Winston Churchill has been credited with saying Mrs. Miniver did more for the war effort than a flotilla of battle ships. How right he was! The deceptive potency of this film lies in “the ordinary family”—at least as depicted by Hollywood’s standards of the day—as they go about their unassuming lives during the advent of World War II. After the title sequence, the following words scroll by:

“This story of an average English middle-class family begins with the summer of 1939; when the sun shone down on a happy, careless people, who worked and played, raised their children and tended their gardens in that happy, easy-going England that was so soon to be fighting desperately for her way of life and for life itself.”

Greer Garson is radiant in the title role, which won her an Oscar as Best Actress that year. She is the pulse of the story, and without her presence and on-screen star power, I have no doubt this film wouldn’t be what it is. Garson has a way of captivating and enchanting with a simple smile or understanding tone in her voice or twinkle of kindness in her eyes. It causes unexpected tears to flow for many an audience member, then and now. It’s hard to put my finger on why, other than to say she connects in the most fundamental way. There’s nothing flashy or melodramatic about her performance, and it’s to Louis B. Mayer’s credit that after seeing her in a British play, he signed her to a contract at MGM.

The Miniver family escapes a bombing in their makeshift shelter. Left to right: Greer Garson, Christopher Severn, Walter Pigeon, and Clare Sanders.

This is war told from backyards and living rooms instead of the front lines—that is, until the bombs and bombers get too close for comfort. The film’s most powerful scenes occur when this family is relegated to their makeshift shelter during an air raid, waiting out the earth-shattering attack while reading from Alice in Wonderland, and when a downed, wounded, Nazi pilot (Helmut Dantine) holds our brave Mrs. Miniver at gunpoint in her kitchen.

Still, it’s the Minivers’ daily life—buying unnecessary cars and hats, watching their eldest son (Richard Ney) fall in love with a wonderful young girl (Teresa Wright in an Oscar-winning performance), attending a flower show where the town’s reigning dowager (the delightfully crusty Dame May Whitty) concedes first prize to a railroad station manager (Henry Travers). These are the deceptively resonant moments of joy and humanity, the moments we cherish and fight for. The basic right to go about our business as free and independent citizens in the pursuit of happiness.

Henry Wilcoxon as the vicar, delivers an emotional sermon in the gutted church.

There’s a stirring speech that comes at the end of this story, after so much has been sacrificed. Lives have been lost, dreams shattered, buildings and houses all but obliterated from their foundations. The people of this town gather in what’s left of a bombed-out church. The minister (Henry Wilcoxon) delivers a sermon that was meant to stir the souls of audiences around the globe in its day. It succeeded in a profound way. Today, it comes off a bit heavy-handed, as fuel for the propaganda machine to help our allied forces, but it’s a powerful message of resistance against tyranny:

“We, in this quiet corner of England, have suffered the loss of friends very dear to us; some close to this church: George West, choir boy; James Ballard, station master and bell ringer and a proud winner, only an hour before his death, of the Beldon Cup for his beautiful Miniver rose; and our hearts go out in sympathy for the two families who share the cruel loss of a young girl who was married at this altar only two weeks ago.

The homes of many of us have been destroyed, and the lives of young and old have been taken. There’s scarcely a household that hasn’t been struck to the heart.

And why? Surely you must have asked yourselves this question. Why, in all conscience, should these be the ones to suffer? Children, old people, a young girl at the height of her loveliness. Why these? Are these our soldiers? Are these our fighters? Why should they be sacrificed?

I shall tell you why. Because this is not only a war of soldiers in uniform. It is a war of the people, of all the people, and it must be fought not only on the battlefield but in the cities and in the villages, in the factories and on the farms, in the home, and in the heart of every man, woman, and child who loves freedom.

Well, we have buried our dead, but we shall not forget them. Instead they will inspire us with an unbreakable determination to free ourselves and those who come after us from the tyranny and terror that threaten to strike us down.

This is the people’s war! It is our war! We are the fighters! Fight it, then! Fight it with all that is in us!

And may God defend the right.”

Mrs. Miniver is a beautiful and powerful film. It manages to show us all that is right and all that is wrong with the world we live in. William Wyler’s masterful direction often captures both at the same time. When their youngest son Toby Miniver (Christopher Severn) investigates his home after the shells have fallen and half the roof is missing, he and his father (Walter Pigeon) study the destruction. A bit of debris crashes to the ground. Little Toby glances up at his father and waits for a reaction, a signal of how he should feel, but there is none. Then he laughs playfully, not quite grasping the gravity of the moment, but loving his father just the same. This is what happens when innocence collides with corruption. We laugh and cry all at once, yet we abide.

Mrs. Miniver