Forget for a moment the philosophies of Ayn Rand. Forget the unrelenting stoicism of every character involved. Forget, if you can, that the dialogue, from beginning to end, plays like an ever flowing stream of talking points, slogans and mottos rather than actual words any normal human being would ever utter. Forget all of that and simply revel in the fact that, once upon a time, someone put Gary Cooper, Patricia Neal and Raymond Massey together in a movie in which they, ostensibly, form a love triangle and as an endlessly engaging commercial entertainment, it worked. It worked like gangbusters. Then go back to all the other stuff because, let’s face it, you couldn’t avoid it if you tried. The Fountainhead(1949), directed by King Vidor from a screenplay by Ayn Rand based on her own novel, is one of the most ludicrously naked political tracts ever filmed. But, damn, is it fun to watch.
The Fountainhead begins in a universe that does not, nor ever has, existed. It’s a universe where people constantly tell you they hate you because you’re original. You know how, when you’re a kid, you tell yourself that anyone who doesn’t like something you’ve done is just jealous? Well, in The Fountainhead‘s universe, that’s actually true and people will tell you that to your face. They will tell you they don’t like your new building design because it’s too good, and you’re a genius, and civilization will crumble if men are allowed to think for themselves. They won’t imply that, they will actually use those words. That’s the screenplay of The Fountainhead in a nutshell. Oh yeah, and sexual innuendo. Lots of sexual innuendo. But back to how it begins.
It begins with Howard Roark (Gary Cooper) being kicked out of school for being too original (yes, really). Told by his friend, Peter Keating (Kent Smith), that he will fail unless he follows the crowd, Roark finally gets a job with independent thinker Henry Cameron (Henry Hull), only to be told repeatedly by Cameron that he is too original and the world will hate him. He gets only four commissions in the years that follow, Cameron has a heart attack (which doesn’t stop him from lecturing Roark in the ambulance about the individual versus the collective), and when he hits bottom, he gets a visit from his old friend Peter who tells him “I told you so.”
When Roark finally gets another commission to build the headquarters for a bank, he turns it down because the bank wants to alter his design. This is, naturally, done as didactically as humanly possible without actually reading from a “Conformity for Dummies” handbook. They tell him if he doesn’t alter his ingenious and innovative design, the public will be horrified and afraid because it’s so original. Why, they won’t know what to think! He turns them down rather than go against his principles and the movie makes it easy for us to sympathize as the additions are, indeed, utterly abysmal in every possible way. Post-modernism never looked as bad as the clash of architectural types on display once the bank’s board is finished, and that’s saying something.
Roark then goes to work as a day laborer and it is here that he comes into contact with Dominique Francon (Patricia Neal), an architectural critic for a paper run by Gail Wynand (Raymond Massey), who is taking a summer break at her father’s estate. When we first meet Francon, she is dropping a statue from her window because, as she tells Wynand, who loves her, she loved the statue and didn’t want to submit to it and become a slave. You know, just like any normal person would. She’s engaged to Roark’s friend, Peter Keating, until Wynand offers him a job if he dumps Dominique, which he does. That sends Dominique to her dad’s house and down to his quarry to watch the day laborers pound stone. That’s when she sees Roark pile driving rock, working his drill like a master, and, gee, if you’re wondering if that imagery is meant to stand in for something else, no need to wonder, it is. The Fountainhead makes the sexual innuendo of James Bond films look like indecipherable code compared to its brazen lack of subtlety. Later, Dominique sits in her room and we see what she is thinking in optical overlay next to her head; the arms of Howard Roark working that drill.
She lures him up to her room by breaking the marble base of her fireplace so that he has to fix it. He cracks it apart with his mighty hammer and chisel before leaving her desperate for his manhood. When the new marble arrives, Roark purposely sends someone else to install it, infuriating Dominique. She chases him down on horseback, whips his face and leaves. Later, he enters her room and, there’s no way to candy coat this, rapes her. It uses the ages-old cliché of “she resists but she really wants it” to give Roark a pass, but the scene ends with no other interpretation left for the viewer to grant such a pass, cliché or not. She runs out of the room, trips and falls, whimpers, and Roark walks up to her, stands over her and smirks. Fade to black. So, like I said, he rapes her.
He leaves the next day and within a year is a successful architect. That’s when Dominique meets up with him again, marries Wynand and the bizarre triangle begins. Oh yeah, and there’s a lot of stuff about the individual, the collective and doing whatever you want to whoever you want as long as you’re not conforming.
The Fountainhead is a marvel of a movie. Visually, it’s stunning. That’s no surprise with King Vidor as director and Robert Burks as cinematographer. Burks was one of the best cinematographers Hollywood ever had. The art direction by Edward Carrere is equally impressive, giving life to the universe of Howard Roark. And, of course, Cooper, Neal, and Massey all do the best job they can with the platitudes they’re forced to spout. Which brings us back to the screenplay.
Ayn Rand wrote it based on her own novel and it is truly wretched in almost every conceivable way. While the story itself may be preposterous in its setups (Roark just happens to be college friends with Keating, who just happens to be engaged to Francon, who just happens to visit the quarry where Roark just happens to be working, then quits her job at Wynand’s paper out of protest over the treatment of a brilliant new architect she doesn’t know just happens to be the guy that trapped her in room and on and on and on), many movies have stories based on extraordinary coincidences. No, it’s the God-awful dialogue that both dooms the movie and makes it endlessly entertaining, all at the same time.
Rand cannot extract herself from the piece and simply write a story that espouses her ideas. She must make the characters act as her mouthpiece and spew them for her. Her screenplay doesn’t just outline exactly what you should think, it never contains a moment where it doesn’t outline what you should think. After only a few minutes, and I do mean only a few minutes, the preponderance of didacticism makes it impossible not to start chuckling at each new line. It doesn’t matter what a character does (drop a statue, read a paper, drink a cup of coffee) you can be damn sure that before, during, and after doing it, they will tell you how it relates to the eternal struggle of the ego versus the collective.
Ayn Rand became famous for the philosophies outlined in her books and her screenplay puts them on full display. Roark can destroy anything he makes, even if paid and contracted by someone else to do it. His arguments at the end win his freedom in Rand’s universe but in any other, he would have been laughed out of the courtroom while the judge asked, “You’re joking, right?” Her screenplay is filled with ludicrous setups, condoned rape, and sexual innuendo blunt enough to seem sophomoric to a fifth grader. And yet, its very outlandishness also makes it eminently watchable. When Francon rides that elevator up to her demi-god, Roarke, in the final shot, Rand’s notion of the self-serving individual is on full display. Roarke has beaten everyone by standing his ground and now the woman who thought she might best him is riding up to meet him. He lowers himself for no one, not even the woman who loves him.
Greg Ferrara