This was certainly the most epic of the films to receive this award so far. Cimarron was a film that was trying to be big, trying to be important, and trying to be meaningful. It succeeded on all accounts and was rewarded by being named the best picture  of the year by the Academy.

I found Cimarron to be quite entertaining and quite interesting from a historical perspective as well as from a film making perspective. The film begins with the Oklahoma Land Rush of the late 1880’s. That was an event that still could have been remembered by some of the older audience members of the day. Within the first five minutes of the film we see one of the great scenes ever to be shot as men on horseback and on wagons race across the start line to get their share of free land that the government is handing out in Oklahoma. It’s a magnificent sequence that is impressive to watch, considering that it all had to be shot with real actors, real horses, real wagons, and in a real location. There was no CG here, and it is as impressive a bit of film making that you could ever ask to see, considering the circumstances and limitations under which they had to shoot it.

Cimarron is also interesting from a storytelling and screenwriting perspective. It has very strong thematic elements to it and those themes serve as lessons to be learned throughout the film. I was somewhat surprised to that the film had such a progressive point of view, considering the time in which it was made. While there are stereotypical issues dealing with African Americans and Native Americans that probably wouldn’t fly today, this film spoke loudly about the mistreatment of Native Americans of the time and vocally called for their equal treatment. Overall, Cimarron was a film about doing the right thing when no one else around you will. It’s about showing courage and standing up not only to the evil that everyone can see, but also to the evil that no one else can see, or that everyone else refuses to see.

The story follows the life of Yancey Cravat, an ambitious man who moves his wife, Sabra, and his young son to the Oklahoma territory, where he hopes to start a newspaper. The small town is just starting up, and it’s a mix of gunslingers, gamblers and reprobates. Sabra immediately has second thoughts, but Yancey convinces her that this is the chance of a lifetime, and he can no longer live in Wichita, as he’d been there for five years and he’s never lived anywhere in his life that long. He gets to know the locals, much to Sabra’s chagrin, but he gets his newspaper started even though he’s being threatened by Yountis, the man who killed the editor of the town’s last newspaper because he was getting too close to uncovering Yountis’s lawlessness. The thing is, everyone knows that Yountis is an outlaw, and Yountis intimidates everyone in the town. Everyone, that is, except for Yancey, who gets immediate love from the people of the town for standing up to Yountis. In fact, when Yancey finally guns Yountis down (in church, of all places), he’s treated like a hero who has lifted the burden of lawlessness off of all of their backs.

Yancey spends the rest of the film standing up for lost causes. Even as his own wife tries to get him to take the easy way, Yancey refuses. He’s somewhat like a superman in this regard. He single-handedly kills an entire gang of bandits who ride into town to rob the bank, but he refuses to take the reward money because  he used to ride with the lead bandit, a character named The Kid, when the Kid was an honest cowhand. But circumstances led the Kid to the wrong side of the law. Yancey is well versed in the law, and defends in open court a prostitute that Sabra is trying to run out of town. But Yancey pleas her case, describing the terrible circumstances of her life and showing Sabra that, but for chance, her life could be just as difficult and tragic as that of the prostitute. Finally, while running for governor of Oklahoma, Yancey publishes an editorial lobbying for equal rights for Indians. Sabra tells him that he’s mad for writing an editorial like that, and that he’s sure to lose all of his support. He tells her that he’d rather be right than to win a hollow victory and that the march of time would be on his side. This is proven in a scene that takes place decades later.

That’s not to say that Yancey is a man without flaws, however. Yancey has an insatiable drive for adventure, and he can’t stay in one place too long, even at the expense of his wife and children. At one point, he disappears for five years, leaving Sabra to look after their son and newborn daughter, as well as the newspaper. He disappears a second time and this flaw would turn out in the end to be a tragic one, as Yancey’s hunger for adventure and need to do the right thing lead ultimately to his demise.

However, the film shows its thematic and archetypal depth when, after Yancey has died, a statue is unveiled in the town honoring the settlers that turned this one horse town in to a thriving cultural center. The statue is the likeness of Yancey, giving him an archetypal rebirth that allows him to live on forever overseeing the town that he helped to create.

Did the Academy get it right?

It’s hard to argue against this choice. Cimarron is the type of film that the Academy would later make a habit of rewarding. It’s epic in scale, tells a compelling story with progressive themes, and has a hero who has the mental and emotional fortitude to do what is right over what is expedient, and is trying to leave the world a better place. It’s also a Western, and while another Western wouldn’t win Best Picture for decades, it was for many years the most popular genre of film.

Not having seen the other films, I can’t make a truly informed statement on the worthiness of Cimarron winning Outstanding Production, but I can say that it is a very good film, surprising on many levels for its sophistication, and certainly worthy of recognition.