It's long but it's good. For a British film from 1944 the production values are amazingly high. Whole buildings -- real ones -- collapse. The special effects at sea are convincing. And what a cast!
Actually, the story itself is hardly new. A diverse group of men are drafted into the Duke of Glendons, go through a training camp periods, their transport is torpedoed, and they fight a small-scale defensive battle among the ruins of a village in North Africa. Writers Eric Ambler and Peter Ustinov have whipped it into entertaining shape.
None of the men is regular army except the tough sergeant who has eyes like a lizard but the heart of a Rogerian therapist. David Niven has risen from the ranks and is a lieutenant. The men themselves, with their winsome misapprehensions, are brought into a state of readiness by a combination of strict physical demands and compassion. The leaders are stern but fair. I won't bother describing the draftees because you can already guess their nature from a dozen other war movies -- the grumbler, the show-off, the snob, the Welshman, the earnest patriot.
If you didn't know that it was directed by Carol Reed, you'd still probably notice some unusual directorial touches. A sleepy backwater little town. An old man, half asleep, brushing the flies from his face. A dog sleeping in the street. And then the distant sound of motorcycles and bren carriers growing louder. And soon a stream of British vehicles lumbering loudly through the main street and stirring the dust, with the dog lazily moping away and a disheveled Peter Ustinov emerging from the Cafe Rispoli to stare sullenly at the pageant.
It may or may not sound promising in a synopsis but in fact it's pretty good.
Actually, the story itself is hardly new. A diverse group of men are drafted into the Duke of Glendons, go through a training camp periods, their transport is torpedoed, and they fight a small-scale defensive battle among the ruins of a village in North Africa. Writers Eric Ambler and Peter Ustinov have whipped it into entertaining shape.
None of the men is regular army except the tough sergeant who has eyes like a lizard but the heart of a Rogerian therapist. David Niven has risen from the ranks and is a lieutenant. The men themselves, with their winsome misapprehensions, are brought into a state of readiness by a combination of strict physical demands and compassion. The leaders are stern but fair. I won't bother describing the draftees because you can already guess their nature from a dozen other war movies -- the grumbler, the show-off, the snob, the Welshman, the earnest patriot.
If you didn't know that it was directed by Carol Reed, you'd still probably notice some unusual directorial touches. A sleepy backwater little town. An old man, half asleep, brushing the flies from his face. A dog sleeping in the street. And then the distant sound of motorcycles and bren carriers growing louder. And soon a stream of British vehicles lumbering loudly through the main street and stirring the dust, with the dog lazily moping away and a disheveled Peter Ustinov emerging from the Cafe Rispoli to stare sullenly at the pageant.
It may or may not sound promising in a synopsis but in fact it's pretty good.