William Wyler: Top 10 Films
A list of the ten best films from legendary Hollywood director, and my personal favourite filmmaker, William Wyler.
Among the great directors of the Hollywood Golden Age, I find one name is often overlooked: William Wyler. The likes of Hitchcock, Ford, Wilder and Welles are still revered to this day for their innovation and genius, but Wyler’s name is rarely remembered as keenly. He lacked an obvious style or signature genre. Instead, his filmography covers a wide range of films, almost always immaculately crafted and with really excellent performances. Wyler believed that a film’s style should be moulded to best fit the story, not the visual palette of any one director, and his films proved to be a consistent smash with audiences as a result.
He dominated the Academy Awards like few others, holding records in numerous categories for both nominations and wins, and even garnered critical acclaim outside of the States too. Most of the major stars he worked with returned for a second or third film, as he gained a reputation for getting the absolute best out of everyone. Narrowing down just ten films in a filmography that spans five decades was a difficult task, but I’ve attempted to do just that, killing a fair few of my babies in the process. If I could include them all I would, but here’s just the ten I think best encapsulate Wyler’s brilliance.
10 - Friendly Persuasion (1956)
Among Wyler’s many accolades, perhaps none is as prestigious as the Palme d’Or. He was awarded the honour in 1957 for Friendly Persuasion, over the likes of Nights of Cabiria and The Seventh Seal. And though that decision may be deemed to have aged poorly by critical consensus, Wyler’s film is not without its merits. It’s a quaint family drama, showing the lives and community of some rural Quakers and the pacifist stance they take during the American Civil War. Starring Gary Cooper, Dorothy McGuire and a pre-Psycho Anthony Perkins, it has all the star-power and top class acting that had become synonymous with Wyler films by the mid-50s. Each of them gives a surprisingly sensitive turn, making the simple lives of this family incredibly engaging.
Though lacking the style of some of the director’s more famous work, there’s an undeniable charm to proceedings that’s hard to dislike. Subtly subverting many of the typical conventions seen in war films and westerns - that of the gung-ho hero and strictly drawn lines between good and evil - Wyler manages to make this low-key story incredibly compelling. Large stretches of the film are spent just watching the Birdwell family interact as they go about their daily lives, attempting to uphold their Quaker beliefs in a world that isn’t quite built for them. It’s as effective as it is because you genuinely believe in the connections between the characters, thanks to understated acting across the board.
Their religious views are presented frankly, completely without judgement. Wyler isn’t concerned with picking a side in the pro/anti-war debate. Instead he shows this small community as it is, and leaves you to make your mind up about the choices they make. It’s about as down-to-earth and unglamorous as Golden Age Hollywood gets, which is especially surprising given it was Wyler’s first film in colour. He would go on to produce big budget technicolour spectacles, but while his first foray into the medium is lacking in a certain shine, it really suits the subject matter. Perhaps that’s what charmed the Cannes Jury. It’s a rare feat for a mainstream Hollywood director to win plaudits across the Atlantic, so Wyler deserves credit as one of the only studio era directors to win Europe’s top cinephile award.
9 - Detective Story (1951)
This fiery police drama, adapted from a 1949 play of the same name, cuts to the heart of puritanical prejudices of the time (specifying which beliefs would amount to spoiler territory). It’s essentially a day in the life of one police precinct, where a self-righteous detective sees his personal code, and eventually his life, spiral out of control. Kirk Douglas gives one of his best performances, alongside Eleanor Parker and a pre-blacklisted Lee Grant. Both actresses received Oscar nominations, while Grant also won Best Actress at Cannes for her small role. Rather cruelly there was no such recognition for Douglas, despite electrifying monologues and tirades, at times exploding with an almost manic glee but equally able to show inner turmoil as his ideals are challenged in hard-hitting fashion.
It’s an energetic story, building up to an emotionally bombastic finale. The near single location is perfect for a director like Wyler. He was an expert at adapting stage material for the screen. Here it allows him to play effortlessly with depth and focus as he flicks between the various storylines, resulting in a narrative where everything unfolds very naturally. He pulls you into the story, forcing us to see the impact of the detective’s actions as the seemingly straightforward drama turns into something wholly more tragic. It’s even more prescient when viewed through a modern lens. The increased awareness and scrutiny of police brutality in the decades since release have only increased the murkiness of Douglas’ detective and his merciless philosophy. As the film goes on, the façade he wears is pulled away, eventually revealing a contemptible man, hardly better than the criminals he demeans and looks down on. It’s a caustic examination of police attitudes and their abuse of authority, years before it was really in the eye of the mainstream.
8. How to Steal a Million (1966)
The 60s was the decade where Wyler shifted a bit in the films he was producing. Though largely a straight up drama director for most of his heyday, in his later films he began to take on new genres (thrillers with The Collector, musicals with Funny Girl, even revisiting his own ’36 drama These Three with The Children’s Hour, a lesbian drama heavily scrutinised by the censors). It was with How to Steal a Million that he decided to go all out on light-hearted fun. It’s a rom-com - Wyler had already dabbled in the genre quite successfully - but also a crime caper, and of all his 1960s films, it’s here that the director struck the best balance between genre and straight-up entertainment.
This crime-comedy was Wyler’s third and final collaboration with the legendary Audrey Hepburn, pairing the leading screen star with Peter O’Toole for a Paris-based heist with a touch of romance. When the daughter of an art forger suddenly realises her father is about to be found out, she teams up with a suave burglar to steal his forgery back and protect his secret. It’s perhaps the outright funniest film Wyler ever made, leaning much more into comedic circumstances and prickly ‘will they-won’t they’ romantic tensions than most of his other work. Hepburn and O’Toole have excellent chemistry - they play prickly and frosty as well as they do warm and affectionate. Both show terrific comedic timing and spout one liners with bucketloads of sass, making their conversations alone entertaining.
Coming at the back end of Wyler’s filmography, it shows he still had the knack for getting utterly charming performances out of his stars. His stars make for a wonderful screen pairing, perfectly embodying the high-class atmosphere of the sophisticated world of Parisian art. Wyler sets up the caper so effectively, orchestrating and executing a low-key but totally ingenious heist with creativity, excitement and humour. He pokes fun at the crazy obsessions of the wealthy and their total disconnect from any normal reality, without letting the romance or driving plot suffer. Hugh Griffiths and Eli Wallach provide amusing supporting roles, chewing scenery with apparent glee and always amusing with their mannerisms and crazy ideas (Griffiths is significantly better in this than Ben-Hur, the Wyler film that he actually won an Oscar for). The whole thing has a really light-hearted air, with two luminous stars and smart direction that cement its place alongside all the best capers.
7. The Big Country (1958)
Wyler was an unashamedly political filmmaker. His left-wing leanings are woven throughout a lot of his films, and none more so than his 1958 Western The Big Country. Perhaps most famous for its rousing score, The Big Country is Wyler’s attempt to understand the Cold War, and the pointless, unnecessary tensions and conflicts that it enabled. (Rather ironically, President Eisenhower was a big fan, and screened it multiple times at The White House). It sees a former sea captain travel out to the his fiancé’s vast Texan ranch, where he soon becomes reluctantly involved in a land squabble between the local families. After Wyler’s downplayed imagining of the American frontier in Friendly Persuasion, this was a return to a more typically Hollywood style. The massive sets and wide expanses emphasise the title, while the story, about warring land barons, is rich with social commentary about wealth, masculinity and defiance in the face of adversity.
As had become the norm by then, the cast is full of talent, with stars like Gregory Peck and Jean Simmons, Charlton Heston, Carroll Baker and Burl Ives bringing these characters to life (Ives would win an Oscar, a common theme for actors in Wyler films). It’s a meditation on the American way of life and the mythology of the Western, inflected by Wyler’s European perspective on themes of pride, conflict and nationalism. He questions those who rush headfirst into dangerous situations they don’t fully understand, assured that their way and their way alone is the morally right one. In many ways, it’s an early example of the revisionist Western, approaching the genre and character archetypes in a way that few other films did during the 50s, but never allowing that to diminish the scale of it all.
6. Jezebel (1938)
When thinking of depictions of the Civil War Era South in 30s Hollywood, Gone With the Wind is the obvious frontrunner. Just one year before however, Wyler directed a very similar film for Samuel Goldwyn; one that also won its lead actress Bette Davis an Oscar (her second of the decade). She stars as Julie, a young tempestuous belle, whose daring attitude and rebelliousness sees her slowly lose everything around her. This was the first time one of Wyler’s stars had truly shone – Davis is a force of nature, headstrong and independent, demanding attention every time she is on screen. Julie is every bit as conniving and petulant as Gone With the Wind’s Scarlett O’Hara, bringing out the worst in everybody around her as she rebels against the rules that govern her archaic society.
Davis always credited Wyler with helping her realise her full potential as a screen actress, and the results of his perfectionism and relentless pushing are clear to see on screen. Few actresses have ever come close to matching Davis' level of performance in this. To my eye, this is her greatest work put to screen - the quintessential Davis persona; dominant and manipulative, with softer emotions buried very deep beneath her sharpness. It’s indisputably one of the finest performances in the career of a true screen icon, and Wyler knows how to make it as effective as possible. The way he frames her and dresses her constantly heighten the atmosphere surrounding her. The two would go on to make two more films together in the 40s — The Letter and The Little Foxes — for which Davis would also receive Oscar nominations, but neither are quite as scintillating as their first collaboration.
More than just a performance vehicle though, Jezebel is a fascinating snapshot of its era. On the one hand, Wyler’s craft is just incredible. On the other, it’s aged terribly when it comes to its depictions of African Americans, with some of the most egregious stereotypes you can imagine. For a film about the South in the 1850s, racial politics and the topic of slavery are impossible to avoid. And in an era where Hollywood had little respect for non-white characters, it was always going to prove distasteful. Although it’s also worth noting that the film doesn’t just rely on lazy comedy like most others from that time.
Wyler’s frame is always aware of the presence of black characters, showing their integral role within this world and the callous treatment they receive from their white masters. He succeeds in condemning this failing society, and when it isn’t focusing on the stereotypes it’s rich with nuance, interpretations, and really impressive filmmaking. There’s a cynical tone to how the Southerners are presented, as members of a pathetic society edging closer to defeat. With none of the romanticism that’s so jarring about Gone With the Wind, Jezebel stands the test of time somewhat better than most similar films from its time.
5. Mrs Miniver (1942)
There aren’t many films that can earn the plaudits of both Winston Churchill and Josef Goebbels; enter Mrs. Miniver. The former British Prime Minister once claimed that Mrs. Miniver did more for the war effort than a fleet of destroyers, while the infamous Nazi propaganda minister demanded his own wartime filmmakers come up with something as brilliant and effective as Wyler’s family melodrama. It was this wartime propaganda film, following the lives of an affluent Kent family struggling through the war at home, that elevated Wyler to the upper echelons of Hollywood. Born in Alsace-Lorraine, the director was acutely aware of the threat posed by Hitler long before his peers in Hollywood were acknowledging it, and weaves those sentiments so effectively throughout every moment of Mrs. Miniver. It won him Best Director for the first time, and became the first of three Best Picture winners he would go on to direct, a record that still stands today.
Although its overly sentimental tone may feel a little on the nose nowadays, it’s just so brilliantly made that it’s hard not to still be charmed by it, and swept up in its support for the Allied cause. Wyler's careful, near-immaculate control over the narrative from start to finish is a sight to behold. Never once does his directorial hand overshadow the wonderful performances and powerful emotions that drive the story forward. It's the perfect pinnacle to his pre-war filmography - understandably, such overwhelming sentiment would rarely be seen again once he returned from military service. Few Wyler films, and indeed few films from the 40s, had the cultural impact of this one (the final sermon that closes the film was even printed onto leaflets and airdropped over occupied Europe). It opened up the American public to the struggles in Europe, bolstering support and providing hope while still being an incredibly entertaining drama.
Spending time with these characters is an absolute pleasure, brought to life by one of the finest collections of performances Wyler ever had. Greer Garson and Teresa Wright won Oscars for their work, but everyone impresses. Their moments of happiness fill you with joy, and their tougher moments ground you with them in their struggles and the times they are living through. There’s something comforting about seeing a family presented without any personal conflicts – no suspicion or lack of trust. The film is more concerned with their perseverance through hard times, the ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ mentality so often associated with this period of British history. The war is literally on their doorstep, and Wyler doesn’t sanitise any of the effects it has on the ordinary people just trying to get by (while still poking some fun at the upper class). Wyler’s use of space is magnificent, utilising every possible corner of the frame to make even simple conversations riveting to watch. His whole pacing of the story is perfect, weaving a soothing tapestry of idyllic life before completely pulling the rug out from under you with the final third. It’s emotional storytelling at its absolute finest.
4. Ben-Hur (1959)
Until James Cameron came along with Titanic, Ben-Hur had stood alone for nearly four decades as the film with the record for the most Oscars. Winning a whopping 11 of its 12 nominations, including Picture, Director, Actor, Supporting Actor, Production Design and Cinematography, it remains one of the grandest spectacles Hollywood ever produced. The story of Ben-Hur is one that studios have frequently retold. Wyler himself was an assistant director on the silent version produced in 1925. But it’s the 1959 epic that is universally considered the definitive version. Wyler was a veteran of the game by then, having over two decades of hit after hit, and it was Ben-Hur that earned him the unprecedented distinction of being the only director with three Best Picture winners under his belt.
In an era when sword-and-sandal epics dominated the mainstream box office, Ben-Hur was the standard to beat. It’s epic in every sense of the word, following a fallen Jewish prince, betrayed and sold into slavery, who works his way back to the top of Roman society through exciting battles and chariot racing, set against the backdrop of the all-conquering Roman Empire and the preaching of a simple carpenter in Jerusalem. It’s a creative tour-de-force, with enormous sets and a sense of scale that trumps just about any other film from the era for sheer immensity. The visuals alone are astounding, with kinetic camerawork and immense compositions littered across its mammoth runtime. When you talk about the money being on the screen, nowhere is that more evident than in Ben-Hur (the chariot race arena alone took a year to carve out of stone).
Amongst all that size and spectacle, Wyler never loses his focus for a second, providing some thrilling sequences and an emotionally investing story. Imposing performances make the characters feel distinct (for the most part: Hugh Griffith’s Oscar winning brown-face role is particularly distasteful to modern eyes, and one of the Academy’s more shameful moments). It’s best remembered for the thrilling chariot race, one of the most visceral, tightly edited sequences ever put to film, but there’s plenty of other outstanding moments too. Giant warships, vast deserts, Roman forums and Biblical events are all brought to the screen with glistening precision and dazzling brilliance. Some of its religious messaging is a bit on the nose, but the way it’s all filmed is just too impressive to not be swept up by it.
3. The Heiress (1949)
Wyler had a knack for mining every ounce of subtlety and nuance out of his stars, and this was never more tactfully handled than his riveting 1949 drama The Heiress. When a coddled, socially awkward young woman is suddenly courted by a handsome young adventurer, her father’s disapproval leads to long-held resentments finally bubbling up to the surface, changing her outlook on everything in the process. Adapted from a play by Rufus and August Goetz, which was itself based on the Henry James novel Washington Square, it became a star vehicle for screen legend Olivia De Havilland, coming in a wildly successful run for her following her return from a blacklist in 1946.
It earned universal acclaim for both its star and director, closing out an immense decade for Wyler, cementing De Havilland as one of the top stars of the time, and winning her a second Oscar in the process. Her win is thoroughly deserved; she’s painfully naive and sympathetic as Catherine Sloper, before a bitter descent into a steeliness as she steps out of her privileged, coddled life and into the real world. Her expressive eyes, her slight facial twitches, her stiff body language – it all reveals so much depth to her character, and Wyler makes each and every moment as effective as possible.
His meticulously designed long takes are captivating, with slight eye movements and a characters’ line of sight telling just as much of the story as the dialogue. The man was a master of staging, and uses the spectacular 19th Century mansion setting to terrific effect. It has some of the best examples of common motifs throughout his entire filmography – clever use of stairs and mirror shots to convey the story themes and character development. He knows just when to focus on a character long enough to make you think twice about them, maintaining a very slight tension throughout every interaction that keeps you glued to each moment.
Edith Head’s costumes are also wonderful, earning the legendary costume designer the first of her eight Academy Awards. They lend an elegance to every scene, making the characters feel authentic in spite of the obvious Hollywood melodramatic touches. Wyler covers the whole story with a sly, entertaining veneer of formality. The characters speak so precisely, and social faux-pas are always handled in a very proper and polite way, with the deeper feelings found in the subtleties of each performance. Every member of the small cast is superb. It’s one of the finest collections of performances the Golden Age ever produced, with De Havilland as the shining jewel at the centre of it all.
2. The Best Years of Our Lives (1946)
Perhaps the most relevant film the director ever made, this was the first film Wyler directed post-WWII. Having spent the previous three years enlisted in the military and shooting some really ground-breaking war documentaries, he returned to studio filmmaking with a subject he and the rest of America (and indeed the world) were all too familiar with – war veterans returning home and readjusting to normal life. It immediately struck a chord with audiences, providing not just an entertaining family drama, but also a powerful message that almost every family at the time could relate to. This isn’t so much about the sentimentality as Mrs. Miniver was, but rather a thoughtful examination of life in a post-war world. It dominated that year’s Oscars, earning seven statues including a second Picture and Director for Wyler.
His image of post-war America, and the experiences of the returning soldiers, is as poignant as it is masterfully crafted. Drawing on his own experiences of returning from the war, the director uses the lives of three characters and their families to address the many problems faced by Americans at this time. He shows how they struggle to come to terms with the realities of returning to a class system, as well as their own physical and mental traumas. The military life is long gone, and with it the meritocracy that allows any man to rise up through the ranks; they find an America that is more confusing than the one they left, and one that seems to care little for their experiences. The deep focus cinematography and precisely orchestrated conversations reveal all of the fear and pain the characters cannot articulate.
The film’s whole design stresses the normality of everyone; there is nothing flashy or overly stylish about any of it, with sets and costumes that look well worn and lived in. This feeling grounds the story; it is through the bonds of family and friendship that our heroes are able to find some kind of peace in a world that will never be the same for them. It’s oddly prescient for a film made so soon after the war, capturing the mood and feeling of a nation while GI’s were still in the midst of returning from service. The film explores trauma, divorce and disability (disabled war veteran and non-professional actor Harold Russell gives a very touching Oscar winning performance) that no doubt impacted families all across the country, and they’re portrayed with honesty and sympathy. There’s little Hollywood manipulation going on here.
Wyler himself suffered the loss of most of his hearing while abroad, which only heightens the sense of respect with which he shows these struggles. Where Mrs. Miniver was instilled with the courage and determination of the mid-war years, The Best Years of Our Lives is tinged with more melancholy and weariness. On top of earning Wyler critical acclaim and accolades, both films serve as lovely bookends to the director’s WWII experiences.
1. Roman Holiday (1953)
Of all the films he produced throughout his long and varied career, Roman Holiday has had the most staying power. Still regarded as one of the defining romantic comedies of Hollywood’s Golden Age, it perfectly captures the magical essence of what the genre is about. Nowadays rom-coms are frequently and rightly derided for lazy comedy and contrived scenarios. When smart, original examples are so few and far between, it’s easy to forget there was once a time when rom-coms weren’t just universally popular with audiences, but critical darlings too. They would frequently earn multiple Academy Award nominations, and were helmed by the biggest names in the industry.
Roman Holiday was the perfect combination of everything that can make the genre so wonderful. It’s a romance in a class of its own – a modern fairytale where true love is stumbled upon, and a princess’s kiss can transform a slimy frog into a handsome prince. When Princess Ann, tired of the formality and rigidity of her royal life, escapes the confines of the palace, she sets herself off on the most delightful adventure around Rome, accompanied by selfish newsman Joe Bradley, as they both hide their true identity from the other. Full of charm and wonder, and shot through with heartfelt poignancy, it’s a story that’s passionate, spontaneous and exciting, whether we are discovering it for the first time or eagerly waiting for all the best moments (which would be all of them). Rarely has romance been this graceful, and the two lead stars encapsulate that perfectly.
Of all the stars Wyler helped to create, none are as effortlessly magnetic as Audrey Hepburn. Her breakout role in Hollywood catapulted her into superstardom, earning her an Oscar and making her the most sought-after actress of the 1950s. She brought her distinct style to the role of Princess Ann, charming audiences with her gracefulness and easy chemistry with Gregory Peck. Peck famously insisted that Wyler put Hepburn’s name alongside his own on the poster, so convinced was he that she would become a star and win the Oscar.
In a story of self-willed liberation, Hepburn is a personification of loveliness. Naive and kindhearted but with a strong will and determination, she plays it all with such a genuine wide-eyed wonder that you have no trouble believing she is seeing the hustle and bustle of Rome for the first time in her life. It’s an infectious delight to spend time in her company. You can see it through the lens of the hero's journey, or more modern coming of age narratives; a princess embarks on an adventure into the great unknown, and returns to her duty as a stronger, wiser person. That sense of duty, to her position and to her people, is never forgotten either, and builds to one of the most finely crafted, agonising finales in any rom-com.
Opposite her, Peck could be straight out of a film noir, so crummy and desperate is he to begin with. Slowly he is changed and charmed by his experiences, his expressive eyes conveying affection, excitement and empathy bubbling beneath the surface. The two have a real magical, enduring connection and the whole film rests on the ease with which they play it.
Wyler’s careful touch is apparent in every scene, moving things forward at pace. His legendary perfectionism is lightly worn, each shot controlled and precise, and infused with genuine warmth. In a filmography full of technically brilliant films, it’s easy to overlook the meticulous craft at play in Roman Holiday. Equally at ease with contemporary locations and designed spaces, Wyler creates a world that is energetic and of its time, and yet still timeless. This is only enhanced by the black and white cinematography, which entrances and lends the story a further time-honoured quality. Rome brims with life, history and adventure. It’s a fairytale as old as time, all wrapped up in a glistening Hollywood production – an eternal story for the Eternal City. This royal romance is the crowning glory in Wyler’s extraordinary career.
I could’ve written about numerous more Wyler films. Dead End (1937) was a particularly difficult film to leave off, as was The Desperate Hours, a home invasion thriller from 1955 with a chilling late career performance from Humphrey Bogart. Honestly, anything he made is worth checking out if you ask me. Wyler had a decades long run of near-uninterrupted success, and firmly deserves to stand alongside his more famous contemporaries.