It works, because McCarey builds My Son John—which, at over two hours, is long by the standards of the early 1950s—around a sense of familial intimacy, which is then betrayed. It is a strange and often moving film, at once demented (especially in the patched-together final act) and full of grace notes. It imagines America—or, rather, McCarey's conservative view of America—as something as primal as family, which cannot be forsaken.
Ignatiy Vishnevetsky
July 3, 2015