It was supposed to be the crowning achievement of a studio titan. Instead, it became a cautionary tale about ego, overblown budgets, and the moment a movie star realizes he might be miscast. When people talk about A Farewell to Arms Rock Hudson usually comes up as a bit of a tragic footnote in 1950s cinema history. It wasn’t just another movie. It was David O. Selznick’s attempt to recapture the lightning in a bottle he found with Gone with the Wind. He spent $4 million—a massive sum in 1957—and banked everything on the broad shoulders of Rock Hudson.
Rock was at the absolute peak of his powers. He had just come off an Oscar nomination for Giant. He was the undisputed king of the box office. But Ernest Hemingway’s prose is brittle, masculine, and deeply cynical. Hudson? He was the golden boy of the suburban melodrama.
The mismatch was apparent from day one on the Italian set.
The Selznick Obsession and the Casting Gamble
David O. Selznick didn't just produce movies; he breathed down the necks of everyone involved until they smelled his cologne. He wanted this version of Hemingway’s classic to be the definitive one. He had his wife, Jennifer Jones, playing Catherine Barkley. She was 38 at the time, playing a character significantly younger. Hudson was 31. The chemistry was... complicated. Some critics at the time said it felt more like a nephew taking his favorite aunt out for a very stressful walk in the Alps than two doomed lovers caught in the gears of World War I.
Hudson actually turned down Sayonara and Ben-Hur to do this. Think about that for a second. He could have been Judah Ben-Hur. Instead, he chose Lieutenant Frederic Henry.
He stayed loyal to his contract and to the idea of "prestige." Hudson was always a "good soldier" for the studios. But A Farewell to Arms Rock Hudson was a project plagued by a revolving door of directors. John Huston was originally supposed to direct it. Huston, a man who lived a life that could have been a Hemingway novel itself, clashed immediately with Selznick’s micromanagement. Huston wanted a gritty, realistic war film. Selznick wanted a sweeping, romantic epic where the mountains looked like they’d been polished by a maid. Huston walked. Charles Vidor stepped in, but the soul of the film was already fragmented.
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Why the Critics Sharpened Their Knives
The movie is gorgeous. Let's be fair. The Technicolor cinematography of the Italian Alps is breathtaking. But you can't eat scenery. When the film premiered, the reviews were brutal. They didn't just dislike it; they seemed offended by it.
The primary complaint was that Hudson, while handsome and earnest, couldn't quite find the "lost" quality of a Hemingway hero. Frederic Henry is a man escaping the hollow trauma of war. Hudson looked like he’d just stepped out of a Cadillac commercial. It’s hard to play world-weary when your skin is that radiant.
"Hudson is a great specimen of a man, but in this film, he is like a large, beautiful piece of furniture being moved around a very expensive set."
That’s a paraphrase of the general sentiment found in trade magazines like Variety in late '57. The film was overlong, clocking in at nearly two and a half hours. In an era where audiences were starting to gravitate toward the "Method" acting of Marlon Brando and James Dean, Hudson’s traditional, studio-polished style started to feel like a relic.
The Financial Fallout and the End of an Era
The movie didn't just fail to win Oscars; it failed to make its money back during its initial run. For Selznick, this was the end. He never produced another film. He’d put his entire reputation into the hands of a director he didn't trust and a star who was better suited for romantic comedies.
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For Hudson, it was a pivot point. If he had stayed on this track of "heavy drama," his career might have sputtered out in the early 60s. Instead, he (or perhaps his legendary agent Henry Willson) realized that the public loved him most when he was charming, not brooding. A few years later, he teamed up with Doris Day for Pillow Talk, and the rest is history.
But we shouldn't totally dismiss his work here. There are moments in the final act—the retreat from Caporetto and the tragic ending in the rain—where Hudson really tries. You can see the effort in his eyes. He wanted to be a "serious" actor. He wanted the respect that came with Hemingway.
A Quick Reality Check on the 1957 Version
- Director Swap: John Huston quit after Selznick sent him 10-page memos every day.
- The Cost: $4 million in 1957 is roughly equivalent to a $45 million mid-budget drama today, but with significantly higher stakes for the studio.
- The Hemingway Factor: Ernest Hemingway reportedly hated the idea of the remake, though he was already spiraling into his own health issues by then.
- The Box Office: It was one of the top-grossing films of the year, strangely enough, but its massive budget meant it was still considered a "loss" by the accountants.
What Modern Viewers Get Wrong
People today look at A Farewell to Arms Rock Hudson through a very specific lens. We know Hudson was a gay man living a deeply closeted life. We know he died of AIDS in the 80s. When you watch him play the hyper-masculine soldier now, there’s a layer of performative tension that audiences in 1957 didn't see.
They just saw a movie star. We see a man working overtime to project an image that the studio demanded.
Honestly, the film is worth a watch just for the sheer scale of it. They don't make movies this big and this sincere anymore. It lacks the irony of modern cinema. It’s a big, weeping, bloody Valentine to a style of filmmaking that died shortly after the credits rolled.
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Actionable Takeaways for Classic Film Buffs
If you're going to dive into the Hudson filmography, don't start here, but don't skip it either. To truly appreciate what happened with this movie, you need a bit of context.
- Watch the 1932 version first. Gary Cooper played Frederic Henry in that one. Cooper had a natural, laconic stillness that fit Hemingway perfectly. Comparing Cooper to Hudson is a masterclass in how acting styles changed between the 30s and the 50s.
- Read the Selznick Memos. There is a famous book called Memo from David O. Selznick. Reading the sections on this film will make you realize why the movie feels so stifled. The producer was literally choosing the color of the thread on the uniforms.
- Look at the "Retreat from Caporetto" sequence. Despite the film's flaws, this sequence is a genuine technical achievement. It’s harrowing and captures the chaos of a collapsing army better than most war movies of that decade.
- Follow the Doris Day transition. Watch this film, then watch Pillow Talk (1959). You will see a man who went from being weighed down by "prestige" to a man who found his rhythm in light-hearted banter. It's one of the most successful pivots in Hollywood history.
The legacy of the film remains complicated. It wasn't the disaster people claimed at the time, but it wasn't the masterpiece Selznick promised. It stands as a monument to the "Producer's Era"—a time when the man behind the checkbook had more power than the man behind the camera. Hudson survived it, but the Old Hollywood epic didn't.
When you sit down to watch it, ignore the reviews. Look at the lighting. Look at the way Hudson holds himself. It’s a fascinating glimpse into a star trying to find his footing while the ground is shifting beneath him.
Next Steps for Researching Rock Hudson’s Career
To understand the full scope of this era, investigate the partnership between Rock Hudson and producer Ross Hunter, who eventually steered Hudson away from these heavy dramas and toward the lush, highly profitable "glossy" melodramas like Magnificent Obsession and All That Heaven Allows. These films utilized Hudson’s screen presence far more effectively than the gritty realism required by Hemingway’s source material. Also, look into the 1950s reception of Jennifer Jones; her performance in this film is often cited by historians as a turning point in how "nepotism" or husband-wife collaborations were viewed by the Hollywood press corps.