Hard to imagine that this folksy, corny biopic could work without the everyman qualities of James Stewart. But it does work, and became a big box office hit. Seven years after Pride of the Yankees, Sam Wood returned to baseball and miraculously manages to excise nearly all the sentimentality from the life of Monty Stratton, a pitcher for the Chicago White Sox in the thirties who recovered from an above knee amputation to play again in the minor leagues.
It's the epitome of Hollywood Americana, the story of a country boy, from rural Texas who who made good in the major leagues before overcoming his hunting accident. The rags to riches narrative of the first part of the film draws on the myth of the American dream. And the star gives us a character we can unconditionally cheer for. It adds up to cheerful optimistic cinema.
It's a true story that demands the audience suspend their cynicism but it only once strays into mawkishness; after Monty has shot his leg and commands his dog go for help... There are familiar archetypes; the unconditional love of his stoical ma, the drunken hobo ex-baseball star who cleans up to mentor Monty on the finer points. Peppy June Allyson plays James Stewart's romantic interest for the first time.
There are cameos from major league baseball stars to convey a little authenticity on the field, though Stewart is clearly no demon pitcher. There's a great script which allows Monty Stratton far more wit than the usual Hollywood country boy. And there's lively camera work out on the diamond. It's easy enough to mock its good hearted ideals, but for me it's the best baseball film of the studio era.