Lilies of the Field, nominated for Best Picture of 1963, is a relatively slight film, to be honest. The story is simple. A drifter named Homer Smith (Sidney Poitier) needs water for his car and winds up at a remote farm in the desert. The farm happens to be run by a group of Eastern European nuns, most of whom barely speak English, yet they somehow manage to convince and/or trick Homer into completing a chapel for them. Nothing more complicated than that happens, but Lilies of the Field is nevertheless a charming little movie, primarily thanks to the charisma of its star (who would win an Oscar for Best Actor) and his interaction with the nuns, particularly Mother Maria (played by the indomitable Lilia Skala).
The nuns have all come from countries like Germany, Austria, and Hungary. They are, in a sense, refugees from East Berlin, having escaped over the wall after World War II. They are, certainly, completely out of place in the harsh environment of the desert. So far, they have been unsuccessful at finding someone to build the chapel that they think will unite the small Catholic community of the area. As it is, there's an Irish Catholic priest who visits each week to hold services in the dusty area in front of a general store and a few parishioners who show up for the weekly mass.
When Homer shows up, these nuns (Mother Maria, in particular) think he must have been sent by God to help them. He agrees to work only if he's paid for what he does. Homer, it seems, only wants to get enough money to move on to the next town. He fixes their roof and starts driving them to services each week. They feed him a spartan diet; one of the funniest scenes involves Poitier eating in one bite the entire breakfast that has been prepared for him. In fact, there's a lot of gentle humor throughout the movie. The most fun, of course, involves him trying to teach them English. They've been listening to records to learn this new language, and he has more than a few laughs at how oddly they phrase sentences.
There are, naturally, obstacles along the way. Everyone, including the priest who visits each week, thinks the nuns are in over their heads, and Homer is told repeatedly that the best thing for him to do is move on. Instead, he feels enormous sympathy for them, so he gets a job working two days a week for a local construction firm in order to stick around. One of the movie's very few instances of calling attention to Poitier's race happens when he asks for the job. The owner calls him "boy," only to have Homer call him "boy" right back. Otherwise, I suppose we're meant to see that the nuns treat Homer as an equal regardless of his skin color and that there can be relative harmony between people of such disparate backgrounds.
The film includes images of numerous groups of Mexican immigrants as well, including those who attend the weekly services and those who show up initially to watch Homer work and then take over the actual details of the construction. When Homer is called a "gringo" by these workers, he claims he doesn't know if that's a step up or down. To represent the diversity of the desert Southwest, the poor and disenfranchised of the area would logically need to be a part of this movie, and the filmmakers don't disappoint.
To be honest, I think my description of what happens makes Lilies of the Field seem more racially charged than it really is. This is a subtle film in many ways, but you always know where its heart lies. I know it sounds like a revolutionary picture by having a black man be the "savior" for the Europeans who have struggled before his arrival. However, this film is really about unity in the grand liberal film making tradition. Everyone needs to pitch in to build this chapel because, well, we all have to live together. Of course, that makes this movie sound even more ham-fisted than it really is too. It walks a rather delicate line, actually, and is perhaps as successful as it is because of that light touch.
Aside from the performances by Poitier, who is very sympathetic and realistic in his portrayal of a man who has often been caught in difficult circumstances, and Skala, who is great as the toughest, most single-minded nun ever abandoned in the desert, I'm not sure that there's much else here to recommend this film, particularly as a Best Picture nominee. It's a testament, I guess, to how far we've come that this movie's plot seems so outdated in many ways. We've seen stories like this so many times, and I'm not really certain that it wasn't already a cliche when it was released in 1963.
The Academy made some odd picks for that year. I've already discussed How the West Was Won, a personal favorite of mine but no one's idea of a great movie. I've also written about the winner, Tom Jones, an overrated movie without a lot to recommend it these days. I've seen the Taylor-Burton Cleopatra in the past, but frankly, I'm not looking forward to enduring that monstrosity again. So we're left with America, America, a movie I've never seen nor heard much about, as the only possible choice left for the award. If you needed a year to begin questioning the judgment of the Academy members--and if you haven't already, you should--1963, the year of my birth, just might be a good place to start.
Oscar Win: Actor (Poitier)
Other Oscar Nominations: Picture, Supporting Actress (Skala), Adapted Screenplay, and Cinematography (Black and White)
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