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Candidates for the National Film Registry: 1776

Introduction by Brian Taves

1776 is an adaptation of a hit Broadway play that opened in 1969 and became the primary fictional movie tribute to the Revolution during the 1976 American bicentennial. Building on the traditional entertainment formula of the Broadway musical comedy and its tendency in the 1950s and 1960s toward social commentary, 1776 was a patriotic, celebratory play in a time of profound national division. The Vietnam War and especially the Civil Rights movement clearly inflected the writing of the debates and songs, and sensitivity to these elements on the part of audiences was more intense at the time of the creation of 1776 than today. Yet 1776 also remained true to the era it portrayed, and won praise from historians for a strikingly accurate portrayal of the motivations, personalities, and events of the Continental Congress within a fictional context. It ran for three years on Broadway and toured for an additional two years (and was revived on Broadway in 1997), proving that a musical with a comedic strain could, while retaining the verve of its genre, also be a serious and reflective method of examining a complex historical chapter.

The movie uses much of the play's original cast, including William Daniels as John Adams, Howard Da Silva as Benjamin Franklin, and Ken Howard as Thomas Jefferson. (Daniels would go on to play the role of Adams's son, John Quincy Adams, in his older years in the 1976 PBS miniseries THE ADAMS CHRONICLES.) The director, writer, composer, and choreographer were also the same individuals who had presented 1776 on stage; it was director Peter Hunt's first film. For these reasons, the movie was as faithful a transposition of stage to screen as probably has been made, and was shot in a surprisingly quick 44 days for $5 million. Although largely confined to the single set of what became Independence Hall in Philadelphia (recreated on the Columbia Ranch), 1776 is seldom unnecessarily theatrical. This is due to the creative lighting ("Momma, Look Sharp"), the double-exposures and soundtrack ("Molasses to Rum"), the camera following individual's movements, and changes in perspective in relation to the characters. Indeed, the use of stage devices, such as dimming most of the screen to highlight a single character, becomes a method of stylization on the screen. Theatrical symbols also succeed with surprising effectiveness, ignoring cinematic conventions. For instance, the passage of time is signaled, not by a typical montage, but by the play's use of a clerk tearing off pages on a calendar as a countdown to the critical July 4.

Despite its stage success, 1776 was not nearly as popular in movie theaters. Probably the political fragmentation of the United States at the time of the release of 1776 in 1972 precluded any movie so cheerfully patriotic from winning widespread success. Unrest was even greater among movie-going audiences than in the general politic, as Hollywood experimented with an unprecedented variety of new formulas to entice audiences. Too frivolous to attract liberal audiences of the time, 1776 may have also been too revisionist for conservatives, securing detractors at both extremes of the political spectrum. Moreover, old-fashioned musicals were losing their popularity on screen.

1776 was also the victim of the absence of a strong tradition of Hollywood films about the American Revolution. Many periods in American history have been presented on the screen, including the most agonizing chapter in our past, the Civil War and Reconstruction, explored in hundreds of pictures from the beginning of the cinema to the present. By contrast, the Revolution has never been successful subject matter at the boxoffice, and its screen presentation relatively rare, despite the fact that it is one of the central events in the history and ideology of our country. Early sound films about the subject were confined to shorts, and only later were features made, most of them second-rate, such as THE SCARLET COAT (1955); JOHNNY TREMAIN (1957); JOHN PAUL JONES (1959); THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE (1959); and REVOLUTION (1985). The most recent such production, THE PATRIOT (2000), while far better than any of the previous titles mentioned, turned out to be less popular than its producers had hoped, and garnered liberal ire. Walt Disney's late 1950s television miniseries THE SWAMP FOX, depicting essentially the same setting and characterizations as THE PATRIOT, was perhaps the most successful screen treatment of the period, because it dealt with actual individuals (focusing on Francis Marion) who are nonetheless relatively unknown to most filmgoers along with a set of incidents that lend themselves to swashbuckling treatment.

Modern American audiences may be uncomfortable with the degree of radicalism of which they were capable in the Revolution. For instance, at the same time as 1776 was originally playing on stage, a 1970 television series entitled THE YOUNG REBELS provided a clear parallel between the youthful revolutionaries against British colonialism and contemporary activists protesting the Vietnam War. THE YOUNG REBELS became the object of right-wing criticism and only lasted a half-season on the air. Hollywood has gone so far as to evade presentation of the Revolution itself by turning films set in this period into virtual westerns, emphasizing the conflict with Indians over the British, such as DRUMS ALONG THE MOHAWK and ALLEGHENY UPRISING (both 1939).

The motivations for the American Revolution may be so complex, and so sacred, as to render it difficult to adapt for the cinema, but 1776 overcomes problems that other such portraits have found insurmountable. For instance, movies have frequently had trouble portraying George Washington as a believable character and not as a reverential figure. In 1776, Washington is structured into the narrative but remains unseen, as a series of his dispatches are read to the Continental Congress--but his sanctity is suggested as the signature each time is preceded by a roll of the drums.

The founding fathers in 1776 are not, as Franklin says in the debate over slavery, demigods. 1776 portrays them as entirely human, fallible, temperamental, and not always visionary. The majority have little understanding of the historic significance of the deeds in which they are involved. 1776 recognizes their shortcomings as well as their heroism, and how both aspects were intertwined in their nature. The seriousness and conviction of John Adams is balanced against his short temper, knowing he is "obnoxious and disliked." Jefferson seeks to avoid the prominence thrust upon him, preferring domesticity to writing the Declaration. The movie succeeds in capturing the respect Jefferson and Adams have for each other along with the personal tensions that would ignite in the 1790s. On the other hand, there is a tendency to find too much folksy humor in Benjamin Franklin by casting him in the familiar figure of the wily old codger.

Most impressive is the fact that no less than two dozen characters among the 56 signers of the Declaration become recognizable individuals in the film, with their own traits, strengths, shortcomings, and patterns of behavior. Equally important with Adams, Jefferson, and Franklin are such individuals, obscure to most filmgoers, as John Dickinson (the voice of Toryism), Edward Rutledge (leader of the southern slave-holders), Stephen Hopkins (thirsty for rum), Caesar Rodney (near death but whose vote was essential to unanimity), James Wilson (seeking only anonymity), Lewis Morris (perpetually abstaining because his state has sent him no instructions), Lyman Hall (epitomizing the gradual shift from loyalists to revolutionaries dominating the Congress). After the movie, these characters are no longer historical footnotes.

1776 overcomes not only the traditional failure of movies about the Revolution as well as an even greater obstacle: it is one of the few films dramatizing the intractably dull nuances of the legislative process. With its melange of characters, 1776 celebrates the range of political viewpoints and the fitful democratic movement toward consensus. These various characters embody ideological characteristics: the Tory arguments, and even those of slave-holders, are presented with respect if not necessarily approval, allowing the viewer to feel they have experienced, like the original Continental Congress, the range of political alternatives. Equally important, those who equivocate, strive for a middle ground, are only slowly convinced of the need for independence, or who change sides during the debate, are never belittled. Even as the viewer hopes to see the victory of the voices for independence amidst the sometimes discouraging debate, the conviction and patriotism of those who disagree is not denied. They are presented as antagonists in the dramatic sense, adversaries for the heroes to persuade through debate.

Most would, without the prodding of revolutionaries Jefferson, Franklin, and Adams, be satisfied in their propertied world as "Cool, Considerate Men." The play's song of the same title was deleted in the movie, depriving it of the play's recognition of the extent of the conservative current in the Continental Congress, and just how exceptional in history was the radicalism of the Declaration of Independence. Celebrating tradition, the marketplace, and wealth, John Dickinson reminds John Hancock that "most men with nothing would rather protect the possibility of becoming rich than face the reality of being poor." "Cool, Considerate Men" is part of a scene that effectively sums up the right-wing, Tory ideology that was strong as then as throughout history.

1776 also recognizes that the delegates were not the only "voices" in Philadelphia. A soldier who brings Washington's dispatches has lost friends in the fighting. The clerks and assistants are seen and heard, from the one proclaiming "Sweet Jesus!" at the endless parliamentary wrangling to the unemotional secretary whose voice cracks while reading aloud a despairing letter from General Washington. Nor is independence the result merely of men; John Adams relies on the counsel and encouragement of his soulmate Abigail, as does Jefferson on the love of his beautiful wife Martha. The role of women in both the background and the fighting is further represented when John asks his wife to have her friends make saltpeter for gunpowder.

Probably the play and the movie's greatest mistake was in adding a jarring romantic interlude between Thomas Jefferson and his wife which was false to history, since she was not in Philadelphia at the time the Declaration of Independence was written. Their encounter, laden with regrettable double-entendres, is in sharp contrast to the creative use of history in the relationship between John and Abigail Adams. The loneliness of their separation is movingly conveyed in their letters, placed in the context of songs.

Of the relatively few attempts to approach the Revolution on the screen, the spectacle of the founding fathers bursting into song is, unlikely as it may seem, one of the most satisfying portrayals of that time. Initially, as the movie begins, placing of the subject in this generic context may seem alienating and unpromising. However, as the viewer begins to absorb 1776 on its own terms, the accumulation of scenes and songs develop into a powerful presentation of the process that culminated on July 4 of that year, building to an emotional, patriotic, and historically moving climax. The songs, surprising as it may seem for such a politicized, historical topic, vividly bring to life many crucial incidents in the narrative, whether the decision to have Jefferson write the declaration or the metaphor of the egg to signify the birth of the new nation.

Today, 1776 is beginning to achieve greater recognition. The version in television distribution lasts 141 minutes, the same length as moviegoers saw during the theatrical release in 1972. In 1995, a laserdisc restoration was issued, which lasts over a half hour longer, including "Cool, Considerate Men." In 2002, another restoration of 1776 was assembled, this time a "Director's Cut." Additional expense in the new DVD makes the movie appear as a seamless whole. Original negatives that producer Jack L. Warner claimed to have destroyed were located for the DVD, while the laserdisc had to make do with workprints of that footage.

One of the reasons for the truncated version of 1776 generally shown was that the producer was Jack L. Warner, the by-then venerable figure who was head of production at Warner Bros. studios in the 1930s and 1940s. He slashed 1776 with the same ruthless approach to editing that he had at his own studio many years before. Hence, in the laserdisc, a loss of quality in the restored images allows clear recognition of what was trimmed and what was part of the theatrical release. This allows the viewer to judge for themselves whether the deletions Jack Warner made detracted from the movie, providing a fascinating opportunity to judge Warner's editing and whether, like other moguls of that era, his approach may have subtracted as much as it may have added to the productions at his studio. In this reviewer's opinion, while some of these cuts served to speed transitions, some two-thirds of the alterations either eliminated passages that were necessary to characterization or the fully balanced presentation of political viewpoints. In sum, Warner's changes damaged the overall effectiveness of the play's treatment of the subject. With the restorations, the full effect of the movie may finally be completely enjoyed.

M/B/RS staff member Brian Taves earned his Ph.D. in cinema-television from the University of Southern California and is the author of The Romance of Adventure: The Genre of Historical Adventure Films (University Press of Mississippi, 1993) and other books.