Though It’s A Wonderful Life is obviously beloved by many, anything as popular as the film became will inevitably attract a few detractors. For all those who celebrate George Bailey’s kindness and loyalty, there are always the occasional outliers, who see something sinister in his constant sacrifice. In their view, presenting him as a hero is somehow sending the wrong message: one that erroneously exalts passivity over more productive ambition.

As one memorable article expressed:

“It’s a Wonderful Life doesn’t encourage kindness, it encourages mediocrity and sameness. Don’t strive for more, it says, don’t pursue education and adventure. Don’t dream, don’t aspire, don’t want, and certainly don’t achieve. . . . Self-made Sam and heroic Harry ought to be the aspirational figures.”

Though I can at least see the logic in this assessment, in broader terms, I think it misses the mark for some pretty important reasons, among them its blindness to the fact that it is usually men like Sam and Harry who we do see as the heroes. We see the rags-to-riches narrative or that of the bold adventurer represented in everything from classic myths to modern Avengers movies, but how many other stories can you think of that celebrate an “unexceptional” good guy like George Bailey?

—

Let’s face it: America isn’t exactly the most wonderful place to live these days. And one reason for that that I’ve been particularly fascinated with lately is the hypothesized existence of a “loneliness epidemic,” which some experts suggest may be the root cause of the addiction and overdose epidemic that was the subject of my last dramaturgical inquiry.

Marcos Fuentes as George Bailey in a moment of desperation in New City Players’ production of a *It’s a Wonderful Life*

Like that addiction epidemic, the loneliness epidemic seems to have been exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic but both clearly predated it and will likely outlast it. Depending on the metric used, between a quarter and a half of America’s population report suffering from some degree of loneliness. About 35 percent of Americans reported that they had felt lonely almost all the time or all the time over the course of the prior four weeks, a level researchers define as "serious loneliness.”

Though rates of loneliness have reportedly been “exponentially increasing regardless of age, educational background or geographical location,” things also seems to be bleakest for the younger generation, with the “serious loneliness” figure for young adults 18-25 standing at sixty percent and 16 to 24 year olds five times more likely to report having felt lonely within the last week than those aged 65 to 74. In fact, in one 2019 poll of millennials, 22 percent reported that they had no friends at all.

In the context of so much solitude, it’s almost no surprise that some people reflecting today on It’s A Wonderful Life and its portrayal of a caring, connected small town do so with a certain despair over the way in which such towns and the sense of community that permeated them are now largely a thing of the past. This article even takes Seneca Falls itself, director Frank Capra’s alleged inspiration for the film’s Bedford Falls, as an example of just how much things have changed.

There are a few factories left, but most of the old mills have been converted for other purposes, or left to the pigeons. The rolling farmland near Seneca Falls has given way to a great stinking landfill and mountains of trash have replaced orchards and cornfields. There is a new casino, and a prison. Mobile-home parks have sprung up on the edge of town. Many of the once-prized, bricks-and-mortar homes closer to the centre have been bought up by slum lords who rent their ramshackle properties to anyone who qualifies for the federal section-eight housing assistance programme – a more reliable source of rent than their tenants’ meagre wages.

Opioid addiction has left its mark on the region, too. Overdoses are frequent and deadly, and everyone knows of someone who bounces from one rehab centre to another, between brief fits of sobriety. Families, especially those with young children, have become so fragile that the local elementary schools are locked up, not for fear of school shooters, but because of the problem of noncustodial parents slipping their kids out the back door. It is, in a word, ‘Pottersville’.

How did this happen? The economy changed but the local economy did not evolve alongside it because the communities found they could no longer shape their own futures. These communities became expendable to the people born in them and to the nation as a whole. In a strange way, It’s a Wonderful Life foreshadows the fate of America’s small towns, and perhaps the fate of the nation, because it shows what happens in a world without Georges.

And what the author seems to be getting at by describing a lack of “Georges” is not a lack of good-hearted, dedicated individuals, since there still seem to be at least a handful or so of those. But what there are far fewer of is institutions like the Building And Loan, the family business George gave up his dreams of doing something “big and important” to stay and preside over. However, as George’s father reminds him, the Building And Loan was doing something important, at least for the other people of Bedford Falls.

This is because the loans the institution provided enabled many of his neighbors, who would’ve otherwise forked over a small fortune in rent, to instead become homeowners. Along with allowing them more pride in themselves and a better quality of life, this also served to keep more money circulating in the community rather than flowing upwards towards tyrants like Potter who would hoard it all for themselves.

Carlos Alayeto as Potter reveling in victory in New City Players’ production of a *It’s a Wonderful Life*

Unfortunately, since then, the Potters of the world seem to have largely prevailed, as another article referencing It’s a Wonderful Life strikingly describes.

While we sometimes might imagine that most manufactures have long been large multinational corporations, in fact the U.S. had many enterprises that continued to locate their headquarters in small or medium size cities. As these businesses were taken over by financial interests or multinationals, the capital they brought to their home communities was lost together with the middle-class jobs that their offices provided.

Without capital to support new businesses and without people with sufficient income to patronize them, the economies of small towns are effectively moribund. The rural areas around these towns used to be part of those economies, but they are now equally imperiled. The parts of the U.S. to which capital has migrated, mainly on the coasts, are doing relatively well, but much of the middle of the country feels like Pottersville, but even more depressed and tawdry.

Importantly, this migration of capital has also disrupted the sort of long-standing generational ties that shore up a city like Bedford Falls, as many young people find themselves drawn from their hometowns to more prosperous urban centers to seek economic success. Meanwhile, others find themselves pushed out of cities where they have strong social ties by gentrification and rising rents. And the people hardest-pressed by our harsh system are forced to spend so much of their time and energy trying to make ends meet that they have little left with which to nurture their social connections, which may account for the correlations that have been found between loneliness and lower socioeconomic status.

Oddly enough, the dichotomy alluded to in the above excerpt—between thriving Potter-esque capitalists and the struggling little guy— is also reminding me of something else that’s been top of mind lately, which is the current state of the theatre in general and of New City Players more specifically.

During the same years that capital migrated away from American cities, the theatre has gradually faded from importance in our culture, replaced first by movies and television and then by streaming as the go-to form of entertainment for most of the general public. Though Hollywood continues to bring in big bucks, all but the most successful theatre companies seem to exist in a perpetual state of financial struggle, which leaves most artists perpetually underpaid.

However, it isn’t just as someone passionate about the arts and sympathetic to these artists that I see a world where theatre is less appreciated and prominent as evidence of a broader negative trend. After all, in a world where people are lonelier than ever, it’s hard to imagine that anyone would be better off consuming media alone at their computer than gathering with others to share the fuller experience of a story.

The cast and crew of New City Players’ production of *It’s a Wonderful Life*

In fact, the scourge of loneliness that runs through American life makes outlets like the theatre—and especially NCP’s mission of using the art form to create community and foster empathy—more important than ever, at least in theory. But while I’ve never questioned the worthiness of these ideals or of our artistic projects, they’re also ideals that we’ve been fighting for against the cultural tide and with woefully inadequate resources—which can get, frankly, exhausting.

Even from my place on the relative periphery, it can be tremendously discouraging to see ticket sales remain low in spite of our ensemble’s relentless efforts to promote a production, and easy to find one’s self wondering what the hell it’s all for if so few people seem to care enough whether NCP exists to come to a damn play a few times a year.

However, seeing how much our shows mean to the people who do come out always serves as a corollary to such ponderings. And this is especially true of a show like this Wonderful Life, which seems to share the film’s capacity to evoke particularly intense emotional reactions. In fact, one company member shared with the rest of us the story of one usually reserved man who left the show in tears and then spoke to her about how moving the play was to him.

“I’ve never seen him talk this much or with this much emotion,” she described.

In any case, it seems as if I’m not much of an outlier in the fact that I too tend to have a hard time keeping a dry eye during It’s a Wonderful Life’s famously moving conclusion. However, I may be in that I found myself having an even stronger reaction to a moment a little earlier in the show, which was when George’s childhood friend Violet Bicks stops by to let him know her plans to take a midnight train to Manhattan in search of a fresh start.

It’s a sweet, simple conversation; one in which it is George, who’s dreamed his whole life of getting out of his small town, suggests that perhaps she should think twice before she does something so drastic.

Caroline Dopson as Violet Bicks in New City Players’ production of *It’s a Wonderful Life*

“That’s a big step, Vi. What’s wrong with starting a new life right here in Bedford Falls?” He suggests.

Of course, it wouldn’t exactly take a Freudian analyst to figure out why that particular scene would hit so close to the bone for me, especially right this minute. Since at least my early adolescence, both the idea of getting out of hum-drum Florida and of moving to New York City in particular have remained recurrent preoccupations of mine. As Violet puts it, it’s the city that has everything; a never-sleeping whirlwind of culture and excitement, not to mention the nation’s theatre capital! If I was ever going to make it big, become somebody—then wasn’t it just where I belonged?

There’ve been times, even, when these aspirations materialized: I did indeed move to the NYC area not once but twice, only to end up back in Florida within two years of each exodus for reasons I didn’t anticipate. Then, to make a long story short, a recent attempt to escape Florida again, this time to take a position in Maryland that I thought would put me on a decent path to eventual Manhattan glory, ultimately resulted in me deciding to come home only a few months later.

But, this time, for once, the key word here was decide. And though the choice I faced wasn’t exactly one between slaving away for some evil Mr. Potter and shoring up a fading Building and Loan, it was a choice in which I suppose I can find echoes of the themes of Wonderful Life. Because sometimes, it’s impossible for us to realize how much we value the things and people in our lives until we get a glimpse of just how empty our worlds would be without them; and not every wish made in haste or leap made in desperation is an accurate reflection of our truer desires. When it came down to it, I realized that chasing my individual aspirations in a place I felt no connection to wasn’t nearly as rewarding as being part of a community–both in terms of NCP and of the South Florida theatre community as a whole.

You could say that by doubling back, I risked giving up on a dream; but the thing is — dreams change. Dreams evolve. And though many of us start out determined to lasso moons, only a fraction of those with lofty goals will actually reach those highest heights. Far more of us will ultimately have to compromise; and focusing on service and connection rather than “achievement” presents a far more accessible model of a well-lived life than does a capitalistic conception of “success” based mostly on obliterating competition.

Another of the things it’s easy to miss about It’s A Wonderful Life the first few times around is the metaphorical resonance of what George dreamed of doing if he’d made it out of Bedford Falls. Along with fortune and adventure, George dreams of building things: planning modern cities as an architect.

While these ambitions don’t materialize in the way he once hoped, his individual influence on his own city did substantially shape its physical and emotional character, as becomes clear when he gets a glimpse of a world without his influence—which is a world overrun by the shoddy shacks of Pottersville and absent the many homes he’d helped his neighbors afford. As Clarence points out, wholesome Bailey Park only exists because George had been there to build it.

More than that, it’s George’s tireless devotion to the betterment of his town that likely ensured his neighbors were economically and emotionally healthy enough to help him out of trouble. As I also discovered during my research, the amount of money that George loses and then recoups—$8,000—would be equivalent to about $132,500 in today, which means that the contributions of the Bedford Falls residents were in no way small sacrifices!

This fact also seems to serve as at least a partial rebuttal to another strain of criticism of It’s A Wonderful Life, which sees George as setting a bad example because he is pathologically self-sacrificial. Yes, he does sacrifice plenty for the citizens or Bedford Falls; but he is willing to allow others to sacrifice for him when he truly needs it. Having worked to create a safety net of prosperity, he now allows himself to be caught, which helps open his eyes to the fact that he has put it there. Or, as another of the many articles I consulted puts it:

The cast sings *Auld Lang Syne* in New City Players’ production of *It’s a Wonderful Life*

The magic of It’s a Wonderful Life is in those final few minutes, after some angelic intervention, when George realizes that while he may not have seen the world and built construction marvels, he has built something far more important – a life, based on the love and support of his wife, his children and his closest friends.

Which, of course, brings me almost seamlessly back to the mission of New City Players, as well as to what this production’s director (Timothy Mark Davis) described as the key thematic principles of this particular production:

“The theme: no man is a failure who has friends. Elizabeth put it as “community is our saving grace.” This idea that our individual choices can add to or subtract from someone’s life. And perhaps if we are in a community of individuals where our choices are adding something kind or good or sacrificial or meaningful to other’s lives our community as a whole, we will take on those traits. There is a wonderful exploration of the personal and public; the individual and communal.”

Though I think it’s still debatable to what degree New City Players successfully builds community among its patrons, they do undoubtedly and wholeheartedly build a sense of community amongst their ensemble and provide transformative experiences to the creators involved with their productions. This is evident not only from my experience but from the accounts of It’s A Wonderful Life’s cast, which you can find in my last blog post as well as scattered throughout NCP’s social media pages. But aside from these public declarations of how meaningful they find being involved—in which they describe the process as magical, a sanctuary, joyous—I find that I can make this point most aptly with something someone involved with the production once mentioned to me privately.

“I didn’t really have friends this time last year.”

—

Whatever the precise mechanisms behind the breakdown of American community and ensuing encroach of loneliness, the resultant problem is one that could have incredibly serious consequences. Along with putting sufferers at greater risk of mental health complications like depression, addiction, and suicide, loneliness also seems to be devastating to physical health, to the point that experts have compared its effects to those of smoking up to fifteen cigarettes a day.

This is because the need for connection seems to be intrinsically woven not only into the human psyche but the human body, an evolutionary holdover from the days where we had a far better chance at survival if we stuck with our tribes than if went at it as lone wolves. Thus, loneliness seems to send our systems into a harmful high alert, setting off a cascade of inflammation that can be enormously detrimental.

But the flip side of this is the subject of one recent New York Times article, which puts forth volunteering as an “overlooked cure for loneliness.” The piece explores the fact that giving back seems to improve physical health and emotional well-being, with one of the statistics it notes being that two-thirds of volunteers surveyed reported that these activities made them feel less isolated.

Other research has found evidence for a biologically based “helper’s high,” associated with paying it forward, finding that the brain releases the same reward chemicals associated with our responses to other pleasurable stimuli when a person engages in an act of service or donates money to charity. (And if you want to test this little principle out, there’s always our monthly giving page… jk. Mostly.) It’s also been shown that, on the whole, people who feel responsible for the well-being of others and are more willing to be sacrificial tend to be more resilient overall. We, it seems, were made to be at our best when we are serving one another: and in doing so, we also best serve ourselves.

New City Players’ production of *It’s a Wonderful Life*

Along with the other critiques of It’s A Wonderful Life, I’ve mentioned, there also exist some suggesting that while George’s immediate problem may be solved by his neighbors’ generosity, the underlying issues causing his dissatisfaction remain unresolved. One even cynically put forth the idea of George back in crisis a few minutes after the film’s end, when it hits him that he’s still a Bedford Falls “failure” even if his business is out of jeopardy.

But, at least from my admittedly less dramatic experience, I’d like to suggest that it’s just as possible his epiphany was more lasting. Because though the nearly two months since I’ve been home have been full of as many ups and downs as ever, I do think there’s a definite sense in which experiences I would’ve once taken for granted seem full of some new wonder now that I’d nearly given them all up. While many things in my life remain imperfect, I do think that I’ve been more aware of everything that’s uniquely, incredibly wonderful about South Florida–including, of course, the chance to be more actively involved with this particular production.

Though I won’t say I know for sure where fate will lead me down the line, I don’t think there’s anywhere I would’ve been better placed the past few weekends than awash in the glow of Christmas cheer and good company over at Island City Stage. Which is why I now find myself circling back to something I last mentioned in my first NCP blog post of all: how we got our name. It comes, in fact, from the song Beautiful City, which begins like this:

Out of the ruins and rubble
Out of the smoke
Out of our night of struggle
Can we see a ray of hope?
One pale thin ray reaching for the day...
We can build a beautiful city
Yes, we can (Yes, we can)
We can build a beautiful city
Not a city of angels
But we can build a city of man

While the redemptive imagery of the song has always been evocative, it somehow seems even more resonant now, in the aftermath of not only the pandemic but another unforeseen circumstance that put our company through the wringer, making it easy for me to see another set of parallels—one of them being that it was likely the strength of the connections we’d already developed as an ensemble that enabled us to be in a position to unite unquestioningly in our defense of one of our own.

These days, though there are ways in which the future of producing live theatre is always precarious, there’s no reason to think we’ll stop working to rebuild ourselves and continue building our community. Cities, after all, are seldom built in a day, and seldom by any man alone. And, as the song goes on to describe, it takes a great many bricks, hands, and hearts to create the best that humanity is capable of. Part of what It’s A Wonderful Life demonstrates is that it doesn’t always take being the best, brightest, or boldest to make a profound difference in the lives of others: sometimes it just takes being there, and willing to do whatever is called for. My preferred tools may be words and pen, and yours may be deeds and might; but I doubt either counts for more in whatever heavenly accounting by which one’s worth is tallied up. In the currency of morality, all you really need to remember is that George’s riches of goodwill rank higher than Potter’s unfortunate fortune; and that a man handed the keys to a city may not be nearly so lucky as the one tasked with a city to build.

Besides the potential it provides for human connection, one of the reasons volunteering seems to be such a powerful balm is because of the documented mental and physical benefits of having a sense of purpose. Which I guess may account for the fact that I tend to be significantly less depressed when I’ve over scheduled myself into a sleep-deprived oblivion than when I am beholden to no one.

Thus, when thinking about the ways in which the last two years of my life have been irrevocably shaped by my involvement with New City Players, I can see just how tremendously stabilizing it’s been to have a “higher cause” I could commit myself to in the form of this company, especially during what turned out to be some of the bleakest periods of my life. If you know me IRL, you’ve probably already heard me joke about relying on NCP to “stay out of the void,”—but honestly, it’s hard for me to imagine how I would’ve survived without it.

And maybe by now you’ve guessed, but my obsession with the importance of connection and community didn’t spring out of nowhere; it probably has something to do with just how much of my life I’ve spent feeling like an outcast, desperate for someplace that I belonged. Thus, the contrast makes it particularly easy to see the degree to which my life has been immeasurably brightened by simply being a part of something; not merely “tolerated” but accepted and even valued for the unique capabilities I could bring.

Ok, maybe this silly play is getting to my head and I’m letting myself get carried away in a spate of sentimental nonsense—but maybe we all ought to be more open more often when it comes to the things that matter to us, and especially about the things that matter to us the most.

In my case, New City Players is certainly one of those things; but that doesn’t mean my suggestion that ya’ll ought to just see this bloody show is one made in empty acquiescence. It’s more based in the idea that you, too, may find George’s redemption cathartic— or that you may be the kind of person who learns best by example. And most of us probably still have quite a lot to learn from the quiet strength with which George Bailey serves as a pillar of his community, eschewing glory with grace. In any case, whether or not you intend to join us for one of our remaining performances, I wish you all a very Merry Christmas—and if you have seen the show, then you’ll probably know what I mean when I say that until next program, this is Ilana Jael of WNCP, signing off.

What We Can Learn From The Life George Bailey Builds by Ilana Jael

It’s A Wonderful Life: A Live Radio Play
by Joe Landry

Stay connected with New City Players!

What We Can Learn From The Life George Bailey Builds by Ilana Jael

It’s A Wonderful Life: A Live Radio Playby Joe Landry

Stay connected with New City Players!

It’s A Wonderful Life: A Live Radio Play
by Joe Landry