I thought for years that I had been missing a “must see” film, one produced by Gone with the Wind producer David O. Selznick, nominated for nine Oscars, and featuring, as the trailer tells us, “The Most Distinguished Cast of Stars in Screen History.” Other than being a kind of time capsule of at-the-home-front World War Two films, the film is too long, comes off as poor American version of Mrs. Miniver (Best Picture Winner two years before) and is decidedly uncomfortable in a few ways.

It’s the story of a family whose husband/dad is away at war. The family misses the dad, they take in a boarder, an old family friend reappears, the young daughters grow up and face the usual challenges, etc. Selznick wanted to show his support for the war, but didn’t want to make a typical war film. This is all “keep the home fires burning” stuff—no battles, and not even a cut-away to a soldier on the front.

The film’s pedigree was indeed considered “top-shelf” for the time. Selznick had won the Best Picture Oscar in 1940 and 1941 for Gone With the Wind and Rebecca, a historic one-two punch. Other than a short, this was his next film. The lead was Claudette Colbert, who had won a Best Actress Oscar for 1934’s It Happened One Night. Essentially a co-lead to Colbert but nominated in the Supporting Actress category was Jennifer Jones, fresh off her Best Actress Oscar win for the previous year’s The Song of Bernadette. Director John Cromwell was hardly a legend but then again, anyone directing this film would have constantly been in the crosshairs with micromanager Selznick. Cromwell had a been a solid A- director for years, and would continue to be so for years to come. (His current claim to historical distinction is being the father of James Cromwell of Babe and L.A. Confidential fame).

Other big names included Joseph Cotton, a relatively wasted Agnes Moorehead, an underused Hattie McDaniel (Oscar for Gone with the Wind), and last, and least, the legendary Shirley Temple, who unfortunately came out of retirement for this film at Selznick’s request. Oscar winner Lionel Barrymore (for 1931’s A Free Soul but best known as Mr. Potter in It’s a Wonderful Life) is dropped into the film unexpectedly and is pulled out just as quickly.

What’s good about the film is the very solid performance by Colbert, who uses her deep and throaty voice as an acting style of its own. She apparently had a hard time accepting a role that made her a mother of teenagers, as she was only 16 years older than Jones and 25 years older than Temple. But while she garnered an Oscar nomination, she is solid if not great, but definitely holds the film together. Cotton plays his usual charming 1940s self, and isn’t asked to do much more. The cinematography is extraordinary, especially for its time. The cinematographers were (primarily) Stanley Cortez, who also shot and was nominated for Orson Welles’ The Magnificent Ambersons two years before, and Lee Garmes (Oscar for 1932’s Shanghai Express, but also DP for Scarface (1932), Duel in the Son (1946), Hitchcock’s The Paradine Case (1947) and Portrait of Jennie (1948), as well as many others before and after). The deep-focus photography is beautiful, and the long takes offer a welcome respite from the usual establishing shot followed by back-and-forth close-ups.

Jones, in spite of her start as the mistress of Selznick and therefore the target of a lot of criticism, is actually quite good, though she is clearly not a teen. McDaniel’s role seems shoe-horned into the film, and her place in it is always welcome but often confusing. Agnes Moorehead skates through a thankless role with ease, and Monty Woolley’s usual one-note performance is given a bit of stretch here—though not too much of a stretch, as Woolley is pretty much always Woolley.

The discomfort with the film has to do with Temple and with Jennifer Jones’ relationship, both in the film and just outside of the frame. Temple was an extraordinary talent in the 1930s, and was a true phenomenon. She could do long takes with grace and style, could dance surprisingly well, and could at least put over a song, even if she wasn’t a real singer. But she was never an actress, and this film is a cinematic document to that fact. Watching her scenes with Colbert and even Jones is sometimes hard to watch, as she clearly couldn’t rise to their level, and was just a more grown-up version of her younger self, with no growth in acting ability. Like many an athlete, she should have stayed out of retirement.

Unnoticeable to the regular viewer but painful to the film historian is watching the relationship between Jones’ character and her love interest in the film, the very talented but gone-too-soon Robert Walker (the villain in Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train). They play the budding romance well, and one would never guess the reality of their situation. They were married in real life, and already had two sons. But Jones had been having an affair with Selznick, and Walker and Jones were going through a painful divorce because of that fact. Uncomfortable doesn’t begin to describe what the scenes were for the actors, and for anyone watching for the film now who is aware of the situation.

The film is meandering and far too long at just under three hours. In spite of its nine Oscar nominations, it is just a lengthy prestige picture with a variety of stars used in a variety of ways. If you didn’t know about Jones and Walker before seeing the picture, the strained “acting” of Temple is the most awkward part of the film. If you know the Jones/Walker/Selznick story, then that aspect of the film provides the most discomfort. For completists in the Jones/Walker/Selznick/Temple/Cotton camps, the film provides a showcase for their varying talents. At the least, though, Since You Went Away provides a glimpse into what Hollywood wanted America to turn to for comfort and entertainment during the way—and that is perhaps its ultimate value to American film history.