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mossgrymk
Favorite genres: noirs, westerns, war films, family dramas, black comedies, chick flics, workplace dramas, social satire
Least Favorite genres: silent films, musicals, sci fi, horror, inspirational stuff
Included is my directorial aesthetic:
Great director...a person who over a long period has a strong visual sense, good pacing, and a deep understanding of human behavior. (i.e. Sofia Coppola)
Good director...Has two of the three or has all three but has not had a long enough career (i.e. Claudia Weill)
Ok director...Has one of the three or has none of them but is consistently entertaining (i.e. Nancy Myers)
Bad director...Has one or none of the three and is usually a bore (i.e. Dorothy Arzner )
Reviews
Born to Kill (1947)
born to kill
The acting really saves this thing, in my opinion. With the exception of two rather inconsequential characters the cast is populated by a glorious, noir assemblage of human wreckage consisting of a portly, corrupt private eye, a grotesque, drunken landlady, a homoerotic, sleazy sidekick, a sociopathic leading man with a hair trigger temper and an even more sadistic leading lady who enjoys gazing upon dead bodies. And these parts are acted to perfection by Walter Sleazak, (taking a welcome departure from playing oleaginous Nazis), Esther Howard, Elisha Cook, Lawrence Tierney and Claire Trevor. Although in Tierney's case, as Eddie Muller noted, it doesn't seem like he's acting.
The above players largely, although not completely, make up for a silly story with numerous holes, like how Sleazak's character tied Tierney to the Reno killings, and why Tierney would let Howard's snoop of a character get away, especially after he just killed his buddy, Cook. And the dialogue, while sometimes nicely sardonic when Sleazak is quoting Biblical verse, can get awfully gushy and purple in the scenes between Trevor and Tierney and when Trevor begs her fiancee to save her from evil. Give it a B minus.
A Dry White Season (1989)
a dry white season
If for no other reason than director Euzhan Palcy's ability to do what Arthur Penn, Francis Ford Coppola, Lewis Milestone and Josh Logan, among others, could not, namely elicit a relatively restrained but powerful acting job from Marlon Brando, this film about South Africa in the last days of Apartheid should be applauded. But there are other reasons to admire Palcy's work, chief among them Donald Sutherland's fine performance, his finest in my opinion, as an Afrikaaner sports hero turned anti Apartheid activist. It is one of the best studies in awakening social conscience that I have seen on screen. And like all good performances it is subtle. It is impossible to pinpoint just where Ben Dutoit's spine is stiffened but by the film's second half his body language is considerably less sagging and malleable. And that Sutherland's character undergoes this profound change without undue speechifying or soap box-ism is to the credit of scenarists Colin Welland and Palcy. Also effective in support, besides Brando, are Janet Suzman as Dutoit's resolutely unawakened wife, Zekes Mokae as a sardonic revolutionary and Rowen Elmes navigating the difficult role of Dutoit's admiring son without crashing into bathos. Less good is Susan Sarandon's bland anti Apartheid British journalist and Jurgen Prochnow's too cartoonishly evil Afrikaaner cop. And the film is about fifteen minutes too long. Other than that it is almost as good as the Andre Brink novel upon which it is based (and which I urge you to read). Give it a B.
The Ugly American (1963)
the ugly american
This long, dull and talky film about The Problem Of American Involvement In Southeast Asia looks like its first time director George Englund's graduate thesis for Stanley Kramer University. Absolutely no flow whatsoever, just a lurch from one ponderous scene of talking heads to another with two rather clumsily handled action scenes thrown in to keep the viewer from crying out in utter ennui. That some of the dialogue is intelligent as well as overwrought is due either to the adaptation of Eugene Burdick and William Lederer's novel by Stewart Stern, one of 50 and 60s Hollywood's better scribes, or perhaps to the novel itself (haven't read it so I cannot be sure). In any case, it's a tiresome slog and its ultimate message (like all products of Kramer U, this thing is big on messages) that dictators are more to be trusted than commies is, ironically, exactly what got us into the whole Vietnam morass in the first place. Give it a C.
PS...For the record, the best performance is turned in by Kukrit Pramoj, the future prime minister of Thailand, here playing the shifty PM of the fictional country of Sarkan.
The Hired Gun (1957)
the hired gun
The 1950s were to movie westerns what the 40s was to film noir so it's always kinda shocking to see an oater made at this time be so friggin ordinary as this offering from Ray Nazarro. Although maybe not so shocking when you consider the fact that Budd Boetticher, one of the era's best western directors, called Nazarro the "ten day picture guy". And of those ten I would guess that half a day, at most, was spent on the screenplay/story since previous IMDB reviewers have written of its stunning predictability and unoriginality. I do, however, disagree with the previous reviewer who called it "beyond mediocre". Indeed, it is the very quintessence of average. Or, in other words, a solid C.
Ultimo tango a Parigi (1972)
last tango
I see where posterity and the ghost of Maria Schneider have finally had their revenge on this dull, ugly film from Bernardo Bertolucci. If it is remembered at all today it is principally for the abuse the director and his leading man, Marlon Brando, put their nineteen year old leading lady through along with, admittedly, a powerful Brando performance that has a tendency to bleed into bathos.
There are many examples one could cite to show how awful this movie is. Lack of an interesting story (basically, a too passive, male fantasy Schneider trapped for two hours plus between two creeps) and characters that either make your skin crawl, bore the hell out of you, or from whom you wish to flee are the usual suspects. Let me give one that may have eluded my 230 IMDB colleagues below, namely that I have never seen the great Gallic actor Jean Pierre Leaud be this flat out annoying and empty. Bravo, Bernardo!
Bottom line: Bertolucci may have dazzled Pauline Kael. I, however, remain un-awed. Solid C.
Young Dillinger (1965)
young dillinger
Pretty much agree with the majority of the eleven previous reviewers that this is mostly trashy boredom with occasional trashy fun. Worst thing about it is how cheesy a production it is. Not only does it look like TV, but cheap ass TV, to boot. More "Highway Patrol", say, than "Untouchables" since it makes but a feeble attempt at a period look, and the cinematography is serviceable, at best. Certainly expected more from the great DP, Stanley Cortez, who does whatever the cinematographer's version of phoning it in is (post carding it in?). That it rates a very generous five is due to some nice, twisted supporting bits from Victor Buono as the Sam Jaffe of this ersatz Asphalt Jungle and John Hoyt as a pervy quack. As for Nick Adams, he does what he always does, mumble and method his way through until he decides to yell and go bananas. Mary Ann Mobley is also over the top, especially in the film's second half, but at least she's hot. Bob Conrad (as Pretty Boy Floyd) and John Ashley (as Baby Face Nelson) tend to get lost amid all the tommy guns. As does Terry Morse's direction and Arthur Hoehl and Donald Zimbalest's screenplay. Solid C.
Kazdy den odvahu (1964)
courage for every day
Despite the uplifting title, which I take it is not ironic (Czechoslovakia in 1964 strikes me as an irony free zone), and the inspirational, optimistic quote at the beginning and end of the film, this is a fairly bleak, cheerless, hopeless critique of Czech society four years before the Prague Spring broke (and was then promptly broken by Breznev) with Communism played out and the younger generation similarly disaffected and bored. That it is not as powerful as it is pessimistic is due to its director, Evald Schorm's, centipede like pacing. You can almost hear him offscreen, whenever the film threatens to become dramatically compelling, shouting at the cast and crew to "slow things down, please!" Consequently we have too many repetitive scenes of the main characters engaged in aimless lovemaking and fighting and wandering around while miserable or alienated. (I bet Antonioni liked this film). C plus.
PS...Animal rights alert! Headless chicken! View at your own risk.
Violence (1947)
violence
Somewhat misplaced title since the main violence in this film is the furious scraping sound of the bottom of the Noir Alley barrel. In other words, "Violence" is so bad that even Eddie's intro and outro sucked. And speaking of the Noir Alley host, he warned us in the intro that the movie was odoriferous but that we might find it of interest as an anti domestic Fascist commentary. Which is a bit like saying that a 1948 Treasury Department press conference is a prescient anti inflation indicator. There's really nothing about it that rises above the trash can lid level other than, perhaps, Peter Whitney's study in sadistic arrested development (strange that Eddie, who is usually good at picking the few good bits in a dull candy box, fails to mention Whitney's performance). The rest of the acting runs the gamut from amusingly cliche (Sheldon Leonard's Brooklyn gunsel) to hole in the screen (Nancy Coleman's spunky but amnesiac reporter). Cinematography, directorial pacing and scene setting are non existent while the dialogue is as flat as a papadum. C minus.
One Touch of Venus (1948)
one touch of venus
Martin Scorsese may find this 1948 offering memorable but I saw it two days ago and have already, largely, forgotten it. All that lingers in the mind is Ava Gardner's sexuality, a few Eve Arden zingers (she's the only one in the cast with any comic spark, whatsoever) and a certain sweetness/innocence that is a poor substitute for actual laughter. And you have to search far and wide for a duller couple than Dick Haymes and Olga San Juan. Hell, even Janis Paige and Don De Fore in "Romance On The High Seas" are better! Throw in three (or was it four? Can't remember) unremarkable Kurt Weill songs and tepid support from Robert Walker and Tom Conway, both of whom look like they wandered in from a more interesting noir, and you can see why this thing rates a generous C, mostly for the high quality, Ava eye candy.
Ride Lonesome (1959)
ride lonesome
Pretty much all of the seven Budd Boetticher/Randolph Scott westerns are on the dark side but this is, in my opinion, the darkest of the bunch. It is an acute examination of, as the title states, loneliness along with empty vengeance, and in a hard hitting, action packed and psychologically tense hour and thirteen minutes, with nothing even close to a dead spot, the viewer is led through the bleak, harsh landscape of California's Inyo Valley, as seen through Charles Lawton's evocative camera, and the even harsher, bleaker soulscape of ex sheriff and dead man walking Ben Brigade, as seen through Scott's powerful performance. Also notable are good supporting turns from an array of fine western character actors, like James Best as an oleaginous back shooter, Lee Van Cleef as his even more sociopathic elder brother, Pernell Roberts as a typically ambiguous, Boetticherian good guy/villain and James Coburn, in his film debut, as Roberts' none too bright sidekick. Scenarist Burt Kennedy, as per usual when he teams up with Boetticher, provides fine, wry, terse dialogue that allows all the characters, no matter how scummy, moments of insight. And presiding over the whole, and giving the film its seamless pacing, is director Boetticher. Indeed, his only flaw is the regrettable decision to cast the lovely, curvaceous but wooden Karen Steele in the female lead, although that could have been producer Harry Joe Brown's doing. Give it an A minus.
The Major and the Minor (1942)
the major and the minor
Consistently amusing, if not hilarious, comedy. Too much on the pleasant rather than the cynical end of the humor spectrum, especially for Billy Wilder. And the subsidiary characters, beyond Diana Lynn, tend to be bland. But oh what a tour de force for Ginger Rogers who rings every possible register on the wise cracking dame as twelve year old. The first twenty minutes or so when Rogers breaks an egg over a leering elevator operator's head, kicks a creepy guy in the shin in a train station and evades suspicious train conductors is pitch perfect, screwball stuff. And when the movie starts to flatten out during the long stay at the military academy it's Ginger who keeps it moving with seductive dance moves directed at twelve year old cadets (perhaps spoofing her movies with Fred?) or fending off military seduction from said kids. Ray Milland, by contrast, seems to take whatever supply of pervy, Humbert Humbert risibility his character possesses and proceeds to drain it. Perhaps he was forced to do so at the behest of the Hays Office frumps. But, as usual in comedy, Milland is a bore. McRae would have been a thousand percent better. Or MacMurray. Let's give it a generous B minus (or minor) 'cause of Rogers and the fact that it was this great director's first film.
The Strange Love of Molly Louvain (1932)
strange love of m louvain
This early film from Michael Curtiz has the proper amount of pre code raffishness and the usual 30s Warner Brothers feel for tawdry Americana (the venal, motor mouthed landlady, the intrusive and abrasive news hounds, the sleazy traveling stocking salesman etc) and the banter between Ann (I dare you to pronounce my last name correctly) Dvorak and Lee Tracy is fast and amusing but, in general, it's a most forgettable affair. The Mad Hungarian has not yet perfected his feel for action scenes (the police shootout is especially clunky) and the acting, beyond the two leads, is pretty poor. And I agree with a previous reviewer who requested more Frank McHugh. And you can throw in an extra slice of Guy Kibbee, as well. Solid C.
Upperworld (1934)
upperworld
I'm probably over rating this code straddling film by at least a point because I'm a big Warren William fan and an even bigger Ginger Rogers one. I say code straddling because the movie has the look of something that got in just under the censor's barbed wire, with stuff that is obviously pre code, like a general dearth of twin beds and more of Ginger's nubile bod than you'd normally see, mixed in with post code crap like the adulteress (but not the adulterer) having to get bumped off so that the hubby and wife and obnoxiously cute kid could live happily, and boringly, ever after. Give it a C plus.
Professione: reporter (1975)
the passenger
Judging by the relatively high ratings from my IMDB colleagues below, as well as general critical consensus, there are many people who have been enlightened and profoundly affected by this 1975 Antonioni work. To which I can only answer: It's hard to be enlightened when you're bored. Indeed, it is hard to be anything when you are bored except bored. Well, maybe angry and frustrated which, come to think of it, I also was while watching the first forty five minutes (all I could take) of this director hanging in his happy place, the corner of Ennui and Alienated.
I know Antonioni can be a great director. After all, I've seen "Blow Up" and "L'Avventura". But he can also be a pretentious poop head. As here. Solid C.
The Second Time Around (1961)
the second time around
So, what have we learned from the March, 2024, Debbie Reynolds star of the month turn on TCM? Certainly that Ms. Reynolds was versatile and talented, adept at comedy, drama, dance and musicals. However, aside from "Singin In The Rain", she never came close to a great film and darn few good ones, while seeming to be cheerfully available for every mediocre to crappy movie that came down Cahuenga Blvd. Consequently, she never scaled the critical (and Oscar) heights of contemporaries with the same skill set such as, say, Shirley MacLaine who, ironically, played her in "Postcards From The Edge".
As for this film, it's a typical Debbie Reynolds pic; cute, perky, with lots of broad comedy and as empty as Chernobyl, post accident. Solid C.
Divorce American Style (1967)
divorce american style
It starts off well with some nice visual comedy, courtesy of director Bud Yorkin. I especially like the husband and wife post dinner party, pre bed time quarrel, sans dialogue, with the soundtrack provided by slammed closet doors and clothes drawers, aggressive tooth brushing and manic exercise. I also liked the mutual bank withdrawl scene with the soon to be split up couple oblivious of the other's presence.
However, about thirty minutes in Yorkin yields to his scenarist, Norman Lear, and the movie starts to over reach, both for black comedy and yucks and, in the process, prove that you can take the writer (Lear) out of sit com but you can't take sit com out of the writer. Performances tend to mirror this problem. For every Jean Simmons, etching a subtle study in mid age loneliness, there is an over the top Jason Robards trying too hard to do the same thing. As for the two leads, Debbie Reynolds does much with little (i.e. Lear doesn't give her many good lines) while Dick Van Dyke seems content to play a slightly darker Rob Petrie. The result is a too long, occasionally funny and not very satisfying film. C plus.
The Pleasure of His Company (1961)
the pleasure of his company
Worth seeing for Fred Astaire's take on a charming, devious fellow who has thrown away his talent and wasted his life in the pursuit of Fun. It's definitely Astaire's best dramatic role as he nails both Pogo Poole's (great name, by the way) joie de vivre and profound sadness. Probably should have nabbed him an Oscar nomination, but '61 was a tough year with Lancaster (who won), Lemmon, Spence, Olivier and Trevor Howard providing pretty stiff competition.
Beyond Astaire's performance, though, the pickins get pretty slim in this way too long, creaky, stage bound dramady. Aside from a good Charlie Ruggles turn as, basically, an older, kinder version of Pogo it's fairly forgettable stuff. Particularly irritating is Debbie Reynolds. Or, I should say the character Ms. Reynolds plays, the ludicrously loving daughter of the father who abandoned her. The only thing less credible than her instant, total forgiveness of her cruelly feckless dad is her doing a 180 just before the wedding and letting him fly back to France without her but, rather, with Toy, the stereotyped, adorable, Asian plaything/servant. Which is yet another reason to cordially dislike this movie, sans Fred. C plus.
The Rat Race (1960)
the rat race
Despite the fact that Tony Curtis' Bronx vibe (and accent) get in the way of his "I'm from Milwaukee" vibe, and the Jack Oakie/Kay Medford stuff looks like a Garson Kanin pilot for a pallid, early 60s sit com called "Mac's Place", and that cinematographer Robert Burks cannot trick me into mistaking downtown Pittsburgh for Times Square, I still really liked this hard edged rom com. Director Robert Mulligan, as he showed in "Mockingbird", "Up The Down Staircase" and "Baby, The Rain Must Fall", is a master at keeping heartwarming from spilling over into cloying. And in this worthy endeavor he is immeasurably aided by his two leads, especially Debbie Reynolds who, thankfully and believably, removes her usual perk for a tougher and much more welcome veneer. At least that's how I feel. Apparently, 1960 audiences disagreed, wanting more saccharine "Tammy" garbage, and so the film bombed. Oh, well. Still a good movie. I also liked Don Rickles, Joe Bushkin and sax great Gerry Mulligan (no relation to the director) as various nightclub/musician sleazoids and thugs, all of whom get away with their various misdeeds, a refreshing departure from the usual Hays Office practices of the time and probably another reason this film didn't make money. Give it a B.
PS...Oops. Forgot to mention Elmer Bernstein's great, propulsive, jazzy score. Most appropriate to a film with a jazz musician hero.
This Happy Feeling (1958)
this vaguely bored feeling
A late Eisenhower era rom com with all the sparkle and verve of a John Foster Dulles presser, this has to be Blake Edwards' most dispiriting film until the curdled and worn out "SOB" came along. I can think, off the top of my head, of at least fifty actors who would have been better than Curt Jurgens, from Leon Ames to Robert Young. John Saxon, as per usual, soon descends into a pool of ennui while Debbie Reynolds, also per usual, is engaging but is given absolutely none of the script's (also by Edwards) few good lines. Those are instead mostly outsourced to Estelle Winwood, as a dipso house keeper with an unfunny pet seagull and, in the film's only interestingly surprising turn, Alexis Smith who shows that, had she not chosen the love interest career path, she could have been a better looking Eve Arden. Solid C.
PS...A crappy print and terminally perky music didn't help matters, either.
The Reluctant Debutante (1958)
reluctant deb
An amusing soap bubble from Vincente Minnelli that keeps viewers sufficiently entertained so that they do not ask themselves, "Why am I watching these superficial idiots being consumed by triviality?" William Douglas-Home's screenplay, from his theatrical work, gives Rex Harrison an ample supply of Father Of The Deb exasperated sarcasm and Kay Kendall some vintage eau de glamorous ditz and these two are such comedic pros that the movie only drags when Sandra Dee and John Saxon take over, fortunately not too often. Rounding out the cast, Angela Lansbury and Peter Meyers are quite good as, respectively, the mother of all snobs and the paragon of all bores. Give it a B.
Piccadilly Jim (1936)
picadilly jim
Typically lackluster affair from director Robert Z Leonard (pretty sure, if personalized license plates had been available in 1936, that "ho-hum" woulda graced the back of Pops' Hudson). As long as scenarist Charles Brackett does a decent job of channelling P. G. Wodehouse then this thing is intermittently amusing and very intermittently charming, especially Robert Montgomery who shows that, as fine a dramatic actor as he was, he was no slouch at light comedy. But as soon as visual laughs are called for, be it Montgomery riding a Shakespearian nag or suffering the indignity of a broken down auto, then one quickly bumps into Leonard's limitations as a screwball meister. And boy does Frank Morgan's bumbling roue schtick get old! Solid C.
Intermezzo: A Love Story (1939)
intermezzo
The genius of both Ingrid Bergman and Gregg Toland, both on ample display here, are the only sensible reasons to watch this code crippled meller. God, how I hate these Hays Office jobs where a swim in the adultery pool means instant wallowing and flailing in a tub of misery until the sin is renounced. And I use the phrase "tub of misery" advisedly for in George O'Neill's script and Gregory Ratoff's direction any joy is as fleeting as summer in Stockholm while remorse, guilt and gloom are all enveloping. Lost count of how many pained smiles Leslie Howard and Bergman exchange or how many tears flow down the lovely Swede's cheek. And when Howard's kid gets hit by a truck while running toward him I started to laugh. Maybe it was the image of Joe Breen going, "Take that, you sinners!" C plus.
PS...Was Max Steiner on bennies, or what? This has to be the most over scored movie I've ever heard. I mean, I realize this is a film about musicians but could you soft peddle it a little, Max?
Brian's Song (1971)
brian's snore
Since I remained dry eyed throughout this lugubrious exercise I began to wonder what, exactly, was the point of my watching it? It certainly wasn't the look of the thing which is typically small screen. You know what I mean. At the end of the scene where the title character is told that he has cancer (and not the testicular variety, which is what he had, but just generic cancer since network execs thought the word "testicular" would offend. But the N word, used jokingly, is ok. Ah, standards and practices!) the screen goes black, indicating a commercial (Kinda wish TCM had shown 'em, actually. At least then this dull movie would have had some nostalgia value). And then we cut to...an establishing shot of a hospitaL It's as if director Buzz Kulik was afraid that the boobs who watch the boob tube would forget, after a five minute commercial break, what a hospital bed looks like with James Caan in it, which is in the very next friggin scene after the friggin establishing shot! Throw in scads of boring, interior locations, from locker room facilities to coaches' offices to hospital facilities to banquet halls, along with REALLY dull stock footage of two guys who bear no physical resemblance whatsoever to tiny (for a footballer) James Caan and tinier Billy Dee Willliams and it 's pretty much "cue the tears", twenty four seven. And if the tears don't come when summoned by Kulik and his soppy scenarist, William Blinn, then you're pretty much left with trying to get that sappy Michel Legrand theme out of your ear. Give it a generous C plus for the acting chops of Williams and Caan which shine through even this syrupy slop.
Another Part of the Forest (1948)
another part of the forest
This prequel to "The Little Foxes" is, like its predecessor (and successor), an acute examination of the Post Reconstruction, Jim Crow South where the old planter class, fallen upon hard times, and the rising merchant class both despise and are dependent on each other. The once proud plantation owners need the newly rich's money while the bourgeoisie needs the veneer of "class" that only a connection to the Confederate aristocracy will provide. The one thing that unites the two classes is white racism toward the former slaves, paternalistic in the planters' case, more crude in the merchants.
Guiding us through this hellscape is a waspish, sassy, at times perceptive and, at times, overly melodramatic screenplay from her stage play by Lillian Hellman, good nor-ish cinematography from Hal Mohr that helps to make this a film rather than a filmed play and good to excellent performances from the entire cast. Actors who I usually dislike, such as Ann Blyth and Edmund O'Brien, do solid work and actors I admire, such as Frederic March and Dan Duryea, approach career best levels. I was especially taken with March's interpretation of the venal Marcus Hubbard, a man who, in pursuit of profit, cheated people out of salt during wartime and is now trying to buy back his guilt ridden soul through an equally slavish pursuit of Culture. I also liked the subsidiary character of Laurette, wonderfully played by Dona Drake, a mindless floozie who, ironically, manages to nail Marcus more effectively than anyone else. And when the entire cast is commendable then one must also acknowledge the director, Michael Gordon, whose best film this is ("Pillow Talk" fans be damned!). Give it a B plus.
Beach Red (1967)
beach red
This is far from the best WW2 Pacific Theatre movie but it'll do until "Letters From Iwo Jima" or "Thin Red Line" comes along. It kinda reminds me of "Naked And The Dead", made ten years earlier, in its combination of brutal jungle combat with anti war philosophizing. Not as good as "Dead", though, mainly because, to put it kindly, Cornel Wilde is not the director Raoul Walsh is. Where Walsh is a master at combining and weaving action with character so that the film is constantly moving toward its inevitable, tragic conclusion (Walsh rarely provides happy endings), Wilde seems, periodically, to stop the flow and pacing to let his characters opine or recall or muse or whatever the hell they do to slow things down. The result is a herky jerky affair, quite effective in transmitting the horrors of island hopping warfare but, frankly, a bit of a bore, especially the banal voice overs and the even more cllche flashbacks to pre war life with the wife and kids (although I did enjoy Egan's stripper/floozie memories). And while it's commendable that Wilde gives us the domestic recollections of the Japanese soldiers as well as the Americans, it does not make them any the less hokey. Still, for all its faults, which include a rather crappy performance from the guy playing Egan (basically a bad L. Q. Jones imitation) and merely ok turns from Wilde and Patrick Wolfe, as the sensitive soldier, you do feel as if you are on that hellish island with the benighted combatants and that is not an inconsiderable thing. B minus.
PS...Finest performance, by far, is Rip Torn's homicidal sergeant. Much better than Aldo Ray's similar character in "Dead". Wish that the scenarists and Wilde had used him more and soft peddled Egan and Cliff.