the movie still above gives you a fair idea on what kind of movie There's Always Tomorrow is supposed to be: the happily married couple allied against the homewrecker. In Douglas Sirk's hands, however, the film becomes a bitter, achingly sad story about a man trapped in a life that is suffocating him to death. The reviews of the time summed it up as a "sudser" and "soap opera" which puzzles me a little since most soap operas have a lot more plot than this film, where most of the action takes place within the character's minds, within their changing views of each other. In comparison to Sirk's other films, this one is more like a chamber piece, shot in beautiful, gloomy black-and-white that turns a large suburban house into a Xanadu-like prison.
Keith Phipps: The film’s final act finds Groves wrestling with realization as his relationship with Norma endangers the home and life he’s built for himself and his family, a life he now seems willing to throw away. There’s Always Tomorrow brings him to the edge of that choice, and makes it look appealing and perilous at the same time. Norma eventually gives Groves’ kids a what-for speech that’s a little too direct for the film’s good, but up to that point, it’s remarkably subtle, employing a few blunt touches with remarkable effectiveness. At one point, Groves compares himself to Rex, the wind-up robot. When he makes his ultimate choice about whether to stay or leave, it’s Rex in the foreground. Even if he stays with his family and the madness of his old love passes, he might not have been wrong about the life awaiting him on the other side of doing the right thing. There’s always tomorrow, until there isn’t.
Trailer
that his kids need to love him more so he won't cheat
This was in A Philadelphia Story too, where it was Katherine Hepburn's fault her father cheated, because she was too "cold". I wonder if this showed up in other places.
posted by trig at 3:06 AM on March 6, 2023 [3 favorites]
This was in A Philadelphia Story too, where it was Katherine Hepburn's fault her father cheated, because she was too "cold". I wonder if this showed up in other places.
posted by trig at 3:06 AM on March 6, 2023 [3 favorites]
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posted by Carillon at 8:35 PM on March 5, 2023