An article in Time (7 August 1944) about the return of injured veterans, provided Goldwyn and his wife with the idea for the film. Accordingly, Goldwyn asked Mackinlay Kantor, a former Air Force correspondent who had been stationed in England, to write an original story based on his experiences. Kantor delivered the result, a 434-page novel entitled "Glory For Me", written in blank verse, in January 1945. Goldwyn then handed it to Robert E. Sherwood to use as the basis of a screenplay.
After shooting for more than 100 days at a cost of over $2,000,000, Wyler edited his 400 reels to 16 - 2 hours and 52 minutes worth. Even though he was frustrated in his wish to cut it down by a further half-hour, Wyler considered it the best film he had yet made. His technique is faultless: His use of the mirror stratagem re-appears, this time in duet for the comic purpose of doubling the image of Fredric March in the megrims of the morning-after; the window enclosing remote (and now relevant) action can be found in the drugstore sequence where it brackets the managerial office with the busy salesroom below; the sparingly-used close-up has a poignant effect when it rests upon the wistful countenance of Harold Russell or details Teresa Wright's shattered face, caught in a moment of anguish.
A particularly impressive episode is Derry's visit to the bomber graveyard - Wyler composes a symphony for this scene out of visual and orchestral effects.
The music is excellent, Friedhofer's musical motifs frequently growing out of the scene itself, be it Hoagy Carmichael's piano jingles, Marie's strident radio, or the jungle rhythms of a nightclub band.
After shooting for more than 100 days at a cost of over $2,000,000, Wyler edited his 400 reels to 16 - 2 hours and 52 minutes worth. Even though he was frustrated in his wish to cut it down by a further half-hour, Wyler considered it the best film he had yet made. His technique is faultless: His use of the mirror stratagem re-appears, this time in duet for the comic purpose of doubling the image of Fredric March in the megrims of the morning-after; the window enclosing remote (and now relevant) action can be found in the drugstore sequence where it brackets the managerial office with the busy salesroom below; the sparingly-used close-up has a poignant effect when it rests upon the wistful countenance of Harold Russell or details Teresa Wright's shattered face, caught in a moment of anguish.
A particularly impressive episode is Derry's visit to the bomber graveyard - Wyler composes a symphony for this scene out of visual and orchestral effects.
The music is excellent, Friedhofer's musical motifs frequently growing out of the scene itself, be it Hoagy Carmichael's piano jingles, Marie's strident radio, or the jungle rhythms of a nightclub band.