The Clock

Among the things I admire in this slight romantic drama is the most impressive set representing New York's Pennsylvania Station. It is certainly a fine achievement, designed by Cedric Gibbons and William Ferrari.

Likewise, George Folsey's lovely black and white cinematograpy is perfect for the "brief encounter" tale. Director Vincent Minnelli (replacing Fred Zinnemann) took special care to see that Judy Garland looked as fetching as possible, and she does. It is her most beautiful makeup in films, and her performance matches it well.

It's hard to believe the entire film was done in Hollywood's Culver City (using real NYC footage and backdrops) which is a tribute to the production staff and crew. They certainly obtained the Manhattan atmosphere, while telling a simple story of youthful wartime romance.

The first, but by no means the last non-musical film that Arthur Freed produced at MGM was The Clock based on a short story by Paul and Pauline Gallico about a whirlwind 48 hour romance between a soldier on leave and a young girl in New York. The title refers to the famous clock in Pennsylvania Station where they first meet and later agree to a rendezvous there.

The young lovers are Robert Walker and Judy Garland. Walker the previous year had scored with a couple of breakthrough roles in Since You Went Away and See Here Private Hargrove. Garland was doing her first non-singing part on screen.

It's a tender and touching story about young people in war time. Walker is playing an extension of the earnest young soldier he played in Since You Went Away. You can see his character living home and hearth and grandfather Monty Woolley from Since You Went Away and having a 48 hour leave and meeting Judy Garland.

Originally Fred Zinneman was to direct The Clock, but he and Garland had no rapport and Zinneman himself got Arthur Freed to take him off. Judy's then husband Vincente Minnelli finished his work on Ziegfeld Follies and came over to direct his wife. This was also Minnelli's first non-musical effort in any medium since on the stage he had done nothing but musicals.

James Gleason almost steals the film from Walker and Garland as the romantic minded milkman who gives them a lift and then when he gets injured, they finish his deliveries. Walker and Garland then join Gleason for breakfast at his home where his wife is played by his real life wife Lucille Gleason. They would suffer a horrific tragedy that year when their son Russell Gleason was killed in a fall from a window, circumstances still unknown. In fact this was a tragic film all around because both Walker and Garland died way too young.

Keenan Wynn is in the film for one scene and it's a good one as he does a great drunk act.

The Clock is a fine romantic story that still holds up well for today. For lovers of young love everywhere.

Maybe the most idyllic of those ‘40s movies that confected a storybook New York City on the back lots of Hollywood studios, The Clock tells the story of a whirlwind wartime romance so simply and deftly that it's almost mythic – like a legend Ovid might have recounted. It also preserves the first adult dramatic role, with nary a note nor a time-step, Judy Garland was to undertake, under the Lubitsch-like touch of her director (and new husband) Vincente Minnelli. Trusting his wife to hold the screen on her own merits, he toned down or tossed away the busy stage business so characteristic of the decade, ending up with something purified – close to perfect.

Indiana small-town boy Robert Walker, on a short leave from the Army before being shipped overseas, loiters in Pennsylvania Station when Garland trips over his gangly legs and breaks a heel. It's classic MGM `meet-cute,' but Minnelli doesn't milk it – they get the heel fixed and find themselves strolling through Manhattan. Though on the verge of diplomatically ditching him, impatient with his diffident, aw-shucks ways, Garland politely hangs on until finally she has to catch a bus home; she consents to meet him later, under the clock at the Astor Hotel, for a real date.

Her chatterbox of a roommate upbraids her for letting herself be `picked up' by a man in uniform, and Garland dithers but finally shows up half a hour late. They spend a stiff evening together, filled with awkward pauses and edgy moments of friction, but end up talking under the stars in Central Park. Having missed the last bus home, they accept a lift from a milkman. In a sequence that comes close to cliché but pulls up short, they spend the night together – delivering bottles throughout the city for their suddenly incapacitated driver. Next morning, they lose one another, thanks to the subway system, ultimately reunite and, after running an obstacle course festooned with red tape, marry, confident that the future will find them reunited once more.

There's not much incident, much action, and what there is Minnelli metes out judiciously. As a drunk who precipitates the incident that throws them together for the night, Keenan Wynn contributes a bravura turn (surely improvised) that teeters on the borderline between funny and obnoxious. As the milkman and his wife, who feeds them a farmhands' breakfast, James and Lucile Gleason offer the young lovers a preview of how young lovers become old friends (as well they might, since the actors were one another's spouses).

Only in the difficulties they encounter in trying to get hitched – licenses, blood tests, civil servants' prerogatives – does the does the story threaten to careen off into frantic farce. But Minnelli reaches beyond that to find the urgency, the sickening sense that they might fail – and Garland heart-wrenchingly sums it up afterwards, at an ominously quiet wedding dinner at an automat, when she cries `It was so...ugly!' But after that discordant note Minnelli, ever the Italian, strives for consonance, and finds it in an empty church where Garland and Walker softly recite the marriage ceremony in a pew. Here, Minnelli adds his own benediction: An altar boy obscures the silent couple, sitting quietly in the background, as he enters to extinguish the candles, one by one.

Two tragic, wonderful performers, Robert Walker and Judy Garland, star as a soldier and the girl he meets in "The Clock," a wartime love story also starring James Gleason, Lucille Gleason, Ruth Brady, Marshall Thompson, and Keenan Wynn.

Joe (Walker), on leave before he ships out, is in the big city when he meets Alice (Garland) as the heel falls off of her shoe on an escalator. His charm and enthusiasm soon overcome her, and before she knows it, she's agreed to spend time with him. They embark on an adventure which takes them to the museum and Central Park, where they meet milkman Gleason and end up delivering his products when he is accidentally knocked in the face by a drunk (Keenan Wynn) in a coffee shop. When day dawns, Alice and Joe come to a realization.

This is a frenetic, high-energy movie, beautifully orchestrated by Vincente Minnelli, who manages to keep the tender love story in focus as the couple dashes around New York, losing one another, finding one another, doing a milk run, the pace picking up and becoming even more frantic as they race against the clock towards the end of the film. Then it all stops, and there is calmness and silence as "The Clock" draws to a close.

The clock is a symbol of the limited time they have together, and a symbol of their meeting place - under the clock at the Astor Hotel - and where they find one another after one makes it on the subway and the other doesn't. It's a haunting symbol as Minnelli vividly paints a New York atmosphere with its crowds and bustling with the underpinning of World War II. And imagine - you could go into Central Park at night in the '40s and come out alive.

Judy Garland, in the same studio as Lana Turner, Ava Gardner, and many other beauties, probably never appreciated what made her beautiful. In "The Clock," "The Pirate," and "Meet Me in St. Louis," she is at her loveliest, slender and luminous with enormous eyes and a sweet, girlish, vulnerable quality. Walker, who would be bloated and dead six years after this film's release, was doubtless still reeling from problems in his private life when he made this film, but he is handsome, deft with a line, and brimming with youth. He and Garland make a wonderful couple.

It's sad to think about what happened to these actors, but one is confident about the characters in "The Clock." Released in 1945, the war would soon be over, and Garland's ending monologue (originally to be said by Walker) rings true. "Whoever is making the arrangements is doing pretty well by us," she says. Too bad it wasn't the same for them in real life.

This film gives Judy Garland a chance (her first, I think?) to appear in a non-singing role, as Alice Mayberry, a hopeless romantic who works in New York. When she meets soldier Joe Allen (Robert Walker) they fall deeply in love with each other and are soon beating a path to the altar.

As a war-based romance, this story moves fast because it has to - in a matter of days Alice and Joe know they belong together, and we know it too, thanks to the scenes we see in the museum, in the park away from the bustling traffic, and within the railway station. Garland and Walker are both excellent, the perfect representations of dewy-eyed young lovers.

We're not disappointed by the little roles, either - James and Lucille Gleason play a friendly milkman and his wife, Keenan Wynn plays a drunk in a diner, Ruth Brady plays Alice's housemate Ruth, and Marshall Thompson gathers many laughs all to himself as Ruth's silent boyfriend Bill, never allowed to say anything in response to her constant questioning, gossiping, and nagging.

Directed by Garland's husband Vincente Minnelli, 'The Clock' is a quiet and lovely film, not often quoted as one of the greats, but a good example of the best entertainment MGM could offer in the 1940s.