Donovan's Reef

John Ford's Donovan's Reef (1963) is a frivolous oddity that critics love dissecting. Peter Wollen describes it as "a kind of Valhalla for the homeless heroes of The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" - something imaginative writers like Glenn Erickson run with. Ford was more prosaic, calling it a "spoof picture." It's hard not to think the appeal wasn't Ford, John Wayne and Lee Marvin boozing in Hawaii and occasionally turning on the camera.
Reef intrigues writers because it's so hard to classify. It's a cornball battle-of-the-sexes comedy with impressionist photography; a mournful hymn to tolerance interspersed with slapstick brawling. Ford relishes self-contradiction, and Reef weirdly blends the transcendent and terrible.
Ex-sailor Mike Donovan (John Wayne) runs a saloon on Haleakaloha, an island in French Polynesia. His war buddy Thomas Gilhooey (Lee Marvin) shows up for boozy brawling. The plot really kicks off with the arrival of Amelia Dedham (Elizabeth Allen), a Boston shipping heiress seeking out her father (Jack Warden), the island doctor. She enters a rough courtship with Donovan, growing attracted to the island paradise, while fending off the Governor's (Cesar Romero) unwelcome advances.
Donovan's Reef features flaws visible from space. Ford was never big on plot, but Reef seems uniquely aimless. Scenes end abruptly or else drag on too long, while tone crashes chaotically from sentimental to silly, often within the same scene (the Christmas Mass). Amelia ranks among Ford's best female characters... but her courtship with Donovan culminates in Donovan reenacting The Quiet Man's cruder moments. Worst are the bar brawls, which wear thin after the second shattered beer bottle. There's a slapdash, everything-but-the-kitchen-sink quality to Reef that grows tiresome.
Yet Reef's also marvelously well-directed. William Clothier's photography has a bizarre pop art quality, splashing his sun-baked horizons with hyper-real color: the Governor's mauve blazer and red umbrellas; the multicolored sarongs of the island girls; vivid green grass and bulrushes. There are unforgettable tableaux, from the repeated greetings of island visitors to the Dickensian Boston boardroom where Amelia's introduced. For all its sloppiness, Reef is plenty creative.
Ford's pet themes are abundant. Like his Old West towns, Haleakaloha becomes a melting pot, a syncretic blend of American, French and Polynesian cultures where everyone's welcome (even some passing Australians). Reef works best exploring this cultural interplay, from Donovan's mixed-race children to the French priest (Marcel Dalio) in mandarin garb. Notably, Ford stages a beautiful Christmas Mass with parishioners singing Silent Night in Hawaiian. Even Amelia joins in, shedding her stiff Yankee garb for tropical outfits and a revealing bathing suit.
John Wayne coasts in a role requiring little more than earthy affability. Lee Marvin is mostly the butt of jokes: he disappears for long stretches, as if Ford forgot he was in the picture. Reef's real star is Elizabeth Allen: she's tough, vivacious and sexy, constantly showing up her male costars. Jack Warden (12 Angry Men) gets an affecting scene or two, but Cesar Romero's slimeball shtick wears thin fast. Dorothy Lamour is underused as Marvin's gal pal; Donovan's kids are the worst kind of movie brats.
Donovan's Reef is too flawed to be a classic but too well-made to dismiss. Rarely has a movie better showcased its director's best and worst tendencies in one go.