Except for the color cinematography of Claude Renoir, this sprawling story of a selfish playboy son of a South American diplomat who has been murdered, is nothing more than a revenge story told on a scale that would be impressive if the story was worthy of being treated as an epic. There are huge crowd scenes, many explosions, awkward love scenes, terrible dialog and just a few moments where you can see an occasional moment of truth.
All of the actors are pretty well wasted and only occasionally is there a flash of good acting. The hero is played by BEKIM FEHMIU, a lean and muscular leading man who has only one expression no matter what the circumstances. His wooden performance seems to have affected everyone else in the cast, with the possible exception of OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND and JOHN IRELAND who at least acquit themselves without looking foolish.
There's also a charming performance from LEIGH TAYLOR-YOUNG, but CANDICE BERGEN, ROSSANO BRAZZI, FERNANDO REY, ERNEST BORGNINE, ANNA MOFFO and others do nothing that raises the level of the film to anything more than pulp trash--which, considering that it came from a Harold Robbins novel, is all that it could ever hope to be.
The striking photography cannot be praised too highly, but everything else crumbles under the heavy-handed direction of Lewis Gilbert. He never manages to make any of the characters appealing enough to really care about.
Summing up: At your own risk.
All of the actors are pretty well wasted and only occasionally is there a flash of good acting. The hero is played by BEKIM FEHMIU, a lean and muscular leading man who has only one expression no matter what the circumstances. His wooden performance seems to have affected everyone else in the cast, with the possible exception of OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND and JOHN IRELAND who at least acquit themselves without looking foolish.
There's also a charming performance from LEIGH TAYLOR-YOUNG, but CANDICE BERGEN, ROSSANO BRAZZI, FERNANDO REY, ERNEST BORGNINE, ANNA MOFFO and others do nothing that raises the level of the film to anything more than pulp trash--which, considering that it came from a Harold Robbins novel, is all that it could ever hope to be.
The striking photography cannot be praised too highly, but everything else crumbles under the heavy-handed direction of Lewis Gilbert. He never manages to make any of the characters appealing enough to really care about.
Summing up: At your own risk.