patrick.hunter

In 1937, Jean Renoir directed GRANDE ILLUSION, the first great (maybe greatest) POW film and one of the most influential motion pictures ever made. Even though this movie shows the influence, one should keep in mind that most POW movies of the time do so as well, from STALAG 17 to BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI. However, rather than focus how THE ELUSIVE CORPORAL resembles GRANDE ILLUSION, what's more interesting I think is how it differs.

GRANDE ILLUSION used the POW camp as a metaphor for society, with all three classes represented. This film does not. It has no wealthy aristocrats, like Erich Von Strohiem's character. Some might compare Rich's character Ballochet to Pierre Fresney's Captain Boldieu, but doing so neglects that Ballochet is not an aristocrat; he only acts like one. Before becoming a POW, he was a gas meter attendant. Staying in the prison camp allows him to escape reality, for it offers him a deluded and misguided sense of comfort. This is why he does not want to leave it (until his final moment of self completion, of course). In this respect, Ballochet is unlike any character in GRANDE ILLUSION.

Saying that the POW camp in THE ELUSIVE CORPORAL reminds one of a country club ignores that virtually every other prisoner-of-war movie did the same. Only Bryan Forbes's unique KING RAT, released three years after this one, was a film that showed a prisoner-of-war camp as Godawful. I also don't see how viewers could interpret life in this film's camp is all that enviable. While it's true that Ballochet obtains a sinecure that allows him easy work and extra rations, the movie clearly condemns him and also shows that he's an exception. Many times, we see most prisoners working, often performing menial, unheroic labor (ie, emptying the latrine's cesspool tank--a symbol of those, like Ballochet or Pater, who choose the stagnation of remaining in prison). Rarely do we see the prisoners idling the time away. Unlike most POW movies, we're reminded that they are not only prisoners, but enslaved labor.

If one wants comparisons, one might more profitably compare THE ELUSIVE CORPORAL to French prison movies made just a few years before it (ie, A MAN ESCAPED and LE TROU). Like those films, this movie's concerns are not so much for society but for individuals, and, like THE ELUSIVE CORPORAL, they use escape as a metaphor for attaining selfhood (unlike GRANDE ILLUSION, which shows that even after escaping the prison, the prisoners still remain imprisoned---by their illusions).

Maybe this movie is not a perfect film (though I'm not sure about that), but it's certainly worthwhile. It's beautifully lensed, often presenting a gray, misty look. It intersperses documentary footage to remind us of how chaotic the reality outside the camp was like. And yes, one can say it resembles GRANDE ILLUSION, but one could also just as easily say it resembles PAPILLION. The point is not that it doesn't, because, actually it does. But then again, it's also quite different.

That it was made with such a small budget proves that Renoir's genius was still potent even toward the end of his career. It's a dramatic, humorous, subtle, and under-appreciated work of cinema.

Many of us have seen dramas of what transpired in England, the U.S., France, Italy, etc. during WWII....but what about those beloved, amiable mates down under? This docudrama does a very fine job of showing what they went thru.

It's not as well-done as CHURCHILL AND THE GENERALS or WORLD WAR II: WHEN LIONS ROARED, but it's a cinch to say that viewers who loved those dramas will enjoy this one. Some of the actors (including Warren Mitchell as FDR) are not always convincing with their American accents, and even some of the actual Americans have laughable moments(Robert Vaughn plays MacArthur wearing sunglasses, even while indoors).

However, no smart viewer cares about such quibbles. One cares for learning about the factual complexities/anxieties that Australia underwent during world history's most dramatic time. That is what makes this compelling viewing from the start. It also provides many pleasures, from a stirring score and to memorable performances from many, including Michael Blakemore and Timothy West as (once again!) Churchill.

A lively TV movie of 1970, aided by an above-average cast, which includes Leslie Nielson in a dramatic role. At one point, he almost utters a swear word when he says "You b....", then stops himself, to David McCallum. Believe it or not, that was considered strong stuff for television in 1970. It also boasts an interesting, pseudo-sci-fi script by Curt Siodmak, a writer who repeated the basic idea of his own DONOVAN'S BRAIN in many variations.

McCallum plays a scientist on the run, because he's got another mind inside his own, Hauser's memory, in fact. It's a cinch that someone involved with TOTAL RECALL recalled this movie; in that film, the character's memory that he has in his brain is also called Hauser (which was not the name used in Dick's story that TOTAL RECALL was based on). There are other comparisons as well, although TOTAL RECALL is the better film by far. Still, this one has its charms, especially if you like early seventies TV movies.

So many of us in the United States are clueless about the significance of the red poppy which recurs so often in the movie. First of all, it is not an opium poppy. It is a symbol for peace. John McCrae, one of the great poets who were killed in World War I, wrote in the following in his anti-war poem "In Flanders Fields":

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row by row,. . .

If yea break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields

Anyway, shortly after WWI, in the early nineteen-twenties, the red poppy became the symbol of remembering and honoring the heroic dead. The day for remembrance became November 11, the date World War One ended. These days, I fear, most people in the United States think of November 11 not as "Remembrance Day" or "Armistice Day" but more as just Veteren's Day. It rarely even falls on November 11, and, when it does, most Americans view it simply as time off work.

As critic Roger Ebert once said, OH! WHAT A LOVELY WAR really isn't a movie at all, but a theatrical tableau. Like many a British muscial review, it contains little plot, much spirited music, and--in this case--the story of World War I. Some portions, as even director Richard Attenborough admitted, go on too long; however, so many other portions are just brilliant. Like other Attenborough movies, one hates to dislike it because its subject matter is so worthwhile and commands respect (will anyone do a remembrance film honoring the fallen dead of the present Iraqui conflict?) I know I gave it an 8, but I must say I don't quite know how to rate a movie like this one. There's nothing else in cinema like it.

When Universal became Universal-International in 1946, the studio virtually ended its monster movies. Producing honorable, but now forgotten films like ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST and ALL MY SONS, the newly-organized studio was obviously aiming for taste and class. Even the Universal-International logo, with a quiet, turning earth against a starry field, was more tasteful than the brash, glittering glass-globe that opened Universal movies the decade previous. Aching for critics' approval, the studio even hired the brilliant Val Lewton, who produced only one Universal-International film before his untimely death. Afterwards, William Alland, an associate of Orson Welles, assumed command of the studio's B-films and soon made THE STRANGE DOOR.

It's often compared to Universal's previous great monster films, which is not quite appropriate, because the movie is more of an attempt at doing a Val Lewton horror film. Like Lewton's BEDLAM, this film is set in 18th century. Like Lewton's THE BODY SNATCHER, this film is based on a story by Robert Louis Stevenson. Like Lewton's ISLE OF THE DEAD, this film has Boris Karloff.

Certainly THE STRANGE DOOR is not the best for fans of either Karloff or Laughton, both of whom overact to the point of silliness. Even though it compares to--because it draws inspiration from--the Val Lewton horror films, it completely lacks their creepiness and substance. Watch any of the Lewton horrors and compare its atmosphere with this movie's and you'll observe a great example of the difference between subtle and non-subtle lighting. Not surprisingly, producer Alland would find his niche in producing B science fiction films, not horror ones.

It's a fun flick, but one that disappoints on most all levels. Even fans of Robert Louis Stevenson are disappointed. The short story, "The Sire de Maletroit's Door" is romantic, ironic, and even humorous (this movie has humor as well, but unintentional). Stevenson's original tale is not set in the refined eighteenth century, but during the chaotic era of the Hundred Years War. Although Stevenson's sire is a severe authoritarian, he is actually shrewd and clever--nothing like Laughton's madman, just as the original story has little in common with this over-ripe (or overwrought?) piece of entertaining hokum.

Why is it that people quibble about Jason Robards not looking like Capone? Many actors who have played him, from F. Murray Abraham to William Forsythe, really didn't resemble him. Maybe it's because this film attempts a semi-documentary approach. Perhaps it's the most accurate Hollywood drama on Capone, but the other semi-documentaries of the time (such as Fox's own THE LONGEST DAY), had the look and lighting that reminded a viewer of a documentary, while this one doesn't. In fact, its style is more evocative of a 1930's Warner Bros. gangster film. Even George Segal's bullying the bartender and his mashing his girlfriend's face with food are bits very comparable to ones Cagney does in THE PUBLIC ENEMY. Segal playing a mean Cagney-type might seem very offbeat casting, but in this film it works, because all its casting is offbeat--even deliciously over the top. It's a lot of fun.

This story, possibly the most famous of all American tales (its very title has become a catchphrase), was largely envisioned in this version by a European: Maurice Tourneur. Yes, some filmbuffs like to think the American co-director, Clarence Brown, more responsible for the movie's quality; even Brown himself (after Tourneur's death) claimed he filmed most of it. This is a hard claim to believe because Tourneur, whose reputation was virtually second only to Griffith at the time, was the one who hired Brown, largely to shoot the outdoor scenes.

Tourneur loved lighting an indoor scene more than any director in the Hollywood of 1920, preferring the control of creating painterly interior scenes, so he had Brown get dirty and go camping in Big Bear and Yosemite to shoot the outdoor ones. And even though Brown directed them, Tourneur, as boss, must have had control of selecting which shots were filmed. Since Brown got his start in the industry five years earlier as Tourneur's editor and assistant, he was well-acquainted with Tourneur's style and most likely filmed shots that the Frenchman would want.

The European sensibility to the story shows itself in this version's focus. Most remakes--like the novel--make Hawkeye, the most central character. Here, however, he is a very minor person indeed, often in the background, always appearing gawky and unheroic. The most emphasized characters in this version are Cora and Uncas, whose impossible-to-fulfill relationship results in a liebestod-like tragedy. Many who like the later versions of this story might be put off by the fact that Hawkeye is not a main character, but this silent movie is beautiful.

To fully appreciate FIGHTING CARAVANS, one must know a little about THE COVERED WAGON, released in 1923 and the first Western epic. For decades this silent movie was hailed as the finest Western ever, and even in 1968, Bosley Crowther's popular book, THE GREAT FILMS, listed it as one of fifty greatest motion pictures. Few would claim that today, although it is still an entertaining silent. What remains undeniable is THE COVERED WAGON's influence. Other big-budget Westerns soon followed, and, by the talking era, Fox released THE BIG TRAIL (a virtual remake of THE COVERED WAGON) and Paramount released FIGHTING CARAVANS (a virtual sequel).

Those of us who love THE COVERED WAGON adore the two lead supporting characters: trackers Bill Jackson and Jim Bridger, played by Ernest Torrence and Tully Marshall. They play them again in this film, only now they're older, because FIGHTING CARAVANS was filmed eight years after, and their increased age actually adds a curious poignancy.

Slightly different from the plot conflicts in THE COVERED WAGON, this sequel hinges on whether Jackson and Bridger can both persuade their new, handsome protégé to continue tracking with them and not settle down to marry. However, just as the two have aged, so has the west. With the trains being connected, it is obvious that the trackers will no longer be needed. Not surprisingly for a Western with this sort of elegiaic theme, both Jackson and Bridger die in the film's climax, fighting renegades and Indians. (This, of course, was not how the actual Jim Bridger ended his days, and, yes, the film's portrayal of Native Americans is not accurate either.)

Lili Damita, who would later become the first Mrs. Errol Flynn, had one of her best roles as the civilizing influence on the young handsome tracker, convincing him to veer away from a profession that would die with changing times. Gary Cooper plays the young tracker, and he wears buckskin far better than J. Warren Kerrigan did in THE COVERED WAGON. Cooper, in fact, plays another of his callow rakes he did so often in the early thirties, from THE VIRGINIAN to IF I HAD A MILLION to even A FAREWELL TO ARMS, and it's always odd to see him play such parts before Mr. Deeds would change his image afterward.

Roughly the same year as this film, MGM released BILLY THE KID, Fox released THE BIG TRAIL, and R.K.O. released CIMMARON; all were very expensive, very spectacular Westerns. FIGHTING CARAVANS was Paramount's contender with these others, and it was a film so big, with so much location work, that two directors were ultimately required. Like the other big Westerns of its time, it contains crude, almost amateur-like, moments. One could even complain that the broad acting of the early talkies is totally at odds with a Western---a genre that traditionally relies on laconic, expressionless characters. However, for those who love curios, for those who love film history and Western history, and for those who love THE COVERED WAGON, this film is a charm.

While many people may like films such as Verdi's OTELLO, with Placido Domingo, or "O" with Mekhi Phifer, others of us like Shakespeare and want to see an OTHELLO with some devotion to the play. However, doing so is tough....and the other dramatizations prove it. I recall when the BBC version of it first aired in the United States, the director, Jonathan Miller, uncomfortably tried to defend having a white actor play the part of Othello. Afterwards, many of us watched the great Anthony Hopkins disappointingly perform Othello in very unconvincing blackface make-up.

Orson Welles directed a visually-brilliant black-and-white film version, but the play was cut severely and, frankly, a white actor in black face, doesn't really work anymore. The same goes for the Laurence Olivier film version, which was stagily directed, with disappointing set design and color.

At least Olivier played Othello with gusto, unlike so many other actors, such as Hopkins, who underplay Shakepeare's most passionate tragic hero. Laurence Fishburne, normally a great actor, underacted the part to the point of being monotonal. Even if one can accept a white actor in the part, however, the Olivier version, like the Welles one, suffered from an Iago less charismatic than Othello (perhaps because Olivier and Welles, both prima-donnas, in portraying the character, didn't want to be upstaged?). Too bad, because the play needs a great ensemble cast.

There have been other dramatizations; however, this version tops them all, especially for Shakespeare lovers. At three-hours running length, the play is hardly cut, if at all, and one can't ask for a more uniformly talented ensemble. While Ian McKellan is as likable oily as Iago as he was for RICHARD III, Willard White gets the kudos for being one impressive Othello--the best on DVD (If you see White in the Glynbourne video of Mozart's "Abduction in a Seraglio," you'll see how he is always a very effective scene-stealer). Imogen Stubbs actually makes sense of Desdemona, a female character many of today's audiences have trouble understanding or even liking, and Zoe Wanamaker is the most appealing Emilia of them all. Like most Trevor Nunn productions, the acting is uniformly right in terms of chemistry, pacing, etc.

Some might be bothered with its setting. Personally, I'm all for setting Shakespeare plays in different time periods, especially when they serve the drama's themes/characters, as TITUS and McKellan's RICHARD III did. In this case, Shakespeare's most Mediterrian tragedy is set, somewhat abstractedly, in the U.S. Civil War era. To me, it works--as does most everything else in this, the best production of OTHELLO, at least for Shakespeare fans.

For those who grouse about Matt Damon, I can only say read Patricia Highsmith's very entertaining psychological thriller. If you find the title character in this film callow and sexually confused, then I can only that's how he is in the book.

This movie is really a more faithful adaptation than the earlier version PURPLE NOON, directed by Rene Clement. Many people prefer that French film, which is (unlike many French thrillers compared to Hollywood ones) a more traditional crime movie, even containing a more compact, wrap-up-all-the-disturbing-aspects type of ending. It also starred an appealingly sexy and young Alain Delon as a more charismatic Tom Ripley.

However, Highsmith's book clearly points out that character is not charismatic; he only wishes he were more charismatic. Unlike Delon's, Matt Damon's interpretation contains far more complexity. As an actor, he straddles two difficulties: 1) playing someone who's such a nondescript entity that he both envies and despises the idle American rich, 2)making the character intriguing enough for the audience not to lose interest in him, because it is his story and he does carry the film.

"Better to be a fake somebody than a real nobody" is Tom Ripley's philosophy. It's a tragic world-view, and--weirdly--one that many of us can understand, if not empathize with. I wonder how many critics dismiss this movie because it unsettlingly provokes aspects of themselves they'd prefer to remain hidden?

Yes, the movie makes changes, including Cate Blanchett's character, who is not even in the original, but it's faithful in terms of plot and, yes, character. It captures well the book's irony that Tom Ripley so aches to join this class of people, despite the fact that he's smarter and more alive than any of them. Perhaps the story is far-fetched, but it has more to say to all of us than what might first meet the eye.

In Dante's Hell, the first circle was where the enlightened pagans were located; it may have been hell--but the least painful, high class section of hell. So also is the name of the Soviet prison where the scientists work in this grim drama, and, as it unfolds, one can interpret that the first circle includes not just the prison, but the whole uppercrust society of the Soviet Union, with Stalin as Satan overlooking his domain.

An international production made shortly after the demise of the Soviet government, this sombre drama was produced on location. Like the novel it's based on, it has too many characters and it's probably too expansive a story even for a mini-series; although it takes place in just three days, it contains about two dozen characters that one must keep track of. Nonetheless, a patient viewer will be rewarded for it portrays the fear, oppression, and sometimes outright stupidity of the postwar U.S.S.R. Although F. Murray Abraham gets top billing, he's in it for only about six minutes, yet he's unforgettable as Stalin, playing the dictator not as the virile power that Robert Duvall suggested, but more as a wizened and petty thug, a paranoid tyrant in winter. Some might think Christopher Plummer overacts his role, but the real Abakunov was one who discovered that passion helped win promotions more than intellect did, and, as a result, he over-emphasized his zeal and deemphasized his thought (The mini-series doesn't portray this, but the real Abakunov would be executed one year after Stalin's death). The rest of the cast is wonderful, even if some are obviously foreign-language actors who are dubbed.

See it and rejoice in your freedom.

Nowadays, many would find this mini-series overly talky, even for a TV drama. For example, in a scene of part one, actor Frank Middlemas grouses and weeps in self-pity for ten whole minutes! However, the sequence is straight out of chapter two of the novel, with most of the dialog included, and all in all, the whole mini-series is a very faithful adaptation. Yes, it may be talky, but the talk is good; few novelists were more philosophically ruminative than Dostoyevsky...

Some of the casting is first-rate. The other versions I've seen portray Raskolnikov as a somewhat demonic though poetical intellect--completely overlooking that, although a murderer, he can be often sensitive, sentimental, and even generous. John Hurt believably portrays all these qualities and he's a exemplary Raskolnikov, even if he is a little too old for the part. Timothy West is a brilliant Porfiry and his three scenes with John Hurt are model examples of nuanced and subtle acting and interacting.

This is a production for those who either love the book, or who want to love it.

(Spoilers for both the book and movie). As to where exactly is Ballantrae, it was supposed to be somewhere in southwestern Scotland, but truthfully it existed in the mind of the sometimes-homesick novelist, Robert Louis Stevenson, who, in the book's preface, called himself "an exile." His novel is beautifully written, but is also episodic, dark, and ultimately tragic (the two brothers ultimately kill each other). It has a sense of isolation only an exile could have, and although one of Stevenson's best works, it doesn't lend itself to a Hollywood adaptation, the way "Kidnapped" and "Treasure Island" do.

The movie ends with the warring brothers in happy reconciliation; it also ends with a zesty, light-hearted spirit, completely at odds with Stevenson's dour irony, but completely in tune with Errol Flynn. Despite some comparable plotpoints, the film has little in common with the original novel's themes and characters. No matter; this movie is fun.

Yes, Flynn looks a little worn; a decadent life was leaving its mark on a beautiful face. However, he still looks fit and handsome, and his jaded, weary eyes actually suit his role. In my opinion, he never played a lustier character--not even Don Juan. Maybe the location shooting unleashed his impish side, because after the crew left Sicily to finish work in England, Flynn stayed on an extra two weeks, vacationing in the sun to his heart's content while he blithely held up cast and crew!

Flynn, with his happy amorality, may not be Stevenson's Master, but he is the master of Hollywood swashbucklers, and this is his fourth best one. It isn't up to "Adventures of Robin Hood" or even "The Sea Hawk" or "Adventures of Don Juan" but, like another reviewer, I'll take it over "Captain Blood."

While a highly rewatchable war movie, with a corker of a performance from James Mason, this motion picture does have its inaccuracies--beginning with its memorable opening. In truth, British commandos did not sneak or charge in, outfitted in nightfighting fatigues; they simply walked in, disguised in Axis uniforms with fake ids. Though the covert mission proved a fiasco, Rommel, in true chivalrous tradition, had these would-be assassins buried with full military honors. However, cinematically-speaking, it's a gripping moment, and it's considered the first true pre-credit movie sequence, a trick one would see quite often in later movies, such as the Bond films and others.

The movie focuses largely on the Field Marshall's involvement with the attempted assassination of Hitler, but just how much (or how little) Rommel was involved is still arguable. Curiously, James Mason once mentioned how he was up for the part of Rommel and was competing with another Fox contract-player, Gary Merrill (best known as Bette Davis's love interest in ALL ABOUT EVE). Mason was impressed by how well Merrill marched and strutted, doing bits of military-like physical action that didn't come easily to the urbane Mason. Even though Mason ultimately won the part over Merrill, he self-critically felt he didn't fully do the role justice (though many, including myself, wouldn't agree with him). Perhaps the studio opted for Mason to bring out a sympathetic quality, because viewers do tend to forget the numbers of Allies who died directly because of the main character! Rommel was a great general for his energetic and ingenious tactics, not for (possibly) wanting Hitler killed.

Don't get me wrong; this movie is still a joy.

You can say the film is dated. But then again, Shakespeare is also dated. Shakespeare is also dateless, and this film is too. We won't get another Randolph Scott and here he stars in perhaps his most entertaining, if not most sobering, war film. Sure, it's jingoistic, racist, preachy, and cliché-ridden. It's not exactly historical, except in showing how Americans viewed themselves and the Marines at the time.

The real history behind this highly romanticized dramatization has been covered well by the other commentaries. The Makin Island raid was a folly that movie glamorizes, and Carlson was an idealist whose comrade-oriented methods had little influence on later commando tactics. However, even he didn't like the Hollywood result. Despite seeing his name on the credits and Randolph Scott ideally cast to portray him, Carlson walked out of the movie theatre in disgust when he first viewed the film.

When will this gem get remastered and restored? They truly don't make 'em like this anymore.

Jack Palance is not the sexiest nor the spookiest Dracula, but he's a marvelous choice for many reasons--and he definitely stands out from the other (often memorable) performances. Only a couple of years before doing this movie, Palance starred in the film THE HORSEMAN, playing a legendary bukashi rider; it was only one of several such horseman-warrior roles Palance specialized in (including the part of Revak in an Italian film titled THE BARBARIANS). In fact, Palance is an actor who can claim to have played both Dracula AND Attila the Hun.

Some might wonder what that has do with the bloodsucking count, but at one point in the Stoker novel, Dracula says, "the blood of Attila flows through these veins." Though they didn't retain that particular line, the film-makers emphasize from beginning to end this particular Dracula is an ex-warrior--and Palance suggests a former, Magyar beserker brilliantly.

This is also the first version of the novel to have the motivation of Dracula travelling to England for the purpose of reclaiming his lost love--an idea that adds a touch of pathos. Perhaps Dan Curtis did simply re-use it from his DARK SHADOWS series, but I can't help but wonder, however, if the idea might also have sprung from this movie's adapter, Richard Matheson. A talented novelist in his own right, Matheson wrote the book (and the screenplay) of SOMEWHERE IN TIME, which also has a central character searching for his true love across the ages. In any case, it's an approach that adds a layer to Dracula's character and would be used again in the Coppola version. I think it will be used in future adaptations as well. In any case, for the record, this was the version that did it first.

All in all, this version isn't as stylish or as atmospheric as some others, but it's well worthwhile and is a must in any Dracula fan's library.

Count me among those who love this film, but am I the only one who feels for Libby, played by Jack Carson? Yes, he's snide and spiteful, but for God's sake, who wouldn't be in his shoes? When he says, "Norman Maine's charm escapes me." I tend to agree with him. What makes this violent drunk so special anyway, except that he's played by James Mason? And, although she's played by Judy Garland at her radiant best, isn't Esther a classic co-dependent wife? Have any of you adoring fans ever actually dealt with a close one who's alcoholic?

When the studio mogul says, after Norman Maine dies, "you didn't know him at all," I feel like arguing the point. Libby should say, "Maybe YOU didn't know him, Oliver. Did he ever insult you for making him do his job? Did he ever punch you out? Did you ever have to continually face his dirty side, as I did, which he--and you too, Oliver--refused to confront?"

Maybe I'm a poop. But I had to say it.

And, yes, it's a brilliant film.

Thank God, Richard Burton did this film. A man who was unjustly considered a sell-out, he did this first on stage and then for film with all profits of both productions going to Oxford. Yes, it's cheaply designed and theatrical, with an distracting music score...but when else will you see a film of Marlowe's play with an actor as great playing the part?

I realize the film has its shortcomings, but its virtues are also plainly evident. Those who dismiss it a just a bad film strike me as a bunch of gluttonous clods or anti-intellectual pismires. It's a movie to cherish.

Sorry, but this film is not the most historical film made concerning Tom Horn. Not one authoritative source on Geronimo--neither Davis's autobiography nor Angie Debo's definitive biography nor any other--state that Horn had anything to do with capturing Geronimo; he wasn't even on the massive U.S. campaign, let alone serve as the one to bring the Apache in (the 1993 movie GERONIMO with Jason Patric probably portrays the capture most accurately). So this movie's whole first half is all largely fiction, based probably on the lies and tall tales the real Tom Horn liked to claim for himself (on a side note to this, John Dehner plays an unsympathetic Horn-like character in the Burt Lancaster movie APACHE, with John McIntyre as Al Sieber). The second half is little better; General Crook, for instance, shows up in a time period when historically he was long already dead.

That said, I must say I enjoy this TV movie a good deal and wish that it would get released. It deserves a viewing...but don't confuse it with history.

A young, former-stuntman named Burt Reynolds starred this film (with a story very similar to CHATO'S LAND, with Charles Bronson). Reynolds has for a long time denounced this film, but it's actually one of the best Italian Westerns, and Reynolds himself performs stuntwork through out that remains impressive to this day.

It lacks the humor that many of us love about the Leone movies, but it compensates with a gravitas one wouldn't gather from even Leone, let alone Hollywood at this time. No U.S. producer would never would have financed a Western like this in 1966. Its downbeat ending, its violence, and its lack of moralizing are qualities one associates more with European cinema. I can help but suspect that the villain, the renegades, were intended as being like the Nazis in that they conquer towns, brutalize and publicly murder the citizens--the sort of atrocities still fresh in the minds of Europeans in 1966

Aside from watching a young, very charismatic Burt Reynolds, the music score to this movie is one of its best things. Curiously, Morriconne would tweak it some and use it again, reworking it much of it for the movie BURN! starring Marlon Brando. In Italy and other countries, it's considered wise to reuse a good thing; Nino Rota, for example, wrote his main score for THE GODFATHER from some previous film, and, as a result, his score was disqualified for what would have been a certain Oscar win. THE GODFATHER remains one of the most memorable scores ever written, yet it was disqualified for an Oscar nomination. Only in modern Hollywood. No wonder many of us prefer foreign cinema.

Beginning with 8 1/2, Fellini's films become deliriously dream-like, and this one more so than most to the point that one almost wishes it had been titled "Marcello in Wonderland." It's a film that presents every possible male fear of women--with dazzling visuals through out. Bravo Maestro!

The memorable ending was probably inspired by a brief comment by Herodotus, about how the Great Pyramid of Khufu (Herodotus calls him Cheops) was sealed solid. It's the earliest known writing on the events of the story and it was penned near a thousand years afterward. Needless to say, not much is known about the real Khufu; we only have an idea of what he even looked like, from a minor statue around his era that might be him (I've seen a photo of it, and--sonovagun--it does look a little like Jack Hawkins!).

In any case, not having much info to use, Hollywood was free to invent, and they did, creating a very entertaining and spectacular flick. It may not be history, but it sure is fun, and the pyramid-building scene is, logistically speaking at least, the most impressive sequence ever achieved by director Howard Hawks.

Yes, this film has been overpraised by Pauline Kael and others. For its time it was revolutionary, because no previous Shakespeare film had used so many outdoor, realistic locations. Unlike the previous MGM version (which all in all is superior), this version did not use middle-aged actors and made splendid use of technicolor. Black and white cinematography may suit MACBETH, HAMLET, KING LEAR, and other Shakespeare trajedies--but not this one. Since 1954, however, it has been remade in more cinematic and dynamic versions.

Nonetheless, it's a very worthwhile movie, especially for Shakespeare fans. I personally think Laurence Harvey is a terrific Romeo. Yes, he's a bit of a simp, but that's the character. In fact, Harvey is the screen's best Romeo; he's a lot more passionate than Leslie Howard in the MGM version, and he speaks the verse better than either DiCaprio or Leonard Whitting in the two subsequent versions. The locations, better than any version, remind us of just how thin the streets were in Verona during the time of the play, and the high, thick, stone walls serve as a symbol of the intransigence of the families.

Yes, it does have shortcomings, but don't dismiss its virtues, which are many, especially to those of us who want more than the MTV-type Shakespeare that the DiCaprio version offers.

Unlike so many of the other commentators below, I am not a fan of Ms. Shearer. In her opening scene, she gushily keeps herself wide-eyed and smiling--all the time acting innocent, while Olivia Hussey and other screen Juliets don't have to act innocent: they are innocent.

That said, this film has much to offer, despite its lacking the passion of other more recent versions. The verse is spoken well, and Barrymore is brilliant as Mercutio. Yes, he's pure ham---but a succulent one. His Mercutio is, as the character's name implies, mercurial as well as absurdist, ironic, and virile. Rathbone is like a living rapier and gets my vote as the best Tybalt the screen has ever seen. However, don't believe producer Thalberg's ballyhoo that every word spoken in this film is from Shakespeare's play: it isn't, although it's close.

Was Demille more daring than any other director or was he just clueless? What does one say when the curtains close on Antony and Cleopatra and suddenly the screen erupts with more sexual symbols than any moment in Hollywood's history? From the phallic symbols (oars) to the yonic symbols (curtains) until finally both orgasmically mesh together in a final combination (a drummer with his drum), the scene tells us we're viewing the artistry of a kinky genius or a shameless carney.

And along with the jawdropping visuals, the film is crammed with juicy Demille-like dialog. Unlike other Demille films, this one has a wonderful cast to deliver his unique oneliners, and there are so many. My own favorites are the moments of dumbdowned Shakespeare. Instead of speaking of Cleopatra's "infinite variety" we are told she is always "many colored" and, of course, instead of "Et tu, Brute?" we get, "You? You too, Brutus?" What can you say about a movie in which Julius Ceasar says "Nope" to his senators? Nothing. One can only savor every delicious moment of camp that only a Demille could serve up.

The Taylor/Burton version is more spectacular, more intelligent, and more historical, but for those who relish kitsch--and this story always lends itself to it--this version is the best.