The Sound Barrier
July 6, 2010
DAVID LEAN’S 1952 movie The Sound Barrier, about test pilots attempting to exceed the speed of sound, captures the beauty and grandeur of aviation in black-and-white images of lone machines soaring above the earth and penetrating magnificent bulwarks of clouds. Thomas Bertonneau argues here that it is “the finest aviation film ever.” As he notes, the film is also a compelling and sensitive examination of one woman’s honest struggle with her deep-seated view that women are morally superior to men. Exploring the natural barrier between the sexes, the movie is sympathetic to the feminine idea that security and loyalty come first, but it ultimately defends masculinity, risk and danger. I highly recommend it and Bertonneau’s excellent analysis of the film.
— Comments —
Thomas F. Bertonneau writes:
I like your succinct interpretation of the film. In my Brussels Journalarticle, in focusing on the “sheet metal poetry” and masculine ambition aspects of the film, I necessarily explored the sexual aspect of the film’s narrative less thoroughly than it deserves. What you write, that Ann Todd’s character Susan is a female who must grapple with her prejudice that women are morally superior to men, is a real insight. It tells us, for one thing, that the story of The Sound Barrier is a conversion story, the conclusion of which is literally a return home from righteous apostasy. That same insight puts the contrast between test pilot Peel’s wife Jess and test pilot Garthwaite’s wife Susan. Jess is able to live with her husband because, for whatever reason, she remains largely unaware of what does. (She all but says this to Susan in one scene.) It is precisely because Susan is intelligent and is able to understand what her husband does – or at least to understand the risks of what he does – that she rebels against it, using “moral” arguments.
There is one sequence, fairly early in the film, that deserves comment. Garthwaite arranges for Susan to take a flight from Southern England to Cairo. They fly in a two-seater jet, which he is delivering to the Egyptian Air Force, at high altitude. During the aerial excursion, Susan does seem to grasp the beauty of aviation – not only of the machines but also of the environment – that weds her husband to his job. She suppresses this knowledge, especially when the prospect of children looms, but she later realizes it again in full when she comes to live with her father.
I don’t know whether you’ve followed the reader reactions to the original article. The readers ended up discussing the importance of specifically masculine hobbies for the healthy development of the male psyche. I was a model builder when I was a kid, and so were many of my readers. They note what I note, that the hobby of model airplane building is no longer current among male children.
Laura writes:
Susan is an interesting character. She is gracious and kind, traditional and devoted, her aristocratic bearing and detachment enhanced by the icy beauty of Ann Todd. Her problem is not one of selfishness but of understanding. She doesn’t want to jealously obstruct her husband’s interests but cannot fathom why someone would risk his life for what appears to her an empty achievement. There is no obvious or critical purpose to her in jets that surpass the speed of sound. Her father argues that Scott never would have explored the South Pole if exploration wasn’t important for its own sake, with no utilitarian end, but she remains baffled.
The real moment of conversion comes when Susan spends time with her father while Peel is in the air during his critical test flight after Garthwaite’s death. Ridgefield’s composure cracks with the tension and concern for Peel’s life. He expresses his doubts, openly questioning whether he has toyed with the lives of his pilots. This is a revelation. Susan realizes that the venture is not one of vanity and that it must be important if it comes at such personal cost to her father.
