Reviews

By all accounts Fritz Lang resented Alfred Hitchcock for having supposedly usurped his title of King of suspense and having been obliged contractually to 'do a Hitchcock' in 'Ministry of Fear' which actually turned out very well, he attempted to go one better with his next opus loosely based on a pot boiler by Rufus King.

Alas, even his artful direction proved unable to overcome the mediocre screenplay written in collaboration with Silvia Richards, his squeeze at the time whilst unfavourable comparisons were made with 'Spellbound' and 'Rebecca'. The enterprise seemed doomed from the outset as Lang clashed constantly with master cinematographer Stanley Cortez when most directors would have considered themselves lucky to have his services and was tough on his two leading players, not least during the housefire sequence when both had to endure smoke and scorching flames time and again.

Although no stranger to the director's Jekyll-and-Hyde routine, relations between Joan Bennett and Lang were decidedly frosty whilst Michael Redgrave who took on the part after James Mason turned it down, no doubt wished he'd stayed at home.

Despite the ludicrous plot and the amateur psychology the film itself is not without its moments, aided by the score of Miklos Rozsa and the stunning art direction by Max Parker not to mention a fine performance in a thankless part by Anne Revere, another artiste whose career was blighted by the HUAC. Following negative previews the studio went to work with the cutting scissors but to no avail as critical response was dire. Miss Bennett who described the film as 'disastrous' would never again work with Lang whilst her husband Walter Wanger who had earlier formed Diana Productions specifically for her and Lang, dissolved the company.

The film is included in the reference book '1,000 Films you must see before you die'. Oh, well, fools give you reasons..........

Although French 'auteur' theorists had long recognised Alfred Hitchcock's genius it was this adaptation of 'Entre deux Morts' of Boileau and Narcejac that established his place as the favourite of English speaking critics. It has only recently been knocked off the 'Sight and Sound' top spot by an opus entitled 'Jeanne Dielman. 23 Quai du Commerce.1080 Bruxelles' which is alas very much a sign of the times.

This marks a return to the amateur psychology of 'Spellbound' but with much more in its favour. If there is a MacGuffin in this it must surely be LOVE which has the power to both ennoble and debase. The tragedy here is that the leading character loses the love of his life twice.

The masterstoke of course is the casting of James Stewart whose much-loved, middle America persona makes Scottie's gradual transformation from reliable ex-cop to grieving lover to obssessive, manipulative Svengali so effective and somewhat discomfiting. A superlative performance.

Faced with the non-availability of Grace Kelly, the director turned to Vera Miles whose pregnancy got in the way but it must be said that Kim Novak is surprisingly good as Madeleine/Judy as she is ethereal as one and sultry as the other whilst possessing the proverbial quality of the lady in the parlour and the ***** in the bedroom. (I have of necessity been obliged to delete the offending epithet as it contravenes IMDb's politically correct guidelines) Barbara Bel Geddes plays Hitchcock's customary blonde virgin and Tom Helmore is the requisite cultured villain.

After the grimness of New York in his previous 'The Wrong Man', the director revels in the San Francisco locations and again has the dream team that served him so well for so many years, namely Robert Burks as cinematographer, editor George Thomasini and composer Bernard Herrmann. The title design by Saul Bass is the icing on the cake.

The requisite by which any work of art should be judged is one's desire to revisit and Hitchcock's film gains resonance with each viewing.

Portmanteau/Anthology films, that once enjoyed great popularity, are generally tied by a particular theme or subject or at least have a connection of some sort. The thread which binds together this triptych in the Commedia dell'Italiana style from 1965 is IRONY, be it sad, cruel or happy.

In the first segment a desperately shy young man is smitten wiith a female colleague but despite the attraction being mutual, his innate timidity and indecision only serve to alienate her and he ends up seemingly trapped by another woman in whom he has absolutely no interest. This is expertly directed as one would expect, by Dino Risi with lovely performances by Nino Manfredi and the very taking Ilaria Occhini.

Segment 2 is directed by Franco Rossi with whose work this viewer is unfamiliar and features Ugo Tognazzi in a truly bizarre tale of a rather self-important official who discovers to his horror that his wife and mother of his children once appeared topless as a Nubian slave girl in a dreadful Sword-and-Sandals movie. His paranoid attempts to avoid a scandal and destroy the evidence lead him by a circuitous route to a gathering of 'gays' which is raided by the police and has his photograph plastered all over the newpapers, thereby attracting the notoriety he has striven to avoid. This is arguably the weakest segment but of course Tognazzi is always great value.

The jewel in the crown is the priceless third segment starring the superlative Alberto Sordi which is co-written by him and his regular collaborator Rodolfo Sonego. Directed by Luigi Filippo d'Amico who had directed Sordi in 'Bravissimo', it concerns auditions for the role of a newsreader whose face will be entering the homes of millions. In terms of delivery, intelligence and knowledge his character is streets ahead of his rivals but he has alas been cursed with a grotesque set of potruding teeth, hence the title 'Gulgliemo il Dentone'. The panel of selectors tries every trick in the book to disqualify him but is reluctantly obliged to give him the job and as it turns out, he proves extemely popular with television spectators who seem oblivious to his chompers. Sordi is superb, even by his standards and has excellent scenes with Romolo Valli, Gaia Germani and a delightful episode in a lift with the singing Kessler twins. Composer Armando Trovaioli who has supplied the jaunty score, briefly appears as himself.

This is hardly likely to rank as a classic of its type and will not be on the list of '100 Italian films to be saved' but it has a great deal to recommend it and proved to be a delightful surprise. I can only assume that mine is the one and only review because the film has never been shown in North America!

Having emerged from Marcel Pagnol's 'Angele' in 1934 as a great tragicomic artiste, Fernandel's working relationship with that director proved to be a marriage made in heaven.

During exterior shots for that film, a young man suffering from delusions of grandeur was kidded along by the crew and made to sign a bogus contract. Pagnol took this amusing anecdote and made it the basis for 'Le Schpountz' four years later with the title role written specifically for Fernandel and filmed simultaneously, for technical and budgetary reasons, with another of their collaborations, 'Regain'. By all accounts it was Pagnol's regular cinematographer Willy(Frankovitch) who came up with the title which derives from Slavonic argot meaning a 'simple or screwy person'. How on earth the film acquired the title 'Heartbeat' is anyone's guess.

Unlike some of his contemporaries Pagnol welcomed the coming of sound and this is one of his most brilliant scripts. It is by turns ironic, amusing and endearing as well as being a satire on film-making, complete with a self-important leading actor, a neurotic immigrant director and a producer allegedly based on Louis B. Mayer(delicious performance by Léon Belieres) whose depiction was deemed in some quarters to be anti-Semitic!

Superlative support from Pagnol's sine qua non Fernand Charpin and the fascinating Orane Demazis for whom Pagnol created the iconic role of Fanny and who also bore him a son. She has a particularly fine speech in which she invokes Moliere and Chaplin to show that Comedy is the equal of Tragedy and not an inferior genre.

This film is a gem from French cinema's Golden Age that offers a splendid vehicle for Fernandel whilst his priceless rendition of the death sentence from the Penal Code in varying registers is justly renowned.

Director Dino Risi and actor Vittorio Gassman had a strong working relationship which resulted in no less than sixteen films the finest of which is the cult classic 'Il Sorpasso'. By the time they came to make this adaptation of a story by Giovanni Arpino, the genre known as Commedia all'Italiana, of which Risi was an acknowledged maestro, had pretty well run its course but certain features of that genre are still evident here in terms of colourful characters, serio-comic episodes and of course, an underlying sadness.

Gassman was one of the most accomplished actors of his generation but not exactly renowned for his modest demeanour which makes him ideal casting as a proud and virile man in his prime who is blinded and maimed in an accident involving explosives. His refusal to accept sympathy or to be dependent makes his final scenes so effective for his arrogant attitude is sheer bravado and he will come to rely on the loving Sara of Agostina Belli.

She is first introduced to us by means of a photograph which lies alongside a revolver which also has a part to play based on Chekhov's principle that once a firearm is introduced it will eventually go off.

The linchpin of the film is the dynamic between Gassman's aristocratic officer and his naive young guide played by the immensely appealing Alessandro Momo whose burgeoning career was tragically cut short by his death in a motorcycle accident shortly after completion of filming.

The overall pacing of the film is excellent and once again Armando Trovaioli's score does what it says on the tin. The over-recorded post-synchronisation is a little intrusive but that is part and parcel of Italian cinema, take it or leave it. Feminists will no doubt bristle at the film's attitudes towards women but these simply reflect that nation's machismo culture which is hardly likely to change.

The obligatory Hollywood remake, although homogenised for American audiences, has a great deal to recommend it whilst its 518 reviews compared to the original's 27 speaks volumes about IMDb's demographic.

Behind every film there lies a story which is certainly true of this one as Michel Piccoli as Pierre and Stéphane Audran as Lucienne are based upon Bernard and Yvette, the 'diabolical lovers' of Bourganeuf. Indeed the film's release had to be postponed so as not to coincide with the murder trial.

Although lacking the stylistic brilliance of some of Chabrol's other works in this genre, it's construction, precision and refinement are those of a director eminently secure in his material.

Here Valencay stands in for Bourganeuf and becomes an unflattering portrait of provincial France. Its mean-spirited and hypocritical denizens thrive on prurient gossip which motivates Pierre and Lucienne, aware of their bourgeois social status, to become secret murderers rather than public adulterers.

What is most striking about the film is the gradual darkening of tone, not least when Claude Piéplu as the pompous husband ceases to be a figure of fun and shows his true colours and whose brutal demise is brilliantly realised. The downbeat ending with the final shot of the couple's shackled hands is most effective whilst Pierre Jansen's score is well integrated.

The opening quotation from the third part of the 'Oresteia' of Aeschylus leads us to believe that the film will deal with moral complexity but in reality one can feel no sympathy at all for Pierre and Lucienne for had they not been so obsessed with appearances they could have simply left their troublesome partners rather than bumping them off. The overriding emotion, for this viewer at any rate, is one of pity, for like so many literary/cinematic couples who have done away with inconvenient spouses, the initial feeling of 'freedom' is an illusion as they have merely swapped one kind of entrapment for another.

Although controversial at the time and in some quarters no doubt still frowned upon, this film from the Enfant Terrible of French cinema, Bertrand Blier, has avoided the exploitation of Bertolucci's 'Last Tango in Paris', not to mention the tackiness of which Adrian Lyne is guilty in his remake of 'Lolita' and has given us a compassionate, bittersweet and courageous depiction of the sexual relationship between a fourteen-year old girl and her thirty-year old stepfather.

What enables this piece to transcend its daring subject matter is its innate Gallic finesse, the intelligent script, adapted by Monsieur Blier from his own novel and the wonderfully 'true' performances he has drawn from his cast, not least the astonishing Ariel Besse, making her debut in a role turned down by Sophie Marceau whilst the highly gifted Patrick Dewaere in his third film for this director, received his fifth César nomination. Sensitive portrayals also, as one would expect, from Maurice Ronet and Nathalie Baye.

Cinematography is by Sacha Vierny whilst Philippe Sarde, brother of producer Alain, provides a subtle score that complements the film perfectly.

Quite simply, one of Blier's finest films that not only touches the heart but for this viewer at any rate, defies moral judgements. It is even more poignant in retrospect as within two years of its release Dewaere has died by his own hand and Ronet had succumbed to cancer. What a waste.

In a career spanning a mere sixteen years, Rainer Werner Fassbinder made forty-four films before his death at just thirty-six, which occurred a few months after the premiere of this, the final part of what has come to be designated as his BRD Trilogy.

It is beautifully written by his regular collaborators Peter Marthesheimer and Pea Froelich, shot in knife-like black and white by his preferred cinematographer Xavier Schwarzenberger and as one would expect from this director, features a strong leading role for an actress, in this case Rosel Zech, whose character is loosely based upon that of the fascinating but tragic Sybille Schmitz who despite never being fully accepted by Herr Goebbels and company found it virtually impossible to continue her post-war career because of her perceived Nazi connections and whose drug-fuelled downward spiral ended in suicide in 1955.

Zech is simply stupendous in a demanding role that requires a wide range of emotions and as a bonus she performs a beguiling, Dietrich-like rendition of 'Memories are made of this." As a lesbian Dr. Feel-good, there is a magnificently chilling performance by Annemarie Dueringer. The entire cast is uniformly excellent and all of the characters are well drawn. Armin Mueller-Stahl again makes his presence felt whilst the influence of America in the Germany of the time is epitomised by the sound track and not least by the presence of the ubiquitous African-American GI played as always by Guenter Kaufmann. As well as being a tribute to the mighty UFA Studios, the relationship between fading star Voss and the journalist of Hilmar Thate is a nod to 'Sunset Boulevard'.

There is an absence of socio-political comment here and the whole enterprise succeeds solely through the myths of the movies. Fassbinder was an avowed devotee of the dream factory that was Hollywood and professed his adoration for Douglas Sirk. As it happened the master long outlived the pupil and Sirk offered a fitting tribute:"Although his fims were controversial.....only those things that survive opposition have the power of permanence."

In 1972's 'State of Siege', filmed in Chile under the socialist Allende prior to Pinochet's coup d'état, director Costa-Gavras had convincingly indicted the good old USA's clandestine involvement with Latin American dictatorships. It was therefore a natural progression for him to make 'Missing' which takes place during the coup itself with Thomas Hauser's book 'The Execution of Charles Horman' providing ideal source material.

Hollywood is not exactly renowned for its political statements and it is surprising that the decidedly left-leaning director managed to get studio backing, not to mention a $9.5 million budget. The film did very well both critically and commercially although it had to be temporarily withdrawn whilst an unsuccessful law suit brought by the supposedly maligned American ambassador to Chile at the time of the coup went through the courts.

Although the film lacks, for this viewer at any rate, the streamlined tension and dynamic editing of his earlier films of this type, notably the incomparable 'Z', he has brilliantly captured the fraught, ominous atmosphere of a city under martial law whilst presenting harrowing images that still pack a punch and cleverly depicting the moral ambiguity of American officialdom.

The linchpin of the film is of course the touching relationship between Jack Lemmon and Sissy Spacek which changes radically as the film progresses. Here we have two superlative and generous artistes whose dynamic makes for compelling viewing. Mr. Lemmon has reached that sublime stage when he is no longer 'acting' but simply 'being' whilst Ms. Spacek is indisputably one of the finest actresses of her generation.

A powerful piece which offers a grim reminder, if indeed one is required, that America is far from being the beacon of virtue that it would have us believe.

This bizarre but intriguing opus from what is traditionally referred to as his 'fallow' period, turns out to be the template for most of Claude Chabrol's subsequent output. He is often compared to Alfred Hitchcock and ironically this film has been made for Universal Studios which accounts for the presence of Anthony Perkins from 'Psycho' and Henry Jones from 'Vertigo'. It is to be lamented that the dubbed American version has been cut by about seven minutes so as to blunt the sexual aspects, not least the homoerotic element between Christopher and Paul.

Although not quite as polished and well-crafted as his later films in this genre there are some stylistic flourishes not least the showy overhead final shot and is eminently watchable thanks to its talented and attractive leading players. Anthony Perkins in his first of two films for this director, employs his boyish charm and inherent quirkiness to fullest effect whilst Maurice Ronet's performance as the supposedly deranged Paul is a veritable tour de force and arguably one of his finest. On the distaff side is the fabulously feline Yvonne Furneaux whilst Chabrol's wife Stéphane Audran assumes a greater importance here in a double role and would soon take centre stage in his mid-period masterpieces. Slinky Suzanne Lloyd plays Sylvie whose lengthy scene with Ronet is one of Chabrol's most surreal.

Chabrol's 'A' Team is very much in evidence here in terms of the glossy cinematography of Jean Rabier, taut editing by Jacques Gaillard, incisive dialogue by Paul Gégauff and score by Pierre Jansen which on this occasion is alas somewhat intrusive.

This film, for this viewer at any rate, is very much 'work in progress' but displays a refinement of technique that over the next few years would establish Chabrol's reputation as an acknowledged master of the psychological thriller.

During the 'thaw' that followed the long overdue death of Joseph Stalin, thirty-eight year old Grigori Chukhrai established himself in the front rank of directors with a splendid remake of 'The Forty-First' and followed up with what is indisputably his greatest and most popular film. Unlike the earlier film the love between the two leading protagonists, despite the strong mutual attraction, remains chaste and unspoken.

Chukhrai's humanism here replaces Soviet propoganda whilst his romanticism brings a ray of light into the drabness of social realism. The character of Alyosha played by Vladimir Ivashov in his debut role, has been inspired, in the words of Chukhrai, himself a decorated war veteran, by 'the men who became soldiers as soon as they left school' whilst the almost unbearably moving Antonina Maksimova as his mother holds the deepest resonance for the countless numbers whose sons never returned.

The film's effectiveness is enhanced by the lyrical cinematography of Nikolayev and Savelyeva who have given debutante Zhanna Prokhorenko as Shura her own light which accentuates her wide-eyed, mesmerising gaze whilst the score by Mikhail Ziv is by turns thrilling and idyllic.

A compassionate and indelibly powerful opus which continued the trickle of Soviet films welcomed in the West in the late 1950's, it not only won an award at Cannes and a BAFTA, it also holds the unique distinction of being the first USSR entry in an American film festival, winning top prize in San Francisco.

Along with 'The Cranes are flying' of Kalatozov which was shown in America as part of a USA-USSR cultural exchange programme, it helped rehabilitate Russian cinema, finally freed from the shackles of Stalinism, in the international community.

Although perhaps not quite on the same level as director Costa-Gavras' other scathing critiques of the abuse of power, this still has a great deal to recommend it in terms of its superlative adaptation from the novel of Hervé Villeré by Jorge Semprún and a cast comprising some of France's most distinguished actors. It lacks of course the 'star' attraction of Yves Montand and if you blink you will miss his uncredited appearance as a soup-eating militiaman. The overall pacing is measured but Gavras' regular editor Francois Bonnet maintains the momentum whilst the excellent score is by Eric de Marsan whose music had contributed so much to Melville's earlier 'L'Armée des Ombres'.

During the trial of Marechal Philippe Pétain the prosecutor referred to the 'Exceptional Courts' as 'a monstrous institution', a description which no decent human being would dispute. Following the shooting of a German midshipman in the Barbes-Rochechouart Métro by a Communist activist who would later achieve renown as Colonel Fabien, the Nazis had threatened to execute an hundred French hostages, regardless of rank or celebrity. Ostensibly to save French lives and appease his German masters, Pétain instigated the 'section spéciale' to pass sentence of death on a handful of token prisoners classed as 'undesirables' who had previously been given lighter sentences for minor crimes. It only remained to appoint the judges whose major qualifications were ambition, amorality, cowardice or a combination thereof.

This utterly grotesque situation lends itself to the blackest of humour and Gavras does not fall short in this regard, not least in the executioners hanging around the court impatiently awaiting the names of those they are to guillotine. What is most effective however is how the legislative charade and parody of justice are carried out with the most proper ceremony. As Michel Benon, president of the Special Court, Claude Piéplu again excels as the man you love to hate.

Although the film ends by informing us that none of the judges faced sanctions for their activities in fact the Minister of Justice at the time, Joseph Barthélemy, superbly played by veteran Louis Séigner, was tried by the High Court but died of cancer before the end of legal proceedings. The egregious Minister of the Interior, Pierre Pucheu, a chilling portrayal here by Michel Lonsdale, was destined, ironically, to be sentenced by a Special Court and executed by firing squad.

There is some justice after all.

As the son of a Russian who had fought in the Greek resistance against the Nazis and suffered repeated harassment after the war as a suspected communist, young Konstantinous Gavras witnessed oppression first-hand and it is not surprising that he was drawn to the novel based on the assassination of liberal politician Grégorios Lambrakis. The novel had been banned and its author Vassili Vassilikos forced into exile. The adaptation here is by the director and his regular collaborator Jorge Semprún.

Although political, the film is never didactic and becomes a taut, highly charged political thriller which employs rapid cross cutting, zoom lenses, constant tracking and hand-held camera shots to maximum effect. The grainy cinematography by Raoul Coutard lends a documentary feel whilst the Oscar-winning contribution of Gavras' editor of choice, Francoise Bonnot, is exemplary. Mikis Theodorakis at the time was under house arrest so his score is based on earlier, adapted compositions.

Shot mainly in Algeria with interiors filmed in Paris, the director has the services of a magnificent cast headed by Yves Montand, described by Gavras as 'the only actor in France who could play Lambrakis'. Not only would Monsieur Montand have believed wholeheartedly in the project, his name on the marquee would undoubtedly guarantee a good box office return and in purely filmic terms his charisma ensured that although killed early on, his character's presence would permeate the rest of the film.

The examining magistrate, based upon Christos Sartzékis who was subsequently jailed, tortured and prevented from practising law, is played by Jean-Louis Trintignant who deservedly won an award at Cannes. Even by his standards his performance is a masterclass in understatement. Amongst others there is excellent support by Pierre Dux, Francois Périer and Marcel Bozzufi whilst the regal Irene Papas supplies the compassion and Georges Géret some much needed light relief. Special mention must be made of Jacques Perrin who plays a resourceful journalist for it was he who made the film possible by persuading Algeria to coproduce after his friend Gavros had unsuccessfully tried to raise finance.

Like Pontecorvo with 'Battle of Algiers', Gavras has here maintained a point of view above the level of the events he portrays and has not simply told a story but created a cinematic experience.

Following his early New Wave successes the career of director Claude Chabrol suffered a temporary eclipse but he miraculously returned to form with 'Les Biches' and the even more superior 'Helene cycle' in which Stéphane Audran plays Helene in variations on the theme of marital infidelity leading to murder.

Chabrol said that rather than making a whodunnit he wanted the audience to know who the murderer is 'so that we can consider his personality.' Under the microscope here is the fascinating specimen of Charles Desvallées whose complacent, ordered existence is unbalanced when learning that his prize possession is cheating on him. Michel Bouquet, for whom the part has been written, is utterly mesmerising and the scene in which he is given proof of his wife's infidelity is film acting at its very best as he succeeds in displaying the anguish of betrayal by doing the absolute minimum.

As Victor, the always-good-value Maurice Ronet, in his last of four films for this director, is perfectly cast and his murder is all the more dramatic for its suddenness and spontaneity.

Not every director is fortunate enough to find a 'muse' but the director's wife, the talented and sensual Stéphane Audran, fulfils that function in no uncertain terms.

Critics at the time noted Chabrol's stylistic advancement and a more detached attitude towards his subjects. This low-key but powerful film is a first-class psychological thriller in which, once again, the director gives us a far from flattering portrait of his biggest bugbear, the bougeoisie.

Generally considered to be the first film of the New Wave although Agnes Varda's 'Le Pointe Courte' had appeared three years earlier, this is a far cry from the baroque, stylistic excesses of Claude Chabrol's 'Cahiers' contemporaries. It is indeed more akin to Italian neo-realism and Henri Decae's low contrast, natural lighting emphasises the unutterable dreariness of Sardent, a backwater where the director had spent the war years.

The linchpin of the piece is the dichotomy between the Serge of the title who is anything but 'beau' and the cultivated Francois. In keeping with Chabrol's Catholicism he has Francois determined to help his hapless friend but his bourgeois self-delusion merely serves to widen the gulf.

The performances of Jean-Claude Brialy and Gérard Blain are exceptional as they were to be in this director's companion piece 'Les Cousins' which represents the other side of the coin whilst the nineteen year old Bernadette Lafont who had earlier appeared with Blain in Truffaut's 'Les Mistons', utilises her primal sexuality to the utmost as Marie. Excellent support from Claude Cerval as an ineffectual priest, Michele Méritz as Serge's long-suffering wife and Edmond Beauchamp as a drunken lecher who may or may not be Marie's father. New Wave films were known for their little 'in-jokes' and Chabrol makes a brief appearance as does his assistant director Philippe de Broca who answers to the name Jacques Rivette!

This is an exceptional directorial debut by any standards and although a little rough around the edges, has at its centre real 'heart', an element one does not readily associate with his subsequent works, despite their technical polish.

In 1940 one of Germany's finest directors and its most popular actor combined to make a delightful piece entitled 'Clothes make the man' and teamed up again sixteen years later with this adaptation of Carl Zuckmayer's satire on the dangers of militarism which had been previously filmed twice by Richard Oswald. Although the milieus are totally different, both films have a not dissimilar theme, dealing as they do with how one's social standing and how one is viewed are determined by the way one is costumed.

Both films are essentially vehicles for the immensely talented and much-loved Heinz Ruehmann whose persona encourages the viewer's sympathies. Although greatly admired by Hitler and co., he had cleverly managed to appear neutral whilst his influence enabled his ravishing wife Hertha Feiler to star in films despite her grandmother being Jewish. Both he and director Helmut Kautner somehow succeeded in remaining apolitical.

This latter film takes a satirical swipe at both the military mentality and the Prussian cult of the uniform whilst the visual juxtapostions of the military elite and the hoi polloi are well realised. Quite a few buffoons on display of course with a particularly fine performance by Martin Held whilst Hannelore Schroth as his wife does her best in a thankless role. It is not without its serious moments and Ruehmann's plea as the hapless Wilhelm Voigt for humanity over rules touches the heart.

It is a faithful adaptation with excellent production values and would have delighted Ruehmann devotees whose presence guaranteed a healthy box office but for this viewer at any rate the director seems, unusually for him, to have played it safe on this occasion and not taken any chances which results in the film somehow lacking the requisite bite.

What it does in no uncertain terms is to call to mind Peter Ustinov's observation: "The Army is the final repository of the fool."

This and 'La Vie est a nous' from the same year, mark Jean Renoir's flirtation with Left-wing politics and very much reflect the prevailing mood of the time as the election of the Front Populaire had given the French a feeling of optimism. Suffice to say this euphoria was short-lived as the Socialist/Communist coalition proved utterly ineffectual.

Not only does 'Le Crime de Monsieur Lange' convey it's message with far greater subtlety than its companion piece, it's sheer exuberance is infectious.

Renoir has encouraged his cast to improvise which in conjunction with his use of continuous takes and deep focus camerawork gives the piece both immediacy and spontaneity. There is a distinctly collaborative feel here as many members of the cast as well as brilliant scénarist Jacques Prévert and composer Joseph Kosma belonged to the Left-wing 'October' Group.

The linchpin of the film is the personification of Good vs. Evil in the characters of Lange and Batala, superbly played by René Lefevre and Jules Berry. Lefevre is of course perfect casting as Everyman whilst Berry once again utilises his Mephistophelean persona to great effect and is the perfect combination of villany and charm. This immensely stylish artiste traditionally gave the appearance of improvising which stemmed from his being unable to remember his lines. On the distaff side there are enchanting performances from Florelle who gives a gorgeous rendition of Kosma's chanson and the always fascinating Nadia Sibirskaya, best known for her early films with her husband, director Dimitri Kirsanoff.

Renoir's fluid direction and the commitment of its participants have given us a thoroughly engaging and uplifting piece whilst on a purely technical level, the astonishing 360-degree pan when Lange 'executes' Batala is justly renowned.

Producer John Brabourne and director Lewis Gilbert combined to bring two excellent naval films to the screen, this one, based on C. S. Forester's 'Last Nine Days of the Bismarck' and Frank Tilsley's 'HMS Defiant'. Although the casts differed the same talent behind the camera worked on both productions, notably cinematographer Christopher Challis, composer Clifton Parker, editor Peter Hunt and special effects experts Howard Lydaker and Skeets Kelly.

Lydaker's superb miniatures were used in conjunction with war footage and staged scenes between real ships which were made available by the producer's father-in-law Lord Mountbatten with notably HMS Victorious standing in for the Ark Royal. Although shot in the confounded Cinemascope format the intimacy has not been jeopardised and Gilbert has wisely opted for black-and-white.

The real Director of Operations Sir Ralph Edwards, is not depicted here and is replaced by the fictional Captain Shephard, beautifully played by Kenneth More who coincidentally had served as an officer on HMS Victorious whilst the compassionate character played by classy Dana Wynter, the thinking man's crumpet, serves to broaden the film's appeal. They are supported by a first rate cast of dependable character actors, the like of whom we shall never see again, who bring a quiet authority to whichever film in which they appear notably Laurence Naismith, Michael Goodliffe, Geoffrey Keen and Michael Hordern. There is also a host of familiar faces in smaller roles, many of whom were to go on to greater things. The most fascinating and deeply poignant piece of casting is that of Esmond Knight as the Captain of the Prince of Wales. This must surely have been an emotionally challenging role for Mr. Knight who had lost one eye and been practically blinded in the other whilst serving as a gunnery officer in that ship's engagement with the Bismarck. One salutes his courage. Although Karel Stepanek is obliged for dramatic purposes to portray Admiral Luetjens as a rabid Nazi the real Luetjens was in fact quite the opposite, not only declining to give the Nazi salute but none too confident of Bismarck's chances of success. It was not he but Captain Lindemann who gave the order to fire on the ill-fated HMS Hood. He is played by Carl Moehner and voiced by the King of the Dubbers, Robert Rietty. Norman Shelley does his renowned Churchill impression whilst verisimilitude, especially for American viewers, is provided by inimitable broadcaster Edmund R. Murrow.

The final minutes of the Bismarck are powerfully realised and bring home in no uncertain terms the unutterable grimness of naval warfare whilst the special effects throughout are especially impressive for the time the film was made.

Quintessentially English war films were hardly likely to appeal to American audiences but this one proved a great success, due in no small measure to the appearance of Mr. Murrow but largely one suspects to the promotional use of the record 'Sink the Bismarck' sung by Johnny Horton. Whatever one's views on the quality of this song it certainly served it's purpose in getting bums on seats which is, after all, what the commercial enterprise of film-making is all about.

Orson Welles was not the only director to benefit from the services of innovative cinematographer Gregg Toland as his six colloborations with William Wyler helped establish and cement that director's reputation. This is their fourth film together and also marks the first of six films featuring Gary Cooper and inveterate scene stealer Walter Brennan who won this third 'supporting actor' Oscar for his splendid performance as Judge Roy Bean which puts those of Paul Newman and Victor Jory firmly in the shade.

Needless to say the decidedly odd relationship between Harden and Bean is the film's linchpin and the dynamic between these two actors is mesmerising. There is also a telling performance by Doris Davenport and it is to be lamented that she was unable to build on this and fulfil her potential.

Even by the standards of Hollywoodland the film plays fast and loose with the Bean legend but of course the reality was far less entertaining as he never met Lillie Langtry and died in his sleep at the age of 78.

The highlight is the crop fire, despite the obvious back projection whilst the powerful score is by Dimitri Tiomkin and an uncredited Alfred Newman.

What can one say of William Wyler? This much lauded and awarded director, affectionately known as '40-take' Wyler, is quite simply one of the greatest. He was certainly tough on his actors but no less than fourteen of them won Oscars under his demanding direction. One of those who expressed their gratitude was Charlton Heston who likened working with Wyler to having a Turkish bath. "You damn near drown but you come out smelling like roses."

This truly exceptional film, considered by its director Helmut Kautner to be his best, is even more remarkable in that it was filmed in arduous conditions during allied bombing raids and less than an hour's drive from the ravages of war in Berlin. The director, cast and crew were lucky for in Kautner's words: "We lived dreamily alongside time and distracted ourselves from all the horror through work."

It depicts working-class lives in the poetic realist style of Marcel Carné and echoes the lyricism of Vigo's 'L' Atalante'. Courtesy of cinematographer Igor Oberberg it is an etude of light and shadow whilst the haunting theme tune by Bernard Eichhorn is perfectly suited to the film's elegiac, melancholic mood.

Renowned for his gift with actors Kautner has drawn splendid performances from Hannelore Schroth, Carl Raddatz and Helmut Knuth, all of them familiar to German audiences. There is a simpatico between Schroth and Raddatz which is hardly surprising as they were husband and wife, albeit briefly.

Classified as a 'defector' film, one of those completed at the end of the National Socialist era but not premiered until after cessation of hostilities this masterpiece epitomises Kautner's refusal to use his work in the service of Nazi ideology which enabled him to pursue a highly personal approach to mainstrean cinema. As a result he is one of the true 'auteurs'.

Cinéphiles are obliged to shift tons of **** in order to find a diamond and discovering this beautifully realised, heart-winning film makes the effort worthwhile.

Patricia Highsmith's fascinatingly amoral creation Tom Ripley who featured in five novels, has been portrayed on screen by such varied performers as Dennis Hopper, Matt Damon. John Malkovich, Barry Pepper and Andrew Scott. The character was introduced in 'The Talented Mr. Ripley' and in this adaptation for director René Clément he is personified by Alain Delon. Not only did this film put Delon on the map it established and defined his screen persona for the rest of his career. His mystique and ambiguity were to serve him extremely well, notably in the iconic 'Le Samourai' and in what is arguably his best performance as 'Monsieur Klein'.

Director Joseph Losey said of him that beneath the cool, handsome exterior lay a deeply complex and driven man which makes him ideal casting as this adaptation by Clément and Paul Gégauff contrasts the beautiful with the sinister, the bright light on the surface with the darkness beneath.

The light is provided by the Italian coastline captured in ravishing Eastmancolor by one of the world's greatest cinematographers Henri Decae whilst the variations on Nino Rota's rather jaunty theme perfectly complement this tale of deception, stolen identity and cold-blooded murder.

Clément is not afraid to take his time here in establishing the characters and depicting what appears to be a carefree male friendship with perhaps a touch of the homoerotic which makes what occurs on the boat thirty-five minutes in so dramatically effective. Everything seems more clearcut at sea as Polanski was to show two years later in 'Knife in the Water'.

The role of Greenleaf also furthered the career of Maurice Ronet who was to appear with Delon on a few occasions, notably in 'La Piscine'. The character of Marge is essentially a cipher and Marie Laforet does her best whilst Erno Crisi is extremely effective as a police inspector and in her late sixties Elvire Popescu retains her ebullience. Easy to spot an uncredited Romy Schneider who was Delon's great love at the time.

Controversially, throughout the five novels Ripley evaded both capture and prosecution but here the makers have chosen to insert an Hitchcock-style ending of which the author unsurprisingly disapproved, citing it as 'a cowardly concession to public morality'. She was probably right of course but in a purely filmic sense, it works.

A thoroughly absorbing piece which has been described by one critic as 'the last ray of warmth in René Clément's illustrious career'.

Even the best of directors, like thoroughbred racehorses, have only so many great races in them and this is alas one race too many for Alfred Hitchcock. In the three years that had elapsed since his uneven 'Torn Curtain', the 70 year old director had been desperately casting around for a suitable subject for his 51st film and eventually settled, grudgingly, upon Leon Uris' best seller based upon the events of the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Hitchcock recalled that this was 'a most unhappy film to make' and this is very much in evidence. The original material is dynamite but the result is, alas, a damp fuse. Apart from the sequence in the Cuban Embassy it is strangely devoid of both momentum and suspense and causes one to lament the earlier demise of Hitchcock's greatest editor, George Thomasini whilst the performances of most of its international cast verge on the lifeless. Philippe Noiret and Michel Piccoli of course never disappoint.

The shooting of Juanita by Parra with her purple dress opening like a flower is the one highlight.

One critic has compared watching this to 'listening to the concert of a great singer about a mile from the stadium. It is only a glimpse of greatness'.

When wooden Frederick Stafford, certainly no Cary Grant, utters the singularly appropriate 'That's the end of Topaz', this viewer at any rate could not help but heave a sigh of relief.

From the exotic Marrakesh of his previous film Alfred Hitchcock has brought us to the grimy streets of New York for a sombre, documentary-style piece which many believe to be one of his greatest. Adapted by Angus MacPhail from the Life magazine true story by multi-faceted Maxwell Anderson, this tale of the tragic consequences of mistaken identity is utterly compelling and reminds us that truth is not only stranger than fiction but decidedly more disturbing. Interestingly, it was MacPhail who had introduced to Hitchcock the concept of 'The MacGuffin' and here it is JUSTICE that fulfils this function.

The casting of Henry Fonda as wrongly accused but finally exonerated musician Manny Balastrero is a masterstroke as his understated manner and intrinsically upright persona engages our sympathy whilst the real victim of this Kafkaesque nightmare is his wife Rose, played by the excellent Vera Miles. As she begins to crack under the emotional strain the gradual distancing between this loving couple is expertly realised by Mr. Hitchcock.

His first black-and-white film since 'I Confess', the film is Bressonian in style as no one is caught 'acting' and in common with Bresson's 'A Man escaped' there is not a single unnecessary shot although the 'tilt-a-whirl' camera effect of Manny's dizziness in prison is somewhat anachcronistic. The scene of the real culprit appearing whilst Manny is praying is nothing short of inspired.

One must give credit to Hitchcock's dream team of cinematographer Robert Burks, editor George Thomasini and composer Bernard Herrmann. Sadly, when he was for various reasons deprived of their services ten tears later, the effectiveness of his films took a dive.

As a footnote Manny sued for wrongful arrest but had to settle for an insultingly paltry sum whilst the $22.000 he received for the film rights barely covered the costs of his wife's ongoing care. The film's written coda suggests that she fully recovered but alas that was not the case.

Not only is this a superb piece of film-making, the increasing amount of miscarriages of justice that are forever coming to light render it timeless.

This, the last of the five Westerns directed by Anthony Mann and starring James Stewart is also the third of their collaborations in this particular genre with screen writer Borden Chase and typifies the characters and conflicts associated with Chase's work as well as featuring stunning cinematography of its Canadian locations by veteran William H. Daniels.

Chase's 'Dr. Broadway' had provided the basis for Mann's first film and Mann had been suggested by Stewart to direct 'Winchester '73' after Fritz Lang had pulled out, feeling that Stewart was unsuitable casting(!) These three were made for each other with Borden's writing and Mann's direction perfectly suited to Stewart's tougher, more cynical post-war persona.

An outstanding element in Mann's westerns is the sometimes uneasy relationships between men and women in a milieu of action and violence and this film is certainly no exception with a fascinating dynamic between the equally self-willed characters played by Stewart and Ruth Roman whilst Stewart is particularly gifted at portraying the emotional ambivalence of the action hero.

The supporting characters, although stereotypical, are given true substance by Walter Brennan, Jay C. Flippen, a chilling Robert J. Wilkie and a gloriously unsavoury John McIntire.

The film's intensity, brutality and final shoot out look ahead to Mann's final and arguably greatest western, "Man of the West'.

Mann's films of this period were alas destined to be underrated by the 'cultivated' American critics but were at least appreciated by the French whilst much-loved James Stewart reigns as one of Hollywood's most complete actor-personalities.

Although arguably not Helmut Kautner's greatest film it is probably his most popular and the one for which he will be best remembered whilst Hans Albers, despite a distinguished career, will forever be associated with Hannes the singing sailor.

The bawdy, boozy, brawling sequences in the Grosse Freiheit no 7 of the title are well choreographed but for this viewer at any rate the film's effectiveness lies in the intimate scenes where Kautner's gift with actors comes into play. The performances of Albers, Ilse Werner(also teamed to great effect in 'Munchhausen') Hans Soehnker and Hilde Hildebrand are exemplary whilst the director puts on his actor's hat as Karl and fellow screenwriter Richard Nicholas does a turn as an ancient mariner. One of the film's obvious highlights is the magnificent nightmare sequence splendidly edited by Annaliese Schoennenbeck.

Kautner managed to navigate the perilous waters of National Socialism and refused to allow his films to be infused with Nazi ideology which naturally brought him into conflict with Herr Goebbels. Originally endorsed by the Propoganda Ministry as a tribute to the Merchant Navy, the finished film was deemed to be immoral, unheroic, demoralising and subversive. As a result it achieved the distinction of being one of ten films banned by Goebbels in 1944. As for Albers, he cleverly distanced himself from Nazi propoganda and as with the equally popular Heinz Ruemann, the Hitler regime turned a blind eye to his partner being Jewish.

Although perhaps not equal to the sum of its parts, Kautner's film with its melancholic strain continues to cast its spell and bears the hallmarks of a master film-maker. Shot in glorious Agfacolor by Werner Krien its songs undoubtedly contributed to its success, to the extent that outside Northern Europe Herr Albers is renowned more as a chanteur than the fine actor he was. As a son of Hamburg his statue still stands in the Platz named after him and he was to get more mileage out of the Hamburg connection with 'On the Reeperbahn at half past Midnight' and 'Heart of St. Pauli' in the late 1950's when he was, alas, well beyond his prime.

Kautner went on to become a beacon of light in the commercial wasteland of post-war German cinema.