The New Pictures

All My Sons (Universal-International), as a Broadway play, last year won Playwright Arthur Miller the Critics' Circle prize. It was an unusual play because it wrestled seriously with a moral problem. Its moral indignation makes it an even more unusual movie; but it is an only moderately good one.

The chief moral problem: an industrialist (Edward G. Robinson) faces ruin if he is scrupulous enough to reject some defective war material. Moved by greed and devotion to his family, he passes the defective material along. He also tricks his partner (Frank Conroy) into taking the rap. Thousands of miles away, young men in U.S. uniforms die because of his crookedness. His younger son--rather uncon-incingly--commits suicide in protest; his elder son (Burt Lancaster) returns home to ferret out his secret. The father becomes at last fully aware of the dimensions of his crime and of the shallowness of his excuses. Among the lesser plot problems: will the dead boy's mother (Mady Christians) ever accept the fact of his death?

Playwright Miller uses a good many of Ibsen's devices of gradual disclosure; he has developed a rather mannered, deeply native style of dialogue which is well suited to the stage but does not come sharply to life on the screen; he has told his story with compassion as well as passion. The picture is scarcely more than a photographed play, but it is unusually well acted--notably by Robinson, Lancaster and Christians. It is earnest, it is on the side of the angels, and it is not without genuine dramatic vitality. Yet it is in no way deeply disturbing, or satisfying. Like most contemporary efforts of the right-minded, it is tainted with self-righteousness. It is not really either very bold or very original to observe that bad business ethics are reprehensible--and common. Despite its worthy intentions, All My Sons is not so much a moral exploration as a conducted tour.

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