As filming began on “The Best Years of Our Lives” in mid-April 1946, some in Hollywood worried that by the time it would be released six months later in November, cinemagoers might have begun to lose interest in this tale of the traumas faced by the mentally and physically wounded returning from a war that had ended back in September 1945. Inevitably, the spotlight can quickly fade and society moves on. But the naysayers were wrong…

While Academy Awards and profit may not be the true signs of quality, “The Best Years of Our Lives” performed outstandingly in both and is now seen as one of Hollywood’s treasures. The film proved to be the biggest success since the monumental “Gone With the Wind” in 1939 and was nominated for eight Oscars, winning seven. It received all-round high praise, many other awards and long queues at the box-office, earning record receipts.

While Germany had surrendered in Europe in May 1945, it took the United States’ atomic bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki the following August to finally force Japan to capitulate and end World War Two, allowing the brave young Americans in uniform to travel home.

“The Best Years of Our Lives” tells the fictional intertwined stories of three veterans from diverse backgrounds who meet on the journey back to their small midwestern town.

A good documentary or book can enhance a filmic experience, and Alison Macor’s account is exceptionally fine, detailing the script-to-screen progress of this movie credited with changing attitudes in the United States to reintegrating the battle-scarred. Before beginning to read, The Budapest Times watched the black-and-white, 2 hours 43 minutes film.

It stars Frederic March as well-to-do Army Sergeant Al Stephenson, Harold Russell as middle-class Navy Petty Officer Homer Parrish and Dana Andrews as working-class Air Force Captain Fred Derry, each with the burden of readjusting to civilian life: work, family troubles, alcohol, adultery… Myrna Loy, Teresa Wright and Virginia Mayo were other significant cast.

Their director was William Wyler, a veteran himself whose hearing had been damaged while flying combat missions, a handicap he had to solve on set. Wyler, Macor writes, was a stickler for geting the right shot and had been nicknamed “40 Take Tyler”, or even, reportedly, ”50 Take Wyler”. He held daily rehearsals to fine-tune gestures, expressions and dialogue.

Any film buff will revel in reading the intricacies of creating a finished product, and Macor has these fully covered, including the actors’ pay, dealing with a problem accent, costumes, camerawork, reshoots, lighting, locations, the score, advertising, reviews and right through to the premieres. And the author has plenty of great anecdotes to bring the thing to life.

For instance, Wyler’s daughters Cathy, aged 7, and Judy, 4, were extras in a scene where Fred Derry had reluctantly returned to his pre-war lowly job as a drugstore soda jerk, and the girls were meant to keep their backs to the camera and face a candy display as Dana Andrews walked by. But one girl had a big crush on him and watched him with her mouth wide open. Ultimately this take was used, despite Wyler in the background trying to distract his girl.

Derry had been married less than 20 days before going off to fight, and returned to discover that his Marie had moved out from his parents and had a job in a nightclub. Plus a lover. ”Whenever I wake up and I realise I’m not an officer and a gentleman any more I’m just a another soldier out of a job,” he says before becoming a menial in a drug store again.

The publicity department worked hard to sell the story that fictional Boone City, to which the trio return, was based on Cincinnato, Ohio, which did feature in some aerial shots, when in reality the second-unit photography of football fields, hot-dog stands, bleachers and other locations was likely shot in and around Los Angeles. Al Stephenson’s supposed apartment house actually stands on the corner of Beverly Boulevard and North Sycamore Avenue in the Greater Wilshire neighbourhood, and is still there today.

The Production Code Administration, the industry’s self-censoring body, interfered, the focus of its antiquated concerns, as with most films it vetted, being sex and alcohol. Wyler and screenwriter Robert E. Sherwood agreed to omit shots of toilets and delete the word ”bum” but retained a queen-sized bed. Stephenson turned to drink over his difficulty and disillusionment after resuming work at the Cornbelt Loan and Trust Company, so this stayed.

Bank executive Al got into trouble for offering favourable loans to veterans, and when he woke up, innocently, in a strange bed after getting drunk, apparently it was Andrews’ idea to have him hurriedly check his wallet, an action that made it into the film and reportedly drew plenty of guffaws from wised-up male audience members.

In real life, Andrews was battling alcoholism and didn’t turn up on set one day, or he often  worked hung over. Wyler dealt with the problem casually, impressing Andrews, and the actor said later that he never had another drink while making the film.

And Macor tells how apparently nothing was off limits when it came to promoting the finished film. Virginia Mayo took along her beloved dog Dinky to a photo shoot before the New York premiere but it swallowed some rat poison and died. The publicity team discussed Dinky’s demise as a ”hell of a break”, for instance if some youngster would present Mayo with a pup as she was leaving the premiere. The idea fizzled.

As well as the eight Oscars, there was an additional Special Award for Russell, a real-life veteran and double amputee who lost his hands in an explosion, for inspiring hope and courage through his appearance in the film. The independent producer, Samuel Goldwyn, received the Irving G. Thalberg Memorial Award for the film’s “high quality of motion picture production”. Goldwyn was an inveterate gambler and making the movie was a bold move.

Russell’s hands were replaced by steel hooks and he had no acting experience except a ”role” in ”Diary of a Sergeant”, a military training film to instruct other World War Two amputees how to adapt to life. He was one of 63 similarly disabled vets in the US, and at that time the media had an informal policy against publishing images of severely disabled servicemen.

As Homer, he returned to Boone City unsure if his fiancée’s feelings would still be of love and not pity. Cathy O’Donnell, a young actress from Alabama discovered by Goldwyn, played his beloved. Wilma was a ”swell girl”, Homer tried to reassure himself on the flight home.

Macor has all angles covered, including how the film had its genesis when Goldwyn’s wife Frances read ”The Way Home”, a two-page article in Time magazine about the mixed emotions of US servicemen from the First Marine Division returning from overseas, and she saw it as a potential project for her husband, who trusted her taste and judgement.

The author recounts how the roots of what became known as ”post-traumatic stress disorder” (PTSD) date back to at least ancient times. Mention was made of ”military trauma” in 1761 and World War One saw ”nervous disorders of war” such as shell shock. Read too how ”The Best Years of Our Lives” later attracted the attention of the House Un-American Activities Committee in its battle against suspected communists in Hollywood.

Here in these pages is a goldmine of solid facts and trivia. Keep your tissues handy if  watching the tender scenes between Al and Milly, and Homer and Wilma, then read all the fascinating details that will be sure to satisfy any true cinema buff.