You can read yesterday’s first part here.
WITH Long John Willoughby providing a human face, the New Bulletin publishes a series of letters entitled ‘I Protest’ by John Doe. Written by columnist Ann Mitchell, the letters attack political corruption and the cruel neglect of folks struggling in society. The series captivates the public and soon the powers-that-be feel threatened. The governor and mayor see the letters as a political attack organised by the newspaper’s owner, oil tycoon D B Norton. The editor of the rival newspaper, the Daily Chronicle, views the letters as a cheap attempt to increase circulation. To respond to these charges, Norton, played to sinister perfection by Edward Arnold, pays Ann to write a radio address which Long John will read in front of a live audience. Previously just a face in a photograph, John must now actively play the part, reading the words another person has conceived.
For Long John, what started as a harmless white lie has suddenly become a matter of great consequence. Now that the story has become so big, he begins to worry about its ramifications. One of his minders, a man secretly working for the Daily Chronicle, warns John that his future in baseball may be jeopardised if fans discover he is complicit in fraud. John is alarmed. All he wanted was a hearty meal and a chance to have his arm fixed. Now he must convince millions of people that he is someone that he is not. His minder offers him a way out. All he has to do is confess in front of the live audience that he has been part of a ‘frame-up’. For his candour, the Daily Chronicle will give him five thousand dollars, plenty of money to get the surgery he desires.
Thus Long John confronts the first dilemma of the movie. If he speaks honestly, he will undermine the lie promulgated by Ann and the New Bulletin, betraying their trust in him for a greater paycheck. Yet if he reads the speech prepared by Ann, he will be promoting a lie and placing his honour in the hands of forces he does not understand. Neither course of action befits an honest man, but Long John knows no other way out. As the moment of the speech draws near, the suspense builds. The New Bulletin has invested a fortune into this event, hiring all manner of amusements to magnify the speech. Ann has poured her heart into writing it, using ideas borrowed from the diary of her beloved late father, a doctor and philanthropist. So taken is she with her creation that she confesses to having fallen in love with John Doe. ‘You won’t let me down, will you, John?’ she beseeches him as he is about to take the stage.
Every time I watch this scene, I hope Long John will confess the lie and take the five thousand bucks. For one thing, I bristle at the deceit, even if it has been concocted for a noble purpose. While Ann sees the speech as a rare opportunity to speak in defense of the poor and powerless, her thinking always strikes me as crudely utilitarian and short-sighted. What is more, John is clearly being used by people indifferent to the damage to his character or welfare. Among them, Ann is the most forgivable, caring as she does for her impoverished family and the countless people inspired by John Doe and moved by his cause. Connell, on the other hand, simply wants to sell newspapers. Worse, Norton intends to use Long John for his own purpose of achieving political power. I’d much rather see Long John hop a boxcar to the Columbia River Country with $5,000 in his pocket than see him receive the adulation of a hope-starved public feeding on a lie.
Yet something funny happens as Long John stands awkwardly at the microphone. As Ann looks imploringly from the side of the room, John wavers. With the Colonel waiting anxiously at the exit, he decides to forgo the $5,000 and the honest confession and goes ahead with Ann’s speech. It is unclear why he changes his mind. Perhaps he can’t bear to let Ann down, a woman who moments ago confessed she was falling in love with the imaginary John Doe.
John stumbles awkwardly through the beginning of his speech, which he is reading for the first time. Yet as he continues, he begins to find his voice. Why? Well, rather than attacking crooked politicians and businessmen, the speech appeals to the noble impulses of all the ordinary men and women in the audience whom John represents. With growing conviction, John encourages his fellow John Does out there to improve the world not by protesting the injustices of the powerful but by reaching out to each other in friendship. If people can act this way at Christmas, he argues, why can’t they do the same for 365 days in the year? For if they could, no human force – not any crooked politician or grasping oligarch – would be able to stand against them. His voice trembling with emotion, John is just as moved by the speech as the audience. ‘The meek can only inherit the earth,’ he concludes, ‘when the John Does start loving their neighbours. You better start now. Don’t wait till the game is called on account of darkness. Wake up, John Doe. You’re the hope of the world.’
The speech is received with thunderous applause. Ann embraces John with joy and gratitude. He, in contrast, is embarrassed by the adulation. He brusquely flees the radio hall with the Colonel, ashamed that he should let himself be carried away by his emotions. In the next scene, Long John and the Colonel lounge by a campfire on the bank of a river. John laments missing his chance to get his arm fixed. No less irksome is the thought that he has been taken advantage of. ‘What was I doing up there making that speech anyway?’
To be continued
