Counting Down the Hours with “The Clock”

I’m discovering that, in tough societal times like these, I truly appreciate movies that take me to an earlier era. It’s good to see that people can survive—even thrive—during dark days. Perhaps that’s why I’ve reacted so positively to The Clock, a 1945 romantic drama directed by Vincente Minnelli and starring his soon-to-be wife, Judy Garland, in her first non-singing dramatic role. Set against the backdrop of World War II, The Clock gives a happy ending to a tale that is best described as pure wish-fulfillment fantasy.

 The Clock begins with boyish-looking Robert Walker, in full military uniform, arriving at New York’s Grand Central Station. He’s a young American G.I., on weekend leave from training camp, and he’s come to the Big Apple to look around. I  couldn’t help comparing this opening section to the naïve young sailors on shore leave in a great 1945 musical—and subsequent 1949 film—On the Town, which like The Clock celebrates romance but hints at a world war always lurking in the background. 

  It’s quickly established that Walker’s character, Joe, is a small-town fellow, one who’s encountering for the first time such wonders as an escalator. While hanging out aimlessly in the station, he accidentally trips a pert young lady, whose heel snaps off of her stylish spectator pump. Mortified, Joe manages to get the shoe repaired, then wonders if he can tag along with its wearer (who of course is Garland) as she heads home from work. Garland’s Alice is naturally wary of this stranger. But she’s a good-hearted soul and finally agrees to meet him for dinner. Their rendezvous spot: under the clock in the lobby of the Astor Hotel.

 The clock, of course, soon becomes a symbol of the swift passage of time. As the two get to know each other, a dinner date turns into a romantic walk in Central Park. (The camera’s s-l-o-w build-up to the first big kiss is rather hilarious.) Suddenly it’s midnight, too late for Alice to catch a bus back to her working-class neighborhood. Cabs, as always in NYC, are nearly impossible to get, so Al, a friendly milkman making early morning deliveries, offers them a ride in his van. But the van gets a flat tire; the three enter an all-night café to call Al’s company; a drunk attacks poor Al and knocks him out. After the van is repaired, Joe takes over the driving, and he and Alice work together to make all the deliveries on Al's route in record time. Al, now recovered, invites them to his home for breakfast; his loyal wife greets them warmly, and the conversation turns to the homey joys of married life.

 Now it’s Saturday morning, and the pair have agreed to spend together the waning hours  before Joe’s early Sunday departure. Enter the challenges of the New York subway system. In a crowded station, Alice is forced onto a train car, leaving Joe behind. Their search for each other becomes frantic (if only they had cell phones!), made more desperate by the fact that they don’t know one another’s full names.  But, since this is a fairy-tale, they do at last reunite—and agree that they never want to be parted again. And so they take steps to make their love permanent, via matrimony.

 It's the love-conquers-all ending we’re rooting for, one that I’m sure was highly necessary in wartime. By 2025 standards, though, the lovers seem painfully naïve.  Ironically, both Garland and Walker found no lasting happiness in marriage. Both turned to drink and drugs, and died young.  

 Thanks to Danish Qureshi for alerting me to a careless error that made my storytelling VERY confusing. I've fixed it now.