Synopsis
When a toy manufacturer feels ignored and unappreciated by his wife and children, he begins to rekindle a past love when a former employee comes back into his life.
When a toy manufacturer feels ignored and unappreciated by his wife and children, he begins to rekindle a past love when a former employee comes back into his life.
Fred MacMurray Barbara Stanwyck Joan Bennett William Reynolds Pat Crowley Gigi Perreau Jane Darwell Race Gentry Myrna Hansen Judy Nugent Paul Smith Helen Kleeb Jane Howard Frances Mercer Sheila Bromley Dorothy Bruce Hermine Sterler Fred Nurney Hal Smith Lulu Mae Bohrman John Breen Joe Brooks Jean Byron George Calliga Jack Chefe Beulah Christian June Clayworth Oliver Cross Charles Fogel Show All…
Demain est un autre jour, Es gibt immer ein Morgen, Quella che avrei dovuto sposare, Siempre hay un mañana, Всегда есть завтра, 断肠弦歌, Chamas Que Não Se Apagam, Onni päättyy huomenna
What I love about this film is that Douglas Sirk, the man who was maybe best known for giving women a voice, telling their stories of quiet imprisonment in their 50s households, turns it all around here by introducing us to a man who's struggling with domesticity, and no, not in a "oh gosh, I really gotta go out there and put my dick in something else" kinda way, no, Sirk tells this story with the same sensitivity he applied to his "women's pictures", and I feel that's what makes this movie unusual and daring. Fred MacMurray's character is a gentle and sensitive man, an attentive husband and a generous father, and his family is obviously taking him for granted.…
Vague spoilers ahead.
Douglas Sirk makes movies about suffering. Suffering that is intense and pointed, yes, but it's also suffering that, often, comes from within; suffering that begins only when his characters open their eyes, and realize with horror that they've been miserable for years. Often, external voices (usually, it seems, played by William Reynolds who, for a brief period in the mid-1950s, cornered the cinematic market on loathsome, arrogant sons) enter the fray just as the characters awaken, articulating the social pressures that had become such an ever-present internal monologue that Sirk's protagonists hadn't even registered its presence before their newfound awareness.
In There's Always Tomorrow, Sirk's somnambulist is Cliff Groves, played by Fred MacMurray at his most dimly…
Don’t let its toy shop setting fool you. Douglas Sirk’s “There’s Always Tomorrow” is one of the most complex depictions of married life ever written for the screen.
Barbara Stanwyck, Joan Bennett and Fred MacMurray fumble nightmarishly through the middle stages of partnership and infidelity with a nightmarish quality equal to “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf” and a tragic restraint to match “Brief Encounter.”
Sirk’s domestic drama lives entirely in the realm of misperception, where boredom or loneliness push a family of five to each write their own narratives to a relationship.
While the love triangle aspect might tease at soapiness, “Tomorrow”‘ is less about the outcome of the interwoven passions, and more revealing of the desires in those pretending…
Probably Douglas Sirk's darkest and cruelest melodrama. I'm shocked he got away with it, seeing how scathing it is of heteronormative gender roles and suburbia.
Stanwyck and MacMurray are paired again, teaming up for yet another masterpiece after Remember the Night and Double Indemnity. He's a family man, she's a career woman, and they're both absolutely miserable. They're not miserable because being a career woman is inherently bad, or because having a family is inherently joyless, but instead because of restrictions foisted upon them by the world they live in. Stanwyck is stuck in the false dichotomy of career woman and housewife, feeling lonely as ever in her heavy work schedule, and MacMurray is neglected and taken for granted by…
Yet another neglected masterpiece. An ironic yet moving portrait of American middle-class life in the 50's. Fred MacMurray stars as a toy manufacturer who feels ignored and unappreciated by his wife and children. Alone and despondent, he meets an old flame (Barbara Stanwyck) and develops a friendship with her, but fate doesn't allow him to have even that little bit of happiness. Sirk could do melodrama in his sleep and this is just another example of that. He exploits every dramatic situation to its full potential. He also does a great job visually to depict how trapped MacMurray's character truly is. The shot of the toy robot in the end says it all.
Last year I attended a high school reunion. My first feeling – beyond a secret desire to discover imperfections in others’ lives equal to my own – was one of vertiginous unreality. The men and women, reflected in time’s less-than-funhouse mirror, appeared as grotesques of my memory of them. No expensively tailored suit could disguise the paunch of the athlete, and multiple childbirths had transfigured the ingenue. These were people mostly healthy, and mostly accomplished: still, none could successfully escape a comparison to bygone youth, and one could’t help but read in the wrinkles something faintly ridiculous. Looking in the mirror, of course, one was merely laughing at oneself.
I had the same reaction to first encountering Fred MacMurray and…
Screw it, decided to watch this again in the context of Stanwyck and MacMurray. Also as i have found out there were four films, as they appeared in a Western together called the Moonlighters, my bad. Also, they play ex-lovers, so I will need to find that.
OK to get this out of the way, this is my 2nd fav Sirk, Tarnished Angels is the fav. Sirk, I find to be a very mid director with flashes of brilliance. 6 masterpieces which are some of the best hollywood melodramas ever made, then there is the rest of the career. I've seen 21 of his films, they are good but i would never call him a master, due to some of…
incredibly moving film about being stuck in a rut or never having a rut to be stuck in. it lacks all judgement, no one is a bad person - Sirk understands these people and their impulses enough to let them lie in ambiguity.
MacMurray and his percolating desire is terrific, but Stanwyck steals it. she's so subtly vulnerable, meticulously shedding layers to reveal a deep sorrow.
“The movie was so young and romantic I kept wanting a shoulder to lean my head on”
Love is reckless and I don’t even know if it’s good. The older you get the more you unlearn your recklessness and I don’t know if that’s good either. I do know that there are far worse things than having a family to come home to or a successful career to fall back on, even when the loneliness feels unbearable. I’ll probably still keep your picture, so long.