"Of Mice and Men" is a Zolaesque ghost of naturalism came back to haunt the screen of the U. T. John Steinbeck's picture of ranch hands struggling against an unnamed force that drives them to destruction is a company little exercise that might have been carved out of the space, gaunt stories of Stephen Crane, or the vast welter of Frank Norris's novels. It has Crane's economy and concentrated power, combined with Norris's careful documentation of detail. It is this detail that makes the film a masterpiece--the whirring belts of farm machinery, dogs hanging around the stable, the dusty curtains and faded wallpaper of the ranch house, and the faces and mannerisms of the characters. Each of the minor parts has received superb treatment, each one is true to a certain American type. Betty Field is magnificent as the rancher's pathetic wife, whom Lennie strangles absent-mindedly. Stroking a puppy, disgustedly watching her sensual husband suck up his food, drumming her fingers on the table in frantic boredom, she draws an unforgettable picture of the same frustration and despair of farm life to which Hamlin Garland gave anguished voice.

Burgess Meredith as George is adequate, but Lon Chaney, Jr. as Lennie is a too-conventional half-wit, even to the throaty voice and harsh r's. The bit parts are the heart of the movie, and from start to finish are woven into powerful moods of pity, despair, and humility.