The world of art has often made a point of exploring the concept referred to as a “national novel”, which is defined as a work of literature that embodies every aspect of that country, encompassing both its history and present culture, and touching on many issues that are faced by their citizens, condensing them into what is normally a sprawling epic that defines the notion of what it means to hail from that country. There are many candidates for the title of the “great American novel”, with works by John Steinbeck, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Mark Twain (and many others) being amongst the most notable vying for the honour. However, if we move this discourse to the realm of cinema, it becomes both more challenging and interesting, since the same conversations have been had about many works of filmmaking that are seen to embody the essence of America. One of the leading candidates, and perhaps the most accurate, is A Place in the Sun, itself an adaptation of a notable novel by Theodore Dreiser, whose work bore the title of An American Tragedy, instantly situating this amongst conversations of works that convey the very sense of what it means to be American. George Stevens’ adaptation of Dreiser’s novel is an extraordinary achievement, and perhaps the most heartbreaking work of Americana produced outside of the war and western genres. A soaring drama that is fearless enough to actively not avoid traversing some very difficult subject matter, the film goes to some dark, demented places, both within the social structure of the postwar era, and in terms of the psychologies of its characters. Stevens was a profoundly gifted filmmaker, someone who could weave the most paltry material into beautifully poetic explorations of the human condition – and while some may point to the director’s subsequent film, Giant (which covers some familiar territory on its own) as being more compelling in how it captures the spirit of American life at the time, A Place in the Sun is still a staggering achievement, and a film that has rightly established itself as one of its era’s foremost candidates for the position of the Great American Film.

A challenge that has plagued many of even the most ardent devotees to this film is how does one begin to classify A Place in the Sun, especially at a time when American filmmaking was far more binary in its view than it became in subsequent years. Consisting of elements of melodrama, courtroom thriller and romance, this film is difficult to pin down into a singular set of ideas. Instead, where this film thrives is in how it presents some commentary, both in terms of the narrative and its execution, that is wildly different from many films being produced at the time. Dreiser’s novel was adapted before, but perhaps not in a way nearly as interesting as it was here, where the emphasis was removed from only being centred on the story (which is absolutely very compelling, but not the only aspect that needed to be in focus), and instead also gives a good portion of its attention to some of the other aspects that aren’t quite clear from a superficial glance. Tonally, A Place in the Sun is quite revolutionary, even if its deviations aren’t particularly distinct on their own – what we believe is going to be a quiet, brooding melodrama eventually becomes one of the most heartwrenching films on the subject of desire and psychological despair ever committed to film – yet so much of what is remembered about this film doesn’t make this particularly clear. Therefore, whether one is going in completely blind, or with a full knowledge of this film and its gradual descent into much bleaker territory, we can’t ever be fully prepared for the emotional tumultuousness of a film that feels extraordinarily simple in theory, but eventually proves itself to be a poignant, labyrinthine exploration of the psychological deterioration of a man who never quite knew what to make of himself, or the world around him.

At the outset, A Place in the Sun seems like another story of a young, unassuming man working his way up from rags to riches, making a success of himself and gradually becoming a formidable force in his own right. Yet, as evident by the original title of the source material, this gradually becomes a harrowing tragedy, pivoting towards a very dark, unsettling perspective on life midway through, which not only takes the audience by surprise, but also makes this a fundamentally more interesting work of art. Stevens weaves together an intricate tapestry of issues that were not only pressing at the time in which the novel was written, and the film was made (two very distinct periods that had their own added commentary by virtue of when they were produced, particularly occurring only a few years after two of the most devastating wars the world had ever seen), but carries over to the present day. A Place in the Sun certainly isn’t all that interested in overly complicated storytelling, and even at its most socially-potent, the film takes a more simple approach, which allows the more earnest commentary to emerge in a way that is far more heartbreaking and poignant than anything that could’ve been done with a more prosaic, conventional set of ideas. The narrative structure is familiar – as mentioned before, it really does take the form of a journey from innocence to education, but deviates sharply halfway through, when the film suddenly becomes less about the machinations of high society on its own, but also a harrowing account of the turmoil that afflicts the upper class with an outsider enters their ranks, gradually infiltrating their closely-guarded existence and making it his own, all the while concealing his own secrets that could potentially be fatal to the reputations of those who let him in. It’s a beautifully poetic approach to a very common narrative, which the director effortlessly transposes onto the screen in a manner that feels thoroughly genuine, and almost rebellious to the sensibilities of other works of art that portrayed the upper class as refined and free of such horrifying scandals as a cold-blooded murder.

A Place in the Sun is such a complex work, we’re in dire need of some guidance to get through it all – and accompanying us every step of the way is Montgomery Clift, who was an actor born for the role of George Eastman. He peddled in playing tortured characters that were navigating hostile worlds, perpetually being on the receiving end of bad luck at best, outright despair at worst. Eastman is a complex role that required an actor who wasn’t only able to play someone the audience could sympathize with, but also one that could cause us to question our own values, since he is not the embodiment of old-fashioned American values, which is the core of the film and the reason why he is such a compelling character. George is an outsider in every way – he’s a hard worker who doesn’t have traditional aspirations of success, with his desire being to live comfortably and not make much of an impression. Through being immersed in high society, he begins to lose sight of his moral grounding, to the point where he is willing to go against everything he knows to be right in order to get ahead, even if it means committing murder. Clift played many conflicted characters in his career, and even flirted with villainy on a few occasions. A Place in the Sun is something else entirely – he’s working from a place of pure anguish, embodying the suffering of an entire class of people who would do anything to get a taste of the good life, not realizing how these same psychological issues are just as prevalent in the upper-class. Even with a relatively small body of work, A Place in the Sun stands out in Clift’s career, to the point where incredible performances by Shelley Winters and Elizabeth Taylor, who are playing polar opposites that somehow intersect perfectly, don’t even register when compared to the film’s lead, who commands every moment with such a potent sense of melancholy. What makes Clift so compelling as an actor is that he possessed an almost hypnotic charm, and we simply can’t look away – the pain, longing and conflict present on Clift’s face, which was sharply contrasted by his immense, unconventional beauty, made us feel every emotion, guiding us through this dark voyage into the soul of a man who is not evil, but rather driven to these thoughts out of his own insecurity and inability to see beyond them.

This film functions as such a powerful and challenging deconstruction of the class system, and Stevens portrays every moment with an unimpeachable elegance, we don’t realize how dark this film actually is until we’re fully immersed in it. It is unapologetic and forthright – every moment is positively overflowing with emotionally-charged commentary that hints at some darker subject matter, which Stevens perfectly counteracts with a sophisticated character-driven drama. What makes A Place in the Sun such an earnest candidate for the title of greatest film on the subject of America – which Charlie Chaplin himself once quipped was a perfect descriptor what Stevens’ work – is that it doesn’t position the nation as being one without faults, nor does he necessarily create a situation where he’s preoccupied with critiquing every aspect of the country’s history, and how it functions socially, economically and culturally. Instead, the director finds the perfect balance, and creates a vivid, complex portrait of the class system that is hard-hitting without being heavy-handed, which was a legitimate concern when entering into this film, since it emerged during something of a renaissance of melodrama. Ultimately, A Place in the Sun is a stunning work, but not one that sits perched on a pedestal of striking beauty – it isn’t afraid to descend to harrowing depths, situating itself at the very margins of decency, showing enough restraint to allow the psychological machinations of its complex protagonist to push the film forward, rather than cause it to stagnate. It’s not a particularly easy film, and the tension evokes throughout can be unbearable at certain moments – but what it lacks in levity it more than compensates for in hauntingly beautiful statements on the volatility of existence, and how one’s life can change in an instant. It’s a deeply heartbreaking film, but one that finds a triumphant resonance in how honestly it addresses certain issues, and taken alongside some stunning performances and technical prowess by a filmmaker fully in command of his craft, it’s not difficult to see why A Place in the Sun is regarded as a true masterpiece of American filmmaking.