Fifty-five years after its release, 1970’s Ryan’s Daughter surely needs another look. The reputation of this David Lean-directed film has suffered over the years for a couple of key reasons: its own genuine weaknesses plus the breadth of its scope. Some of the criticisms leveled against the film upon its release hold up well today: it’s a slight story that’s given an extraordinary cinematic presentation. It’s gloriously photographed by Lean’s go-to cinematographer Freddie Young (Oscars for this film, Lawrence of Arabia, and Doctor Zhivago)—all Lean films. The music is by Maurice Jarre (Oscars for the scores of A Passage to India, Doctor Zhivago, and Lawrence of Arabia—all Lean films).

The cinematography dwarfs the story, even when the broader issues of Irish resistance to the British and the at-first-minor-and-then-major story line of the Ryan of the title and his political activities are taken into account. There is a line that can be traced from Lean’s earlier work to this penultimate film, and then finally, A Passage to India. Lean began as an editor in his native England in the 1930s, working on classics like Pygmalion, 49^th Parallel, and One of Our Aircraft is Missing. He is reported to have taken over directing duties from Noel Coward in 1942’s In Which We Serve after just a few weeks, and his directing career was off and running: Blithe Spirit, Brief Encounter, Great Expectations, Oliver Twist, The Sound Barrier, Hobson’s Choice, and Summertime, all before his first epic. Those films, many of which are still quite moving, were marked by a taut storytelling technique that was stylish without being self-conscious. What followed them was the multiple Oscar-winning The Bridge on the River Kwai, which won seven Oscars, including Best Picture and Best DIrecor.  This success began a trend that led to his greatest epics and may at the same time have been a kind of early death knell for this career.

Kwai was followed by one of the great epics of all time, Lawrence of Arabia, which set a still-fascinating personal story against a historical background whose events were tightly woven into Lawrence’s personal journey. Most consider this film his greatest, and its combination of story and historical setting may well be the best any epic can achieve. The film, like Kwai, won seven Oscars, including Best Picture and Best Director, and Lean seemed to be able to do no wrong.

Lean’s greatest financial success came next with Doctor Zhivago, which marked a slight downturn artistically. It won five Oscars, but the winning and losing nominations tell the story: It was nominated for Best Picture and Best Director, but didn’t win. Winners were for Robert Bolt for screenplay, Cinematography (Young again), score (Jarre again), Costume Design—color, and Best Art Direction/Set Direction—color. When the technical awards are the winners, and the top categories go to other films, one can hear the bell tolling, even in the midst of great success. The central love story seemed a bit thin, even with the easy-on-the-eyes couple of Omar Sharif and Julie Christie at the center. The adultery, which seems to be a theme in a lot of Lean’s films, seems particularly unpleasant, and the film leans on its music score far too much to paste over some of its narrative weaknesses.

Which leads us to Ryan’s Daughter. Lean took a very long time to direct this film, waiting for full year, for example, for the right storm to arrive for its climactic sequence. The visuals are still impressive, but the connection between nature and the plot, while done with aplomb, puts a lot of pressure on the central love stories to rise to the level of the beauties and fierceness of nature. And they don’t rise to that level, making the personal challenges and traumas seem that much lighter and insignificant by comparison—a loss for the film, as the realities of the situation are gut-wrenching. The gun-running that features so strongly at one somewhat tacked on rather than integral. Many felt a film this slight (and there is nothing wrong with slight) may well have been approached more like his Brief Encounter, which was smaller, more focused, and exquisite.

Forgetting all the cinematic background and looking at the film with fresh eyes, it still seems too small for its visual and aural setting, but there are some elements that should be noted, for good or bad. The music by Maurice Jarre has a central theme that became the hit “It Was a Good Time,” and it was impossible to not hear that song and its lyrics when the first notes of the theme appeared (and appeared, and appeared…). Yes, the film is nearly 3.5 hours long, but even a delightful theme can wear out its welcome after a while. The rest of the scoring, apart from the use of the central theme, seemed amateurish and typical of a second-rate Hollywood studio film.

Then there is the casting. The main male character, who is a shy, quiet, sex-averse small-town teacher played by…huh?…Robert Mitchum. Lean apparently said he like to cast against type, and he certainly did so here. Reports are that Lean wanted his own Lawrence, Peter O’Toole to play the role, but the timing wasn’t right. Mitchum acted beautifully, but his persona as a strong red-blooded American male is so strong that it was constantly at odds with the character he was portraying, plus you can catch him acting at times rather than embodying.

Christopher Jones as the British officer is quite another story. He is introduced with an overwhelming phallic symbol that was a big shocking visually, and he should have been nominated for Best Standing Silhouette with how many times Lean had him standing, generally with his back to the viewer, against the sky. Apparently, there were several personal reasons that Jones doesn’t register much, but to describe him as a recessive presence only scratches the surface. His dialogue had to be re-recorded by another actor, which included only a handful of lines, and in his lovemaking scene with the lead actress, he looked as if he were about to fall sleep.

That lead actress was the surprise to me. Sarah Miles was known for being lovely, and that was all I recalled from my first viewing. But her Oscar nomination as Best Actress was well deserved. She wore her loveliness like an outer garment, never leaning into it as many screen beauties do. Her eyes did much of the acting for her, and she moved from angst to anger to touching softness with ease. Perhaps an actress with a stronger personality would have lent this character more fire and agency, but this was one area in the film where the love story and the historical context met and thrived: her character, Rosy, seemed as much of the product of the time and place as the Irishmen that were fighting the British. Another actress might have burned a hole through the film with this character, but Miles’ softness of look and personality made her performance of a piece with everything surrounding her.

The film is also remembered for providing an Oscar for one of Britain’s most stalwart character actors, John Mills, who worked with Lean as early as in In Which We Serve (1942). Here, Mills played Michael, the “village idiot” with the good heart. All I could think of was how Tropic Thunder failed to mention this performance in one of its most famous sequences, but indeed, Mills (father of Oscar-winning Hayley) won the Oscar for his portrayal. Looking at the performance with more modern eyes, it seemed overdone except for the last few scenes.  A performance not nominated but which should have been was screen legend Trevor Howard’s work as the town priest, a magnificently complicated character with more personal authority than anyone else in the film. As a pastor myself, I could relate to his character very strongly, and I felt what he was feeling in each of his scenes (though—spoiler alert—I would never slap someone I was counseling). It could rightly be called a towering performance.

Again, from today’s perspective, the treatment of the Irish townspeople comes across as condescending. They constantly needed the priest to come in to break up fights, mob scenes, drunken brawls, and beatings. They were generally portrayed as a mob rather than a group of individuals, though there were some personalities we got to know—but none that we came to respect. They drank too much and were easily led, especially down wrong roads. They were insensitive to anyone needing sensitivity, and were as hot-headed and judgmental as a group could be. That could well be the fault of the script, but when the only townsperson we come to like, aside from the priest, is the “village idiot,” there seems a lack of nuance.

This film was one of the last of the big road-show films that were meant to be long, higher-priced, large in scope, shown in special theaters, and with an intermission. But by the time the film appeared, that moment had mostly passed. Now, with its availability on streaming services, it’s well worth watching for those with the patience for long scenes with shots that dwell on nature’s beauty and wrath. (Note to parents: the illicit love scene is signaled way before it occurs, and a little fast-forwarding can get you past it pretty quickly.)

Ryan’s Daughter was a great disappointment critically, though it was successful financially. Rumors had it that Lean’s disappointment with how his film was received was the sole reason behind the big break that occurred before the release of his last film, A Passage to India (1984). That may well have been part of it, but there were apparently many stumbles along the way in terms of what would be his next project. Like Ryan’s Daughter, the film, while praised visually and for its performances, was rightly called “a big movie about very small things.” The Academy crowned it with 11 Oscar nominations, but it won only two, for Peggy Ashcroft as Best Supporting Actress in what might be considered a career win, and for, once again, Maurice Jarre’s music score. Oscars for Best Picture, Director, Actress in a Leading Role, Screenplay, Cinematography, Art Direction, Costume Design, Sound, and Editing all went elsewhere. But its success left Lean with a success on which to retire.

Lean’s success with his big, epic, color films should be appreciated. But his earlier work in England with his black-and-white films should be as much respected, if not more. In many ways, they stand up today in ways that some of the big epics don’t, and his work in the 1940s and 1950s should be require for all serious cinephiles.