Going My Way was a runaway hit in 1944, and while this beloved Oscar-winning story is fine one, the characters seem tame today, apart from the minor on-screen abuse of a live turkey being poached by teenaged hoodlums (Stanley Clements and Carl “Alfalfa” Switzer). It’s nothing too horrific, just enough to completely distract me and make me squirm. That’s the roughest scene we get in a movie about a younger priest sent to take over an older priest’s parish, located in a lower-income area of Midtown Manhattan in New York City. To be blunt, this is not very realistic even for 1944. The most combative and resistant character in this predominantly poor, Irish neighborhood is the nosy gossip Mrs. Quimp (Anita Sharp-Bolster). So much has happened to us as a nation since this movie was released 75 years ago at the height of World War II. We aren’t the same, and I’m not who I was when I first watched Going My Way on television roughly 40 years ago. The one thing remaining constant is a message of humanity at the core. Regardless of method or mindset, it’s still possible to bridge differences between “progressive” and “traditional.” The major takeaway is hope. Crosby gives us hope (pun intended). It’s the timeless factor. Kindness and understanding are key to mending bridges between intolerant older ways and newer ideas of inclusiveness and acceptance.

I love Going My Way, but it’s a time capsule. Listing various plot points makes them sound grittier than they are, at least as depicted on screen. Upon arrival, a young priest called Father O’Malley (Bing Crosby) encounters indignant neighbors, a street gang that sticks him with the blame for smashing an apartment window with a baseball, a rich landlord ready to foreclose on the church, and an older priest named Father Fitzgibbon (Barry Fitzgerald), who is oblivious to juvenile crimes committed under his nose but quick to give bad advice to a runaway, teenaged girl walking the streets. Apparently, soon after, that same streetwalking teen is shacking up with the rich landlord’s son. Presentation is everything, and Going My Way blurs genre lines, which helps soften and sell its message. Most audiences and critics aren’t sure whether to classify this movie as a drama, a comedy, or a musical—the latter of which I dispute. This is not a musical even in the “backstage” sense of The Great Ziegfeld or The Broadway Melody with extended songs, dances, and large-scale production numbers. Instead, a few songs are performed along the lines of The Greatest Show on Earth, Amadeus, or the more recent A Star Is Born or perhaps Sister Act. Even biopics like Ray, Bohemian Rhapsody, or Coal Minor’s Daughter. None of those are musicals—at least not to me.

Barry Fitzgerald as Father Fitzgibbon and Bing Crosby as Father O’Malley.

Going My Way’s biggest asset is its two leading players. Crosby and Fitzgerald both won Oscars for their fine work, which is no small feat since they competed against each other for Best Actor. Fitzgerald was also nominated in the Supporting category for the same performance—something that has never happened before or since. The rules were changed the following year after he received enough votes from Academy members to win a slot in both acting races. These two screen personalities have great chemistry. They feed off of each other with priceless reactions, perfect timing, and no upstaging. Their stylistic differences are parlayed into amusing bits of business or side-eye glances or even pregnant pauses that no doubt evoked belly laughs from audiences over the years.

Bing Crosby and Risë Stevens.

Despite my reluctance to classify Going My Way as a musical in the traditional sense, it does have several songs, the highlight of which is “Swinging on a Star.” It spent nine weeks at Number One on the charts and also picked up an Oscar for Best Original Song along the way. Another wonderful sequence features Metropolitan Opera star Risë Stevens, performing an excerpt of the “Habanera” from Carmen while Crosby observes her from the wings. Stevens is utterly captivating on screen, with a million-dollar smile, twinkling eyes, and a winning personality. I can only imagine what she might have achieved at a studio like MGM. She’s an operatic Greer Garson or a 1940s version of the 1930s sensation Jeanette MacDonald. I picture roles and projects conceived for her, such as a musical adaptation of Mrs. Miniver or I Remember Mama. Sadly for us, but perhaps happily for her, it was not to be. Stevens thrived in the world of opera, and that’s where her passion and aspirations took her. She was in high demand as well, but I’m grateful she left us with such a memorable performance in this film.

The final scene in Going My Way seals the deal for me—the very last sequence, in fact, which I honestly don’t feel like spoiling. Clearly it influenced Steven Spielberg’s playbook, and he borrows generously from this movie in films like The Color Purple and Empire of the Sun. It’s the “reunion moment,” the “coming home when all is said and done,” the sacrifices made along the way, and the emotional payoff in the end. I have no doubt open, audible sobs were heard while the closing credits appeared on screen. I envision audiences dabbing their eyes as the lights come up. Why? Because every time I watch this movie, those final moments reduce me to a puddle.

Going My Way was the top-grossing film of 1944, by leaps and bounds, and one of the biggest hits of the decade. All quibbling aside, as Frank Sinatra tells us about classic movies of the era in That’s Entertainment, they may not show us where our heads were at … but they most definitely show us where our hearts were at.

Going My Way