You can look at John Ford's The Iron Horse in two ways -- as a silent melodrama set against the epic backdrop of the building of the transcontinental railroad, or as an epic poem about the building of that railroad with some melodrama woven through it to give it a more coherent structure.
In truth the film is both these things, simultaneously or alternately -- the two halves of its nature are never entirely reconciled.
The melodrama isn't at all bad -- it's entertaining and sometimes moving -- though it has one of the lamest lovers' misunderstandings in all of movies. (Interestingly, the international version of the film tries, through rewritten intertitles, to make the misunderstanding more plausible but just succeeds in making even lamer than it already was.) The real problem is that the epic poem which hosts the melodramatic narrative is one of the most sublime achievements of the silent cinema. It's hard to imagine any melodrama which could holds its own with such poetry. (It should be noted that Griffith faced the same dilemma with The Birth Of A Nation, and similarly failed to solve it.)
The epic poem within The Iron Horse has themes and developments peculiar to itself. Ford is interested, as he often was, in the process of things, which in this case centers on the land, the physical fact of the land, which determined the challenge the road builders faced. Ford is also interested in the moral development this challenge prompted -- specifically the uniting of diverse peoples in a national consciousness.
The inclusiveness of the film is notable, and notably modern. Building the railroad unites former antagonists in the civil war between North and South. It unites Eastern engineers with Western scouts and hunters. It unites ethnic groups -- most specifically the Irish and the Italians, though there are a few scenes demonstrating good-natured camaraderie between Europeans and Chinese. It unites women and men, who at one point take up arms together to rescue some besieged track layers . . . and in the climax of that scene, a band of light cavalry rides to the rescue -- not U. S. soldiers but Pawnee Indians, allies of the train workers. The only people conspicuously absent from this American mosaic are blacks -- probably to avoid alienating white Southern audiences of the time.
The epic poem of America that's at the heart of The Iron Horse unfolds at a stately pace, even though it's brimful of incident and exquisite lyrical images. (There's enough pure cinema in this picture to supply a dozen ordinary movies) Unless you surrender to its rhythms, are willing to just sit back and enjoy the sheer spectacle of it, you are likely to find The Iron Horse tough going. If you're primarily interested in the melodrama, wanting Ford to get on with it already, you'll find it even tougher going.
On the other hand, if you let Ford take you at his own pace, show you want he wants you to see, you'll be deeply rewarded. Here is the vernacular lyricism of Leaves Of Grass applied to a truly epic subject and translated into visual terms that transcend its melodramatic armature. It's an imperfect but genuinely awesome work.
The film is part of the new Ford At Fox box set, where it's presented in two versions -- the American release and the somewhat abridged international release, derived from a separate negative made up of second-camera shots and alternate takes. The American version is far superior but apparently better print material survives from the international version. You really need to be familiar with both to appreciate the film fully.
The international version on the set has a first-rate commentary by Robert Birchard, filled with a wealth of information about the personalities involved in the making of the film and about the production.