One of the benefits of being a notoriously prolific artist is that there are occasions where one has very little choice but to step out of their comfort zone. John Ford’s name often evokes one of two images – classical westerns, or intense character-driven dramas. It doesn’t often lead one to think of gentle romantic comedies since so much of his career was focused on more sobering projects. Yet, despite his more conventional output, one of Ford’s greatest achievements is The Quiet Man, a charming and effervescent comedy that stands as both one of the esteemed director’s most personal projects, and a massive departure from what he was known to do. Once again working with inarguably his finest collaborator, the equally iconic John Wayne, Ford puts together a delightful screen romance that may not be particularly serious, but does have an endless amount of depth, at least in terms of giving us insights into Irish traditions, which clearly connected with Ford, who clearly found the original short story by Maurice Walsh interesting enough to adapt into this film, since it seemed to resonate with the director’s own origins, and gave him the chance to try a few new approaches to the storytelling process, while still affording him the opportunity to do what he did best, which was essentially to craft well-composed, meaningful works of pure artistic expression, which may be predictable to some extent, but offer us a couple of hours of solid entertainment. In the midst of all of this, Ford gets a few well-placed laughs in between the soaring romance, resulting in an absolute delight of a film that remains one of the best made by the director, whose own interests in this material are about as interesting as the film itself.

The Quiet Man is a film primarily about homecoming – Ford was a proud child of Irish immigrants, and often spoke about the kinship he felt to his ancestral country, being deeply connected to the roots in his homeland. When we look at it from the most basic level, that is exactly what this film is centred around, since the character of Sean Thornton retreats from his life in the bustling Pittsburgh, where he was a mildly successful boxer, and finds his way to Innisfree, which he claims is “another word for heaven” to him. Ford’s connection to this material is clearly very deep, and while it may not be autobiographical, he did seem to bring a lot of his own experiences and perspectives into the story, which blends seamlessly with Walsh’s original story, making for a truly captivating film that has a lot of heart, especially when discussing something as meaningful as the sensation of distant patriotism felt by those who make an effort to return to the land of their origins. This is a beautifully patriotic work that has a lot to say about the feeling of longing to journey into the past. A deeper analysis reveals how the film is structured around the main character’s metaphysical journey back home, as a way of atoning for his own past indiscretions and purifying himself after spending almost his entire life submerged in a hedonistic culture. The wide-open spaces of pastoral Ireland offers him the chance for contrition, which may be something that Ford wasn’t working through on a personal level (since it is highly unlikely he killed an opponent in the ring), but this doesn’t preclude him from voyaging deep into this culture in a way that feels so wonderfully profound and insightful.

As much as the romantic elements are strikingly deep and absolutely gorgeous to witness, it’s the spirited and honest depiction of Irish life, as facilitated by a director whose own passion for the subject spurred much of what made the film so endearing, is what is most notable about The Quiet Man. It can lead to the film feeling a bit meandering, but that’s all part of the experience – Ford isn’t focused on a particular story, allowing the general narrative to flow in a way that is natural and driven less by storytelling mechanics, and more by the atmosphere that surrounds it. As one of the very few comedies Ford made in his career (with all the others being ill-fated and entirely forgettable), The Quiet Man is quite a change in style for the director, but he doesn’t hesitate to rise to the challenge, frequently addressing the disparity between a very lightweight romantic comedy, and the hefty subject matter that starts to appear after a while. It’s the kind of comedy that provokes thought through a delicate, earnest depiction of the culture and traditions of this quaint Irish town, which is where it gets most of its humour, as well as the more sobering diversions into the darker moments in the lives of these characters. Both are executed with precision and earnestness by a director who didn’t often get an opportunity to tinker with the tone of his films, since he was mostly preoccupied with the spectacle – and while The Quiet Man is absolutely stunning (the Technicolour photography by Winton C. Hoch is just spellbinding), most of what makes this a special film comes from the efforts to explore the intimate moments in the lives of these characters, who are absolutely remarkable in both concept and execution, and the broader issues that they represent.

The film is anchored by John Wayne, who is turning in possibly his finest performance in the role of Sean Thornton. There is something so profoundly fascinating about an actor known mostly for his broadly masculine bravado, which he showed frequently in western and action films, doing something more quaint, since it allows him to show that he is multilayered, and is more than capable of being a complex character. It isn’t the only instance of Wayne playing a dashing romantic hero, but it is his most raw, where he possesses a candour that elevates the part beyond the same set of qualities that may have been endearing in constructing him as a star, but hardly challenged him. If anyone was going to give Wayne the chance to do something different by pushing him beyond his comfort zone, it would be Ford, who always seemed to see the actor as less of a huge star, and more of a raw talent that could be pushed in a variety of directions, which is what made their frequent collaborations so enriching. Maureen O’Hara is just as good as Wayne, her mane of bright-red hair and feisty resilience allowing her to match her intimating co-star in every one of their scenes together. O’Hara was one of the most profoundly interesting actors to ever work in the medium, with her distinct style of acting meaning she could take on a wide range of roles, and always be absolutely incredible, since her versatility was one of her primary gifts. Even looking beyond the two fantastic leading performances, we find the supporting cast filled to the brim with wonderful actors, with the likes of Barry Fitzgerald (perhaps the finest scene-stealer in the history of cinema) and Victor McLaglen being formidable co-stars. As a character-driven comedy, The Quiet Man is quite a triumph, and has a lot of tender love for its actors, who benefit from a really strong story that cares for the people at the heart of the narrative, something many films tended to overlook.

The Quiet Man is often considered Ford’s most humane and compassionate film, an assertion that is quite difficult to argue against, especially since every frame of this film is positively brimming with the kind of heartful energy that can only come when someone is as passionate about the story as the director is here. This is by far my favourite Ford film, and while it may not necessarily be his most astonishing achievement (as he was a master craftsman who pushed the boundaries of cinema further than most American directors of his generation), but its the one that carries the most meaning for the director, who is creating a stunning dialogue between his own connection to his homeland, and the wonderful short story, which combine to form this warm, delightful comedy that is as romantic as it is deeply moving. It’s tough to watch this film and not feel the charm exuding from it – this is what happens when a story is constructed purely for the intention of giving the viewer a chance to escape, and through immersing us in this gorgeous world (most of it filmed on-location in the Irish countryside), Ford is giving us the chance to see this terrain through his eyes – the grass is greener, the people are friendlier and there is a sincere sense of hope that persists through the film. It’s an absolutely riveting film that proves what an absolute master Ford was when he was in his element, and that he could produce something that may have been slightly more subdued (even if some of the moments in this film are as stunning as anything else the director did – consider the gorgeous horse racing scene, which is one of the most well-directed sequences in Ford’s career), but is not any less of a spectacle when we consider the components unique to this film. It’s just an absolute delight, and the kind of story that just invites viewers to return to it regularly, since it feels less like a film, and more like a warm embrace, a sensation that not too many films can attest to possessing.