By BOSLEY CROWTHER

Out of Eugene O'Neill's four short plays of the sea, and under the haunting title of one, The Long Voyage Home, John Ford has truly fashioned a modern Odyssey—a stark and tough-fibered motion picture which tells with lean economy the never-ending story of man's wanderings over the waters of the world in search of peace for his soul. It is not a tranquilizing film, this one which Walter Wanger presented at the Rivoli Theatre last night; it is harsh and relentless and only briefly compassionate in its revelation of man's pathetic shortcomings. But it is one of the most honest pictures ever placed upon the screen; it gives a penetrating glimpse into the hearts of little men and, because it shows that out of human weakness there proceeds some nobility, it is far more gratifying than the fanciest hero-worshiping fare.

Mr. Ford has ever been noted for his muscular realism on the screen, for the rich and authentic flavor with which he imbues his films. And in The Long Voyage Home he has had an exceptional opportunity to exercise not only his talents but also his avowed affections. For the story is that of the tough crew of the British tramp freighter Glencairn on a present-day voyage from the West Indies, via an American port, to London in a rusty old tub loaded deep with highly explosive ammunition. And the loose and unresolved plot concerns the characters and reactions of the men in the face of lurking danger and their various bewildered impulses. Given a theme of this sort, Mr. Ford is a man inspired.

Although the O'Neill plays were written separately and with only the same characters and locale to give them unity, Mr. Ford and his scenarist, Dudley Nichols, have pulled them together handsomely. From The Moon of the Caribbees they have taken their departure—the departure of the S.S. Glencairn and its lusty, rum-soaking crew—and proceeded on through the dramatic incidents contained in Bound East for Cardiff, In the Zone, and, eventually, the poignant episode of frustration presented in The Long Voyage Home. If the film does lack a conventional dramatic pattern, it is mainly because of this episodic construction. And this lack may be disturbing to some.

But the very essence of the theme lies exactly in its inconclusiveness, in deliberate fumbling onward toward a goal which is never reached, toward a peace which is never attained. Yank, the iron-muscled pal of the Irishman, Driscoll, dies at sea, but even in death he dreams of the land. Smitty, the outcast aristocrat, goes to his doom with a defiant gesture at the world which has overpowered him. Driscoll is lost to another ship, and the remaining members of the Glencairn's crew—with the exception of Olson, who does go home—creep back to sea after a spree in London. In the end, they are Mother Carey's chickens, and the only home they can ever know is the restless deep.

And this is the endless story which Mr. Ford has told with magnificent sharpness. His ship is really made of iron and his actors are really tough. Thomas Mitchell as the roaring, truculent Driscoll; Barry Fitzgerald as the viperish steward, Cocky; John Wayne as the gentle, powerful Olson; Ian Hunter as Smitty, the heartsick; and Wilfred Lawson, Ward Bond, and all the rest are truly excellent. Suffice it to say that women only appear briefly in this odyssey, and then exclusively as agents of evil. For The Long Voyage Home is a story of men, of eternal suffering in a perilous trade, of life and tragic death in the dirty, heroic little cargo boats that sail the wet seas 'round.

THE LONG VOYAGE HOME (MOVIE)

Directed by John Ford; written by Dudley Nichols, based on the plays The Moon of the Caribbees, In the Zone, Bound East for Cardiff, and The Long Voyage Home by Eugene O'Neill; cinematographer, Gregg Toland; edited by Sherman Todd; music by Richard Hageman; art designer, James Basevi; produced by Walter Wanger; released by United Artists. Black and white. Running time: 105 minutes.