One knows they have written a truly brilliant piece of literature when the very title not only evokes a very specific kind of memory but has become something of a punchline when discussing the works it tends to define. When it comes to The Grapes of Wrath, few can argue against this being shorthand for the kind of spirited, exceptionally beautiful story of the American heartland, written by a true son of the soil who pulls together his memories, as well as those of the people he encounters on his picaresque journeys around the country, fashioning them into a powerful and poignant narrative that somehow manages to perfectly encapsulate everything that made the country so captivating. It’s difficult to look at a piece of writing like this and not feel immediately taken by its prose, which is constructed by someone whose grasp on language supersedes that of even the most established of masters, the kinds of writers who were not viewed as remarkable wordsmiths at the time but have come to be almost definitive of this era of authors, where emotion trumped any flowery or complex language. The Grapes of Wrath is a particularly beguiling work, primarily for how it captures the spirit of America at the time in which it was written. Steinbeck had very little interest in fantastical depictions of his homeland, which is why the eventual adaptation of his magnum opus (which was optioned for the screen almost immediately after its publication) has become such a cherished work, a complex and endearing family-based drama that captures a very specific moment in American history with elegance, wit and honesty, which is not a combination that is all too common with stories such as this, even from a contemporary standpoint. A riveting and beautifully poetic character study that sees the author’s iconic character of Tom Joad, as well as his family, travelling from impoverished Oklahoma to the supposed paradise of California, where they are told they can make their fortune, only to discover that they were sold a false promise and that life is far more difficult than they could have ever imagined, leading to some truly heartwrenching moments.

Like novels written at the time (and would often be adapted to the screen), films produced during this era needed to be simple and evocative. There was very little room for complexity, at least on the surface. Audiences had very little use for excess or films that beat around the bush, with the awkward space between the end of the Great Depression and the rising tensions that would eventually amount to the United States entering the Second World War making this a challenging time to hold an audience’s attention. There we few filmmakers more equipped to handle the transition from page to screen than John Ford, arguably the most consistently patriotic American director of his generation, and someone whose intentions were always firmly established from the moment his name appeared on screen (and considering how his name would come to be associated with a very specific brand of quality, this certainly means something), and who rarely deviated from exploring his stories through his own very particular lens of solid dedication to not only the country of his birth, but his entire heritage, whether that be as the child of immigrants, or a first-generation American all on his own. The Grapes of Wrath came at a crucial moment in Ford’s career – he had been making films for several years, stretching back to the peak of the silent era, where he worked on a number of films from quite a young age (several of them unfortunately lost as a result of the march of time and the lack of preservation), but he had only started to establish himself as a filmmaker with a distinct vision roughly a decade before – and while it would still take a few years before audiences were compelled to actually watch a film based on the director’s involvement (and whose long-lasting partnership with John Wayne was only an added benefit), we can see the earliest traits of his style in films like this, where he may be playing in a slightly minor key, especially since he is undeniably in service to Steinbeck’s beautiful novel, but where his own artistic flourishes, as well as those of the crew he assembles to bring this story to life, shape The Grapes of Wrath into one of the most riveting dramas of this period, and one of Ford’s greatest artistic successes, one that remains cherished as one of his many masterpieces that continue to inspire and influence younger filmmakers.

Adaptation is a challenging concept, despite the belief that it is supposedly incredibly easy for a screenwriter to take an existing property and reconfigure it into a screenplay that will set the foundation for the eventual production – and writer Nunnally Johnson certainly had quite a formidable task ahead of him. Reading even a short piece of Steinbeck’s work immediately brings up the fact that he was not a writer who was always interested in plot details – his novels have clearly defined characters and are set in recognizable locations in the recent past (at least in terms of when they were published), and had strong stories – but they were never entirely bound to these components, and we often find that his most impactful moments are those where the events are not directly stated but rather implied. From a literary perspective, this is wildly exciting, since there was an author who was abandoning conventions and embracing new stylistic quirks, each one building on the last to create vivid and experimental works that remain captivating to this day. As a reader, this is enthralling – for a screenwriter tasked with adapting one of these novels, it’s a challenge. However, despite all the obstacles that stood in his way in terms of the style of writing and how Steinbeck uses language as a tool to subvert and challenge, Johnson managed to craft an exceptional screenplay, one that not only faithfully captures the spirit of the novel, but also creates its style, one that is separate from Steinbeck’s work, but still very much indebted to it. The Grapes of Wrath has always been a story that is driven by the mood more than it is the story, which remains simple and unfurnished, only leaving room for the barest of details, which are then contrasted with fascinating directorial and narrative choices, which are not too abstract that they divorce this film from its very clear realist roots, There is so much compacted into every frame of this film, which creates a challenging but compelling tone that drives the story and allows us some brief guidance on how to navigate this unfamiliar but striking version of the past, which Ford constructs with such enthusiasm and compassion.

Several iconic images are associated with Ford’s version of The Grapes of Wrath, and they all consist of the ensemble, their expressive faces leaving an indelible impression on the culture. This film consists of so many unforgettable performances, which is not surprising considering how this story is very much driven from the perspective of its characters, who are the foundation on which the story is built. Some may argue that America itself is a character, and while the shifting landscapes do feel increasingly striking, the attention is always redirected to the actors, who turn in some truly incredible work. Henry Fonda is simply astonishing as Tom Joad, one of the great protagonists of American literature – a family-oriented man trying his best to provide for his kin while starting his life anew (having recently been released from prison) – and every moment he is on screen finds him making use of his extraordinary expressivity and deep complexity as an actor, which Ford utilizes extremely well. Jane Darwell takes on the even more challenging role of Ma Joad, the family matriarch who is tasked with holding everything together and being the voice of reason, which turns out to be far more difficult than she ever imagined, especially as they face several concurrent misfortunes and tragedies, enough to make even the strongest of people fall apart – but yet Ma Joad remains resilient and strong, Darwell plumbing the emotional depths to produce a soulful, heartbreaking performance in which we can see the entire plight of the impoverished working-class reflected in her eyes, her character representing the ordinary folk that may have become a homogenous mass as a result of history rarely being kind to the down-trodden, but whose voices Steinbeck amplifies through these characters, with every individual we encounter throughout The Grapes of Wrath being a fully-formed, three-dimensional depiction of the working-class and those that made their lives more difficult, and where the sheer impact made by these simple but striking performances can never be understated.

We’ve spoken several times about the concept of the “Great American Novel”, as well as its cinematic equivalent – a work that encapsulates the entire essence of America, showing every detail in the hopes of capturing the spirit of the experience that comes with being a part of the country. It may be a concept that is slightly outdated and somewhat myopic (since the canonical works are restricted to the past, and more contemporary entries to the conversation often feel like they are being trivialized by the constant urge towards representation – in essence, we can’t view any medium as having only one defining work, but rather a more holistic approach should be taken, one in which many works exist in communion with one another), but it does help us in describing the appeal of certain works. It’s common to find disparity between novels that bear the title, and their inevitable film adaptations – one is usually seen as a masterpiece, while the adaptation pales in comparison (or vice versa, where a film improves on the written word in unexpected ways), with very little overlap between them in terms of representation. The Grapes of Wrath is one of the rare instances where both the novel and film are upheld as masterpieces, occupying different spaces in the culture, but still clearly formed by artists who understand the integral themes that simmer beneath both works. This is even more impressive considering this film was notable for taking Steinbeck’s novel and remaining relatively faithful for the first half, before deviating slowly but significantly, making major changes that not only alter our perception of these characters as they make their way towards economic freedom but also the world in which they inhabit. This is a raw, unforgiving depiction of America, a far cry from the prosperous nation in which anyone with ambition and motivation could make a fortune – and it chooses to take a different approach, finding optimism in the bleakest of situations (where Steinbeck’s novel was almost entirely pessimistic, consisting of one downbeat moment after another), and showing characters that exemplify the true grit needed to survive in such challenging circumstances – and this is the essence of the American Dream, which is about resilience more than it is false hopes of prosperity, which is something that Steinbeck and Ford implicitly understood and assimilated into their depictions of the Joad Family as they move through treacherous social, economic and cultural terrain on their voyage towards some kind of freedom.

As is often the case with any work of art (whether literature or film or any medium), there’s a degree of cynicism that comes with analysing it from a contemporary perspective – we always have to remember that these are works produced at a particular point in the past, so modern viewpoints are always going to clash with them on several levels. There is also the difficult subject of reputation – we’ve all encountered works that are promoted as unimpeachable masterpieces, but prove to be massively disappointing, a result of overblown expectations. Somehow, The Grapes of Wrath is one of the rare cases where none of this is applicable, which is surprising considering how this is promoted as one of the most thorough depictions of the effects of the Great Depression, an event that is far enough away in the past to not be considered recent history any longer, which is a major turning point for any work that covers a specific topic. Yet, even for contemporary viewers, the impact of the story is very clear – this is primarily because Ford employs a similar tactic to Steinbeck himself, in which he makes use of a specific milieu, but never restricts its themes, and instead focuses on the raw human emotions associated with it. The majority of us might not have any idea of the challenges that come with migrating from the Dust Bowl to the idyllic landscape of California, but we certainly do understand the feeling of hopelessness and aimless wandering through a world that is hostile to those who lack direction. This is a film about a family navigating a crisis, and doing whatever possible to survive – and in a way, we can all find resonance in this particular storyline, even if only through the more abstract elements that define it. Ford was a master of his craft, and Steinbeck quite possibly the greatest American writer to ever live – so it only makes sense that their collaboration would yield such exceptional results, being a film of immense emotional and historical significance, and one that has retained its magnitude of a true American classic nearly a century later.