here’s no place for originality in architecture!” The dean of Howard Roark’s (Gary Cooper) school expels him for not falling in line, to design the same sort of buildings that everyone else does. But when he approaches notable New York architect Henry Cameron (Henry Hull), the irascible man gives him a job on the spot, identifying the visionary’s potential and individuality. In the years to come, Roark takes over the business, yet doesn’t find the same success. He’s defiant and persistent, however, refusing to give in to the plain, uninspired forms of by-the-books architect and newspaper mogul Gail Wynand (Raymond Massey), whose firm picks up most of the contracts in the city.

“You can be one of us!” He hasn’t had a client for 18 months, but Howard still refuses a handout from his pal Peter Keating (Kent Smith), who conversely found himself rising up the corporate ladder by creating very ordinary structures, sticking to popular, classical concepts that won’t rile the public. When the Security Bank of Manhattan offers a commission, but with a couple of artistic changes to dilute Roark’s uniqueness and modernity, he again refuses. His career may be over, but he will not compromise. “This is sheer insanity!”

With a screenplay by Ayn Rand, from her novel, the dialogue is instantly intelligent; it’s remarkably perceptive, bold, and brainy (double entendres are particularly intriguing). At the same time, the imagery, even without words to narrate, possesses multiple meanings; visual metaphors abound as Howard, now reduced to a mere laborer, realizes that influential, well-connected, infrequent columnist Dominique Francon (Patricia Neal, introduced in a breathtaking dress) has taken an interest in him, despite her intentions to want nothing and to depend on nothing, which leads to a rivalrous, rambunctious, love-at-first-sight sort of interaction – part amorousness and part rape. They mutually abuse one another, as if trivial playthings for personal amusement, which tends to be one of the major themes of “The Fountainhead.”

“There are no men of integrity.” In Rand’s vision of people and politics, decent souls are nonexistent; everyone is corruptible and scheming and self-serving. Even when it comes to love, every maneuver is a power play, full of manipulation, deceit, and near contempt. Sex is violent; seduction is coercive and corrosive. The players go to great lengths to be apart, to prove to themselves that they don’t need one another (to establish their mental and emotional toughness), despite knowing they’re ultimately inseparable. It’s essentially a challenge: self-imposed misery is required to make the inevitable reunion just that much sweeter. “Incidentally, since it’s of no importance to you, I love you.”

“I play the stock market of the spirit. And I sell short.” As it condemns powerful, wealthy people (and, really, all of humanity), here through the use of a conniving newspaperman and his conspiratorial practices, in which he uses his fortunes and influence to control and contain all the people he believes are below him, the film demonstrates, quite obviously (and repetitively, all the way to a courtroom trial over the matter), the nature of individualism versus collectivism. The pressures of conformity attempt to shatter innovation – an eternal struggle for the egoistic Howard. And it also weighs forms of power, from money to influence to leverage.

Though its purpose is evident, “The Fountainhead” was too far ahead of its time to be appreciated, primarily with its cast of unsympathetic characters; its reflection of the world was simply too cold and discouraging for audiences of the ’40s. The relationships are built upon spite and animosity; there’s not a warm spirit among them. And yet, this is its potency; in its quest to claim that individual vision and principles are above all else, the film is itself so uncommon and exclusive that it too serves as a beacon of independence and singularity. It’s intoxicating and extreme in its focus and perspective (running a touch overlong as it reiterates its themes a few too many times) – and highly compelling (even if the conclusion is tidier than anticipated). “I have very little respect for anything on earth.”

– Mike Massie