John Ford in London? Doing a 'Dixon of Dock Green'-type Scotland Yard procedural?! The poet of the great American outdoors confined to cramped grey offices, dingy alleys and thieves' dens, populated by razor-wielding spivs, sex-killers and corrupt police officers? As one might expect from an auteur, 'Gideon's Day' isn't as far away in theme and character from Ford's famed Westerns as is first imagined, and the heightened, 'artificial' mise-en-scene recalls, if never emulates, the ironies of 'The Quiet Man'. It should not be forgotten that one of Ford's best films is the frightening comedy-gangster film, 'the Whole Town's Talking', while 'Who Shot Liberty Valance' broods with an interior menace.
Ford's Westerns are pre-eminently concerned with the forging of American democracy. Only two years before 'Gideon', he complicated this WASP myth-making by revealing the lethal tensions and contradictions in the process. 'Gideon' offers a chance to see democracy in action, in highly concentrated form, as we follow a day in the life of our titular hero, Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard. It is a very successful day, like Wyatt Earp cleaning up Dodge City - he roots out a bribe-taking colleague, and solves a variety of crimes, invariably involving murder. Further, his daughter takes the initial step in what will, it is implied, eventually lead to marriage. How very jolly.
The film is named after him, and Gideon is a kind of god, a powerful single entity in contrast to the doubling duplicities of his foes. It is his narration that guides the film, setting the scene, explaining events, controlling the vast, dangerous, crime-infested metropolis of London, just as it his actions, his constant unstoppable movement that drives it. The film is pervaded in blue, the blue of the British bobby, signalling its vigilant omniscience, even when it threatens to engulf Gideon. The film's narrative largely occurs within his personal orbit - when it occasionally strays, the thread always comes back to him to tie up.
So, as our representative of democracy, we seem to be in safe hands - the wheels of justice operate fairly, criminals are always caught, crimes are generally connected, and so can be easily contained. But, post-'Searchers', things are not quite so simple with John Ford. Gideon is not so very far from Ethan Edwards. Although he begins the film in a family context (bath, breakfast, bringing kids to school), and although he is always brought back to this site of the domestic, whether literally for quick bites to eat, or indirectly (his wife harrassing him over fish), he is never at home there, his work constantly invading this space, rupturing its harmony, so that it becomes more of a drop-in centre than a refuge. It is even, as we approach the lawless 1960s, on the brink of sociological change, as the diligent, submissive, housewife, gives way to the sparky, independent, creative daughter. Gideon is a stranger here because of his work, not even an observer of changing times.
When we first see Gideon in this context, he is a bluff, sarcastic but good-humoured family man. But, as a police officer, we can see the wearing, never-ending process of law-enforcement brutalising him as a human being - the scenes with Kirby's wife show a monstrous insensitivity not unlike the crazed Ethan; when he finally lashes out at a particularly obnoxious murderer, we can see him finally crack up. His day never ends - the film provides a series of false climaxes where we expect closure and relief to be asserted, and Gideon, like Leo Bloom, to go home after his 'day', but he is constantly on the move, caught in a labyrinth literalised by all the corridors, arches, frames, going backwards and forwards through the same few places, making no progress. His godlike control is illusory, he can solve crimes, but he cannot prevent them, and as they become increasingly vicious and arbitrary, he becomes increasingly redundant, his harried movement impotent as he winds down, lost in the darkness of his desk.
His carelessness almost fatally endangers an informant, while a suspect is murdered. This is very subversive stuff, as Gideon is the bourgeois epitome of the audience watching his adventures - while the crimes are committed by a prole underclass or vicious aristocrats, he steers the middle way - a hard-working family man, a middle way threatened by social forces getting out of control. It is not very far from this to 'Dirty Harry'. It is ominous for democracy that a man's life, at risk through police incompetence, is only saved by the brute force of a fortunately-placed bystander.
The necessarily provisional, circular nature of the plot - when one case is finished, another begins - might seem to militate against narrative drive, especially as Ford is the master of classic Hollywood narrative. 'The Searchers', of course, is one of the great circular films, and there are two, unobtrusive, linear plots here. The first - will Gideon make it to his daughter's concert is quickly dispensed with, but the second is more interesting thematically. Throughout the day, Gideon is dogged by a diligent new young officer, who is so persevering in his job that he even books much higher-ranking superiors, including Gideon himself. This high-mindedness is a contrast to the compromises Gideon has to make, with his underworld connections - one, admittedly partial, colleague accuses him of having dirty fingers. It seems that the young officer is a symbol of a new police force, that is detached, honest, dedicated to its public duties. The denouement to this struggle betwen experienced tradition and youthful progress is humorous but depressing, as the old, not very reassuring system asserts itself again.
Ford's Westerns are pre-eminently concerned with the forging of American democracy. Only two years before 'Gideon', he complicated this WASP myth-making by revealing the lethal tensions and contradictions in the process. 'Gideon' offers a chance to see democracy in action, in highly concentrated form, as we follow a day in the life of our titular hero, Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard. It is a very successful day, like Wyatt Earp cleaning up Dodge City - he roots out a bribe-taking colleague, and solves a variety of crimes, invariably involving murder. Further, his daughter takes the initial step in what will, it is implied, eventually lead to marriage. How very jolly.
The film is named after him, and Gideon is a kind of god, a powerful single entity in contrast to the doubling duplicities of his foes. It is his narration that guides the film, setting the scene, explaining events, controlling the vast, dangerous, crime-infested metropolis of London, just as it his actions, his constant unstoppable movement that drives it. The film is pervaded in blue, the blue of the British bobby, signalling its vigilant omniscience, even when it threatens to engulf Gideon. The film's narrative largely occurs within his personal orbit - when it occasionally strays, the thread always comes back to him to tie up.
So, as our representative of democracy, we seem to be in safe hands - the wheels of justice operate fairly, criminals are always caught, crimes are generally connected, and so can be easily contained. But, post-'Searchers', things are not quite so simple with John Ford. Gideon is not so very far from Ethan Edwards. Although he begins the film in a family context (bath, breakfast, bringing kids to school), and although he is always brought back to this site of the domestic, whether literally for quick bites to eat, or indirectly (his wife harrassing him over fish), he is never at home there, his work constantly invading this space, rupturing its harmony, so that it becomes more of a drop-in centre than a refuge. It is even, as we approach the lawless 1960s, on the brink of sociological change, as the diligent, submissive, housewife, gives way to the sparky, independent, creative daughter. Gideon is a stranger here because of his work, not even an observer of changing times.
When we first see Gideon in this context, he is a bluff, sarcastic but good-humoured family man. But, as a police officer, we can see the wearing, never-ending process of law-enforcement brutalising him as a human being - the scenes with Kirby's wife show a monstrous insensitivity not unlike the crazed Ethan; when he finally lashes out at a particularly obnoxious murderer, we can see him finally crack up. His day never ends - the film provides a series of false climaxes where we expect closure and relief to be asserted, and Gideon, like Leo Bloom, to go home after his 'day', but he is constantly on the move, caught in a labyrinth literalised by all the corridors, arches, frames, going backwards and forwards through the same few places, making no progress. His godlike control is illusory, he can solve crimes, but he cannot prevent them, and as they become increasingly vicious and arbitrary, he becomes increasingly redundant, his harried movement impotent as he winds down, lost in the darkness of his desk.
His carelessness almost fatally endangers an informant, while a suspect is murdered. This is very subversive stuff, as Gideon is the bourgeois epitome of the audience watching his adventures - while the crimes are committed by a prole underclass or vicious aristocrats, he steers the middle way - a hard-working family man, a middle way threatened by social forces getting out of control. It is not very far from this to 'Dirty Harry'. It is ominous for democracy that a man's life, at risk through police incompetence, is only saved by the brute force of a fortunately-placed bystander.
The necessarily provisional, circular nature of the plot - when one case is finished, another begins - might seem to militate against narrative drive, especially as Ford is the master of classic Hollywood narrative. 'The Searchers', of course, is one of the great circular films, and there are two, unobtrusive, linear plots here. The first - will Gideon make it to his daughter's concert is quickly dispensed with, but the second is more interesting thematically. Throughout the day, Gideon is dogged by a diligent new young officer, who is so persevering in his job that he even books much higher-ranking superiors, including Gideon himself. This high-mindedness is a contrast to the compromises Gideon has to make, with his underworld connections - one, admittedly partial, colleague accuses him of having dirty fingers. It seems that the young officer is a symbol of a new police force, that is detached, honest, dedicated to its public duties. The denouement to this struggle betwen experienced tradition and youthful progress is humorous but depressing, as the old, not very reassuring system asserts itself again.