America, America

Reviewer: Philip Tatler
Rating (out of 5): ****

In Elia Kazan's 1963 America, America, now finally out on DVD from Warner Home Video, the idea of the eponymous land of opportunity supplants the actuality. Indeed, America herself only appears in a short cameo at the end of the 167-minute film. The title even subtly suggests duality: "America" vs. America.

In the film's opening narration, Kazan's own voice sets the stage for this very personal epic (the story, based on Kazan's 1962 novel of the same name, is loosely based on the life of Kazan's uncle): it is 1896 in Ottoman-ruled Turkey. Native Armenians and Greeks have been marginalized by their conquerors, with the former group especially stigmatized as a "dangerous minority."

Young Stavros Topouzoglou (Stathi Giallelis), a Greek, lives in a depressed Anatolian hamlet. Stavros' family does their best to keep their heads down and appease the Islamist garrison that governs their town. The uncertain peace is interrupted when the Turks, angered by the (off-screen) Ottoman Bank Takeover of 1896, enact pogroms against the Armenian population. In Stavros's own village, men, women, and children are killed as the church where they are gathered is blockaded and burned to the ground.

Seeing no future for their family under the oppressive regime, Stavros's father (Harry Davis) sends him to Constantinople in search of greater opportunity as an apprentice to his carpet-hawking cousin. Stavros, however, aims a bit further than the Turkish capital; he is hell-bent on reaching America.

Stavros's journey is marked by tragedy. His naivety is easily preyed upon by a sleazy brigand (Lou Antonio) who proffers friendship and protection, only to rob Stavros of all of his earthly belongings and, ultimately, his innocence.

The smiling boy we meet at the beginning of the film stumbles into Constantinople a glowering, calculating man. Kazan paints the road toward America (and the treasured autonomy it offers) as one potholed with necessary moral compromises. Upon connecting with his cousin, Stavros is told that the only way to financial success is to marry one of the plain daughters of a local import/export magnate (Paul Mann). Stavros balks, though the offer is a sweet one. Dehumanization by one's own hands is ultimately preferable to dehumanization at the hands of the Turks (or the stifling confines of Turkish bourgeois society).

Rather than the gilded cage, Stavros runs to the streets of Constantinople. Here he undergoes literally back-breaking work as a hammal, the Turkish underclass. His misadventures with the proletariat, however, prove just as frustrating and unfulfilling as his attempt to blend with the rich. He is robbed by a prostitute and nearly killed during a worker's uprising.

Tail-tucked, Stavros returns to his cousin and plays the society game long enough to endear himself to the industrialist's daughter (Linda Marsh) and benefit from her family's wealth. He quickly learns how to manipulate the situation to achieve his goal and finds himself on a transatlantic ship bound for Ellis Island.

"You have to look out for yourself in this world you know," Stavros tells a fellow Turk in search of freer shores. "The only bad times I had was when I was soft. Or human. You can't afford to be human. People take advantage."

Much of America, America is about the hardened resolve needed for success in a supposed meritocracy like America. The America of Kazan's film, in theory or practice, seems mostly to have disappeared. Immigrant panic, stifling beauracracy, outsourcing, and other perils of modernity have made the pilgrimage depicted here almost a thing of the past. Indeed, modern America more closely resembles the bourgeoisie/hammal caste setup of Ottoman Contantinople depicted in the film's midsection. "In America everything's bigger," Stavros' Armenian friend remarks early in the film. Yet the only scenes we see in the new world are crowded, chaotic, claustrophobic. There is an uncertainty in America, but one that's overcome with possibility.

Giallelis - an unknown Greek actor cast by Kazan for his tenacity during a hellish audition process - plays Stavros as a man withdrawing further into himself as his goal draws near. The actor strikes a perfect balance between boyish naivety and boorish self-interest.

Typical of Kazan's films, the rest of the cast slide into their roles perfectly, particularly Paul Mann as an utterly fatuous (and wholly sympathetic) representative of the Good Life. As with Kazan's Wild River, the film includes a fair amount of ethnographic touches; the production was shot in Greece, used local non-actors for extras and bit parts, and incorporates an almost diegetic score by Manos Hatzidakis (aka Hadzidakis). Haskell Wexler's beautiful, high-contrast black and white cinematography wrests folkloric power from the haunted landscapes and Byzantine architecture.

Elia Kazan, whose career had its share of controversy, considered America, America to be his greatest film. Upon its release, the film quickly tanked at the box office (despite critical accolades and three Oscar nominations, including Best Picture) and has been hard to find since. Fortunately, Warner's 2010 release, as part of their Elia Kazan Collection, has exhumed the film from obscurity.