Uncertain Glory (1944)

Directed by Raoul Walsh; produced by Robert Buckner

In German-occupied France, Jean Picard (Errol Flynn) is a career criminal whose career has at last caught up with him. Inadvertently causing the death of a watchman during a robbery, he is sentenced to death. A timely air-raid, however, causes enough havoc at the prison for him to escape. Before long, he is re-captured by his old enemy Inspector Bonet (Paul Lukas). But Picard has a proposition for Bonet: in order to die with dignity - in front of a firing squad - Picard will give himself up as a saboteur, thus saving the lives of a hundred hostages. But can Bonet trust Picard to do what is right? And can Picard trust himself?

This is an unusual war movie and an unusual movie for Flynn. Firstly, though it takes place during the Second World War, and involves sabotage and resistance, there is no action of the conventional sort. There is tension, but it comes from conflict within and between individuals. This conflict is, in fact, the core of the story. The writing is quite good, creating a pair of well-defined characters in Picard and Bonet. The latter is seen as a single-minded man, a defender of the law at all costs, but also a patriot for his country. The offer Picard makes him produces indecision in him, possibly for the first time in his career.

Picard, on the other hand, has no such interior battle. He is out for himself, though this changes as the story progresses. He becomes engrossed in the notion of a noble death, taking time to memorize all that is necessary to fool the Germans into thinking he is the saboteur they are hunting. Yet the audience may not be convinced that his selflessness is genuine. And this keeps the audience guessing. The problem with this is not that the transformation of Picard is too sudden, but that it is not entirely supported by the movie.

This flaw is, in turn, countered by the acting. Flynn does a better job as Picard than he does in most of his other movies. He might be seen as a mere action-hero, someone who is needed only to speak lines convincingly, flash a sword, win the lady and save the day. But here, he is rather more than that. His character is not an angel. He shrugs off his killing of the watchman, which may possibly be regretted, as seemingly of little consideration. One gathers that with Picard, once something has been done, there is no point in crying over it. That trait, important to the story, is due to Flynn’s acting.

Lukas does as well with a rôle that isn’t less showy - since Flynn’s is not spectacular - but more stolid. Less is expected from Bonet than from Picard, and, consequently, there is less opportunity for Lukas to evolve the rôle. Even so, he admirably fulfills his part.

Other characters are also in conflict. A sub-plot deals with villagers wrestling with the possibility of blaming strangers - Bonet and Picard - for the sabotage, so that their friends and relatives will not be killed as hostages. This aspect of the film is not as important as it may have originally been intended, as it feels apart, separated, from the principal story-line.

The direction, by veteran Walsh, is good, as one would expect, but does not contribute a great deal that a lesser director would have achieved. The tension in the movie, one feels, is generated by the actors, rather than the director. Thus, the latter’s work appears more ordinary than it may be.

Uncertain Glory is a good movie, though not very good. It cannot be rated as exciting, but few character studies can be. It benefits greatly from the two stars, and particularly shows Flynn in a good light. The final image of his face, as he realises the enormity of his decisions and what they will mean, depicts a talented actor getting across exactly what his character is feeling, without words or actions. If the rest of the film doesn’t quite measure up, it is nonetheless a worthy effort.

Monsieur Verdoux (1947)

Directed and produced by Charles Chaplin

In Great Depression-era France, Henri Verdoux (Charles Chaplin) has been let go from his job at a bank. He quickly conceives of the idea of contracting bigamous marriages with eligible middle-aged women, then killing and robbing them. It seems only a matter of time before justice – or will it be mere circumstance? – catches up with him.

Monsieur Verdoux is often rated as a black comedy. Indeed, there is comedy in it; when Verdoux believes he has accidentally poisoned himself, one can easily see Chaplin’s Little Tramp’s antics in a darker setting. But it was not the sort of comedy that fans of Chaplin at the time knew; there are more wry smiles to be had than laughs. That fact contributed to its poor reception. After all, the public was used to Chaplin making them slap their knees, even if there was a strong moral lesson to go with it, as in The Great Dictator.

But this film was out of step with the times. Made in 1947, it landed amid a spate of hopeful, bright movies, with stories that capitalised on the mood of optimism following the Second World War. Monsieur Verdoux is rather bleak, certainly dark, with no sign of optimism.

The strange thing is that this film should have been made a decade earlier. It is set in France – inspired by Henri Landru’s murders – and in the 1930s. At that time, France was being rocked by scandal after scandal, making villains of politicians, financiers and industrialists. The country was nearing a civil war between its sharply contrasting political and social factions, and a story about murders committed by a seemingly respectable middle-class gentleman, with speeches about villainy and war, would have fit perfectly with the atmosphere of the times.

Aside from the bad timing, there are several more serious problems in the story. For one, there doesn’t seem to be a clear idea of what Chaplin wants to say. The credits state that the film came from ‘an idea by Orson Welles’, though I suspect that Welles may have had more concrete intentions. Monsieur Verdoux tells a pretty straightforward tale, though its later dialogue suggests that it was meant as a sermon on the hypocrisy of society: Verdoux compares a murderer, with his handful of victims, to a country going to war, killing millions. This comes very late in the script, and gives the impression of an addendum, something tacked on when it was conceived after the rest of the story.

As well, the character of Verdoux himself is unsympathetic. We learn his motive for his crimes and, while it may be a legitimate motive to him, his commission of the murders is so methodical and emotionless that it’s possible he would have killed people even without reason. He is a merciful man at times, foregoing the murder of a young woman – intended as a test of a new killing method – when he feels sorry for her. I think we are meant to contrast her loss and despair with the more mundane, selfish characters of Verdoux’s victims, who are portrayed as rather unlikeable widows or spinsters. Yet they are not really unlikeable (except for the shrill woman played by Martha Raye).

And Verdoux is not liked much by the women he marries. How does he achieve his courtships, then? We see only one in actual commission, that of Madame Grosnay (Isobel Elsom), and it is unconvincing. He is neither manly nor charming with the women; he is alternately uncaring and fulsome. Only when he is with the mother of his son does he appear admirable.

This last aspect shows off the principal merit of Monsieur Verdoux, which is Chaplin’s acting. He is excellent in the title rôle. Though the character itself is off-putting and a thoroughly unrealistic Lothario, Chaplin makes him seem real. Though his antics in pursuit of women would win no hearts, they are very well performed. The contrast between the parts Verdoux must play with others, and what he is at home, is intriguing.

Alas, this is not enough for a recommendation. There are smaller, almost immaterial criticisms. Though it is set in France, there are a number of non-Gallic names thrown in: a police inspector named Morrow, a couple named Darwin. Verdoux’s son is called Peter, not Pierre. And William Frawley makes the least convincing Frenchman since Dan Aykroyd in a Conehead sketch. As well, there is a plot inconsistency: rather a big deal is made of Verdoux’s outright purchase of the house he lives in with his real wife and their son. Later, we learn that the house has been foreclosed. How can that be?

Monsieur Verdoux remains a movie that any student of cinema – and, of course, of Chaplin (he composed the music, too) – should see. But it left me wondering about the missed opportunity of Welles writing and directing a possibly heavier, more dramatic, film, or – a dream-collaboration – of a co-operative effort between Welles and Chaplin.

The Dogs of War (1980)

Directed by John Irvin; produced by Larry DeWaay

Jamie Shannon (Christopher Walken) is the leader of a small group of mercenaries, specializing in Third World conflicts. Fresh from a war in Central America, he is hired by a middle-man (Hugh Millais) working for big business, interested in the mining potential of the African nation of Zangaro. What is first a single-man reconnaissance to determine the political and military situation in the country, becomes a plan to overthrow its corrupt and murderous government. But the plan itself may be no less murderous.

An exciting adventure story from the novel by Frederick Forsyth (who also wrote The Day of the Jackal), The Dogs of War gives what appears to be a realistic interpretation of a limited mercenary action. The country depicted is fictional but could have been a stand-in for some of the smaller nations ruled by megalomaniacal tyrants, such as Equatorial Guinea.

A substantial part of the script depicts the character of Shannon, who is seen as a cynical man, with an essentially good heart, but who is ruled by his almost innate talent for warfare. This character study helps fuel the story and provides a character who, even if he is not warm and caring, nonetheless provides a sympathetic centre.

The screenplay also shows the preparations for the short, swift campaign: the purchase of weapons, the arrangement of transport, the dealing with arms traders and with the mission’s sponsors. Shannon’s associates (Tom Berenger, Paul Freeman and Jean-François Stévinen) are trusted cohorts, who are given the tasks of putting together the mission, as much as is Shannon himself. Their international character (American, British, French) may not be typical of many private armies, but demonstrates the personal ties involved, rather than political or ethnic. The dénouement is rather satisfying, as well.

The acting is very good, especially by Walken. His youthful (he was 37 at the time of filming but looks 25), almost effeminate appearance might seem detrimental to the image of a hardened soldier, but is contrasted with the intense feeling of latent fury and violence that is also present. The other actors are not as significant, though Colin Blakely does a good job as a semi-alcoholic journalist. Jim Broadbent has a bit part as a member of his crew, and Victoria Tennant appears as a dinner-guest.

The action is exciting, especially the extended battle at the climax. This is well-handled by the director, though there are a couple of scenes included for effect, rather than realism (eg. no soldier would allow himself to be silhouetted by fire in an open gateway.) There is little sentiment involved, and half-way through, Shannon receives a beating that would make Jim Rockford wince.

Surprisingly undated, considering the film is more than four decades old, The Dogs of War is an entertaining but thoroughly violent film about a dangerous and thoroughly violent undertaking.

The Violent Men (1955)

Directed by Rudolph Maté; produced by Lewis J Rachmil

John Parrish (Glenn Ford), a veteran of the American Civil War, had travelled west for his health, hoping to recover from a serious bullet wound. He not only recovered, but prospered, in a small way, founding a ranch and earning respect from his neighbours. His plans to return east after marrying his fiancée (May Winn), however, are endangered by the greed of land-owner Lew Wilkison (Edward G Robinson) and his wife (Barbara Stanwyck).

Despite the synopsis sounding like a great many other westerns of the era, The Violent Men turns out to be of a higher calibre than the average oater. For this, the credit should probably go to the writing and direction.

The story has the usual villains, a young psychopathic gunman (Richard Jaeckel) and Wilkison’s cunning brother, Cole (Brian Keith), but these are varied by Robinson’s and Stanwyck’s characters. Lew Wilkison is tough, but doesn’t really care for violence and has hesitated to go far enough to win his war against smaller land-owners. He’s a man with scruples, who has admiration for Parrish. While he has his agenda, his wife has another and Cole has a third; sometimes they work together, sometimes against each other

Parrish’s counter-offensive against the Wilkisons’ murderous campaign is interesting in that it makes use of the veteran’s expertise from the army. He figures into his plans his side’s smaller numbers, and uses topography against his enemies. As well as tactics, he has a strategy that is much more than the usual simple shoot-ups found in westerns.

In a twist on the standard battle-lines, farmers (‘to the south’) are not seen as a threat by the smaller ranchers; indeed, they become allies against Wilkison. There is some consideration given to the dynamics of the situation.

Director Maté made his name as a cinematographer, though he added some impressive credits to his resumé in his later profession, too, including D.O.A. and When Worlds Collide. The Violent Men is not his best work, but is pretty good, providing exciting fight scenes and tension when needed. There is a swift gun-fight that pits speed against accuracy, another unusual element in westerns. Another change is that the movie was filmed in colour not far from snow-covered mountains, providing a difference from the familiar desert badlands.

The acting is very good, though with the players it has, this is to be expected. Stanwyck comes off least well of the stars, though perhaps only because she has the least to work with, in terms of her talent. Most decent actresses could have filled her rôle. Ford is suitably steadfast, and Robinson elicits sympathy for several reasons, not the normal audience reaction to a villain. Keith effectively coats a vicious personality with seeming apathy.

Over all, The Violent Men, while it has aspects borrowed from other pictures of the genre, is an exciting and well-made cowboy movie, higher in grade than many.