Reviews

This is, sadly, a missed opportunity and a terrible pastiche of a wonderful book, one which probably inspired Dorothy Sayers (who greatly admired it) to come up with Peter Wimsey.

The main characters are completely miscast. Michael Wilding is good at charming and debonair, but not as a cerebral detective, even one who talks piffle at his lady-love (as does Wimsey). John McCallum is wooden, Margaret Lockwood (almost always one-dimensional, always overrated) is simply not up to playing such a complex person as 'Margaret' (Mabel in the book). Welles and Malleson can never be bad, of course, but even Sam Kydd is not really stretched.

And that's the next problem: the script is dreadful. The dialogue is stilted and too truncated, and in fact it's not possible to do justice to the book in such a short film.

What a waste of everyone's time this is: a boring story line, terrible dialogue, wooden acting from all the actors (yes, even Rex H.), pedestrian directing (sorry, no offence to pedestrians intended), lifeless cinematography with hardly a single interesting camera angle or lighting in the whole film (and in muddy black and white, too, in 1962! - and the lighting cameraman had obviously never seen a good film noir, or if he did then he must have kept his eyes closed all the time), old-fashioned editing, an awful soundtrack (that irritating whistling tune that keeps repeating ad nauseam, and I do mean ad nauseam, is a top candidate for the worst film score ever) ...

The only reason it merits 2 stars instead of 1 is that we get to see Rita H. in her negligee.

Good grief, how did the studio have the brass neck to distribute this film instead of burning it and claiming on the insurance?

One of the most hilariously dreadful films I have seen in a very long time. The acting is wooden beyond belief, but then - there is a very little for the actors (well, I call them actors ...) to work on. The dialogue is silly: when a conspirator tries to suck up to Sheba, he says "You and I have much more in common than you may realise; you are very beautiful". The plot is absurd, too. We get two royals riding huge distances in the desert (she is not even wearing a hat), with about half a dozen attendants each. Realistic or what? Sheba even gets to lead her own horse to water when they reach an oasis: I suppose the budget didn't stretch to servants and other such inessential items. Or maybe the research department fell down on the job. Be that as it may, I spilled my coffee laughing. But I can't pretend I tried to follow the storyline, as I kept missing bits when they spoke too softly while I was laughing. Berry in particular, needs to learn to enunciate and project her lines.

This is the film where David Lean's megalomania and pretentiousness, already evident in The Bridge on the River Kwai (a film that is just this side of bearable), spilled over into an overweening arrogance and smugness, and an unjustified belief that he can do no wrong, however absurd the casting, the story and the photography. Lean knew nothing of the Middle East and understood less. The film presents a completely false picture of it: glossy, saccharine and indeed patronising (and thus, borderline racist). The historical context is tendentious, biased and false: the centuries-old story of the Jews rebuilding their own country is barely given a supercilious nod. However great an actor Alec Guiness is, casting him as Feisal is just plain silly. Were there no actors of Middle Eastern background and appearance? He looks like an uncomfortable transplant from the East End of Charles Dickens, an Irish or Scottish princeling who took the wrong train at Holborn underground station. The notion that 'this is the best British film of all time' is as absurd as the film itself: glitziness does not equal quality. Even Lean made better films by far (for example, Great Expectations), and The Third Man is miles better, too. These films are cinematic: they understand the medium and utilise it properly. Lawrence tries to get by on sheer bombast, and fails miserably as it must.

A breathtaking display of sword-fighting at its best, excellent acting from all the main characters, brilliant direction, superb over-the-top script and dialogue, first-class photography.

The final duel between Stewart Granger and Mel Ferrer is the longest in screen history. But more than that: its staging is first class. The protagonists fight up and down the theatre steps (of course), but also along the edge of balconies, in the foyer and even in the props warehouse. This is not just a sword fight, though: it's a display both of acrobatics and of the characters' personalities, with Granger's character exhibiting courage and magnanimity; Ferrer's is less generous but equally brave.

The drama is punctuated by scenes of low humour (at the clowns' theatre) and high irony (in the National Assembly).

Both of the female leads - Janet Leigh and Eleanor Parker - are stunningly beautiful. You feel sorry one of them has to lose Granger to the other; but at least the loser gets together in the end with a famous historical personage ...

Granger is Granger: suave, handsome, commanding. He is supposed to have done most of his own stunts: riding, duelling and climbing.

Highly recommended!