Reviews

POSSIBLE SPOILER AHEAD. This Technicolour mystery-thriller opens with a short sequence in a night club, scant of people and atmosphere. An awkward Pier Angeli (Anna Maria Pierangeli), seems to be the main attraction. Swathed in unflattering dark green satin, she attempts a stiff sort of undulation as she moves and sings a tepid song in Spanish and English. Her expression is strained, uncertain, and that little girl innocence that so charmed audiences in 'Teresa', seems to have been replaced by caginess. Perhaps, the audience thinks, this is part of the story which will unfold, or perhaps it's the unlikely casting of Pier as a 'sultry nightclub entertainer'; it's an ungainly start. However, when she's not required to be sultry, she's capable and likable and well photographed by Wilkie Collins. I never believed her character might be murderer, because when she isn't performing at the night-club, she wears the better tailored soft blues and demure white collars of a nice girl. It's a pleasant change to see James Hayter playing a sleazy crook, although he's not threateningly villainous. No-one else is worth mentioning, not even Dennis Price, (who is better suited to monochrome); they're all victims of Xerox storytelling. The plot has a whiff of Casablanca, among others, but the most agreeable aspect of the film is the colour. The print I saw was lovely and subtle, particularly in the interiors. I suspect the director, a former cameraman of great ability, concentrated on the look, because the script offers little.

BEWARE! A SPOILER re the ENDING. A Czech, escaping from the Nazis, Michael Redgrave, (the nominal star and lead character), assumes the identity of a dead British officer to evade punishment. It's a perfect part for Redgrave, who must be one of the most diffident performers in the history of the movies. What does he actually want or feel? And he's not fascinatingly enigmatic, he's irritating. Redgrave's character is distant, unhappy with who he is, even unhappy with who he might be - at the most, 20% comfortable in his own skin. (Assuming someone else's identity seems to be what an actor like Redgrave must do, so he can live in an agony of semi-persona.) Half way through this curious, but interesting film, the Redgrave character, the Czech, decides to take up a correspondence with the wife of the British officer whose identity he's assumed. Then he'll have something to live for, someone to communicate with. After all, all the 'normal' chaps have a girl to write to. He doesn't seem to consider how much emotional harm he might do the wife, who believes she is corresponding with a formerly cold husband, who has suddenly found a warmth in his poetic descriptions of everyday life in the camp. Her descriptions of life in their little English village are read out to the chaps in the camp, and at last Mr Diffident seems to belong to something, even if it is all a lie. Meanwhile, there are various other love affairs, which have been interrupted by the war; the male halves of these affairs are in the camp; all the affairs are on rocky ground. All are swiftly, abruptly and unconvincingly resolved towards the end of the film, because they don't matter nearly as much as the film's loving commitment to the camaraderie of the camp (there's even a nostalgic shot of the abandoned camp, after the prisoners have all been repatriated as though the film yearns to be back there, rather than with these rather contrived, post-camp love matches). The most unconvincingly resolved love 'affair' is that between the Redgrave character and his ersatz wife. She's shocked that the hubby she thought had transformed himself into a poet, turns out to be a Czech impostor, and sends Redgrave - who now wants to belong to her - packing. But something about his sincere diffidence changes her mind and she takes him on. The End. A shame because it's a very strong dramatic idea, which is unsatisfactorily resolved The reason, I assume, for the perfunctory way with which all the 'love stories' are treated is either the film's running time, or that the film is really a love story about chaps, carrying on regardless of their aching hearts. The characters and scenes in the camp are well drawn; as a document of their camaraderie and coping capabilities, it's quite moving, but the love stories need a lot more work.

SOME PLOT SPOILER HEREIN, BUT NO GIVEAWAY OF THE ENDING. A chance meeting in war-torn Piccadilly, connects a well born Marine and an ex-hoofer Wren. They marry in haste, clearly meant for each other. War separates them, and she is missing, believed drowned, when her ship is torpedoed by the Jerries. She ends up on a desert island with some chirpy lower-classes and a creepy Canadian, who tries to move in on her. Meanwhile, back in Blighty, the marine plunges into grief (in an understated British way), but perks up, when he meets a jolly Yank gel, whom he marries. Meanwhile the Wren and her pals are rescued and she dashes back to the Marine's country seat, and...I shan't spoil the rest for you. Despite its descent from light drama into glum (and rather drawn-out) melodrama, this is a likable film, very prettily shot by Max Greene, and well directed by Ms Neagle's hubby, Herbert Wilcox. Michael Wilding is particularly good as the chap. (Apparently neither Rex Harrison nor John Mills were available for the part, so Wilding got it, and a good job too.) He has a delightful lightness of touch, with strong emotions burning quietly beneath. His lover, the slightly stodgier, scrupulously gracious Wren, Anna Neagle always reminds me of the nice girl at school, with whom one can't really find fault, but wishes had more oomph. Wilding brings out the best in her, and their scenes together really sparkle. It's a shame they spend so much of the film apart. There's an occasionally witty script from N. Phipps, a peculiar dance number, and very good work from the supporting cast, but a curious bit of casting in Michael Laurence as a distinctly creepy Canadian, who keeps up a constant, tense assault on our Anna. I wonder if the drama might have worked a bit better if he were genuinely likable, but not quite as likable as Mr Wilding. As it is, he's simply creepy, and we (the audience) don't want him to get a look-in. I originally saw this old hit, on the TV in Spain, in 1966, dubbed into Spanish. It works better in English, mainly for Michael Wilding's subtle style with a line, funny romantic or sad; and Brenda Bruce's very likable and emotionally truthful second-fiddle to Ms Neagle.

I never really understood what was supposed to be at stake here. I meet a selfish, very independent hunter (Dafoe - very good) whose mission is to find the apparently extinct Tasmanian tiger, because a big company wants it. I don't know why, but I'm interested. He meets some cliché opposition from the local rednecks, and a grizzled old ham (Sam Neill), who looks predictably shifty and may have something to do with the disappearance of the last man who sought the tiger. That man's kids are needy and believable. I like them and care about them and their relationship with the hunter, but their drugged-out mother is a bore and the hunter's possible burgeoning relationship with her is, like the rest of the story so far, half-hearted. The hunter's search for the tiger is interesting, and mildly dramatic. Then I find out exactly why the big company want the tiger, but it doesn't increase what little stakes there are. There are the occasional VISIBLE threats to the hunter and his quest, but they're also half-hearted. There are the occasional moving moments, and the hunter's realisation that he loves the kids, is nice, but not enough. It's still like like a short film with padding, and an hour has gone by. There's a chance for some really tense action during a nasty confrontation in the bush, but that's bungled by incompetent direction. Then there's a tragedy involving the main characters THAT WE DON'T SEE! (this is a film!) and a sentimental wrap-up. And I'm left wondering what it was all actually about. Here is my conclusion: apart from excellent work from the children, and Dafoe, the key players were presumably unable to identify that the script is very undernourished, so they went ahead and made a film with no real spine.