Korea, 1950. Robert Ryan is a lieutenant in command of what's left of his platoon, a dozen or so men. They are alone, surrounded, and unable to communicate with their division, so they face a dreary trudge of many miles in the most promising direction. They're shortly joined by a jeep carrying a stunned and insensible major (Keith) and his gruff, hostile sergeant (Ray). Ray is built like a Panzer and his neck is a very short telephone pole. His head is so large that his helmet doesn't sit on it, it encases his skull like a watch cap. All the men are scared, weary, or sick, except Ray. He exercises his combat skills until Ryan finally accepts him and his catatonic major into the group -- not that Ray gives a damn one way or the other.
The enemy are treacherous and, worse, they're real SNEAKY. They camouflage themselves with bushes and branches. "They move like cats!", exclaims one sergeant (Persoff).
The movie isn't too inventive or realistic, on the whole. James Edwards, while bringing up the rear, learns that you should never sit down, decorate your helmet with flowers, and take off your shoes while you're alone. Every soldier in a war movie knows that you can't relax, even for a moment, when the enemy are around. (They should never climb a tree either.) We've seen it before. There's little in the way of believability either. When Ray and his major first arrive, Ray has his Thompson sub-machine gun pointed at Ryan's chest as he disobeys one order after another. When Ryan finally relieves him of the gun, Ray pulls a knife and prepares to attack the officer. Yet a few minutes later, Ryan returns the gun to Ray. Would you do that? The story, for all it danger and suspense, doesn't seem to have been well thought out. The platoon drags itself along from one dangerous incident to another with little clear direction of what their goal is. Bayonets are always fixed. They must survive an ambush and snipers, run through an artillery barrage, step gingerly through a mine field, take a hill occupied by the enemy. Bonds are formed but remain unexplained. Why did James Edwards insist on taking care of the frightened Vic Morrow? Nobody else cares. And what is the nature of Aldo Ray's utter devotion to "my colonel"? Why would two frightened soldiers manning a light machine gun, shout, "Let's get outta here!", and then run up the hill toward the enemy, firing their rifles?
I may be too hard on the film. It doesn't insult the audience. I don't mean to suggest that it's putrid, just routine. I'm sure the production was hampered by a low budget. The dusty hills and gum trees are in Los Angeles, not Korea. We never see more than a handful of men. At the end, when the cavalry comes too late, the single man on guard comes tumbling down the slope to announce their arrival -- but we don't see them. No acting is called for but the men we observe do professional jobs.
Good for a watch, but probably not a second.
The enemy are treacherous and, worse, they're real SNEAKY. They camouflage themselves with bushes and branches. "They move like cats!", exclaims one sergeant (Persoff).
The movie isn't too inventive or realistic, on the whole. James Edwards, while bringing up the rear, learns that you should never sit down, decorate your helmet with flowers, and take off your shoes while you're alone. Every soldier in a war movie knows that you can't relax, even for a moment, when the enemy are around. (They should never climb a tree either.) We've seen it before. There's little in the way of believability either. When Ray and his major first arrive, Ray has his Thompson sub-machine gun pointed at Ryan's chest as he disobeys one order after another. When Ryan finally relieves him of the gun, Ray pulls a knife and prepares to attack the officer. Yet a few minutes later, Ryan returns the gun to Ray. Would you do that? The story, for all it danger and suspense, doesn't seem to have been well thought out. The platoon drags itself along from one dangerous incident to another with little clear direction of what their goal is. Bayonets are always fixed. They must survive an ambush and snipers, run through an artillery barrage, step gingerly through a mine field, take a hill occupied by the enemy. Bonds are formed but remain unexplained. Why did James Edwards insist on taking care of the frightened Vic Morrow? Nobody else cares. And what is the nature of Aldo Ray's utter devotion to "my colonel"? Why would two frightened soldiers manning a light machine gun, shout, "Let's get outta here!", and then run up the hill toward the enemy, firing their rifles?
I may be too hard on the film. It doesn't insult the audience. I don't mean to suggest that it's putrid, just routine. I'm sure the production was hampered by a low budget. The dusty hills and gum trees are in Los Angeles, not Korea. We never see more than a handful of men. At the end, when the cavalry comes too late, the single man on guard comes tumbling down the slope to announce their arrival -- but we don't see them. No acting is called for but the men we observe do professional jobs.
Good for a watch, but probably not a second.