Man From Del Rio (1956)

Directed by Harry Horner; produced by Robert L Jacks

David Robles (Anthony Quinn) has been waiting for Dan Ritchy (Barry Atwater) in the little town of Mesa since before sunrise. Having practised with a revolver for five years, Robles wants to avenge four men whom Ritchy, an outlaw with a notoriously rapid draw, murdered in the far away town of Del Rio. To everyone’s surprise - perhaps, most of all, his own - Robles kills Ritchy. His fame spreads; the townspeople want him as their new sheriff to replace the effete incumbent (Douglas Spencer), while a local businessman (Peter Whitney) has plans to use Robles himself.

What may seem like a standard western of a certain sub-genre - the outlaw turned lawman - is in some ways rather different than one’s expectations. Certainly, the story includes a number of the usual elements, such as the outsider failing to fit in, a man mistaking fear for respect, and thinking that the use to which he is being put is giving him a place in society, when he is, in fact, viewed as disposable. But some aspects raise Man From Del Rio above the commonplace.

Quinn’s performance is very good. His initial scene, when Robles confronts Ritchy, is well done, the former stammering his way toward a challenge, seemingly trying to persuade both himself and his opponent that he has the nerve to go through with the duel. Quinn’s Robles is insecure, a man lurching from confidence to doubt and back again, depending on how he perceives the reactions of those around him. He gives the impression of a man who was never required to be strong, realizing that his strength comes from himself, and not his firearm: an old story, to be sure, but well interpreted by Quinn.

Other actors do well, but the writing is the superior draw here. The script itself is just above mundane, though it has its moments. There is a good analogy made regarding the townsfolk’s use of Robles, a character saying that when one uses a snake to kill the rats in a house, one doesn’t befriend the snake after it’s done its job. There is also a good ending, which is a contrast to most western movie finales, relying on nerve and tension, rather than action.

But it’s the characters that are of most interest. While Katy Jurado’s Estella, as the obligatory love interest, is not given enough motivation to fall in love with Robles, she is nonetheless a well-devised personality. Whit Bissell is best known for supporting roles in which he plays authority figures. Here he is the town drunk, Breezy. At first seemingly comic relief, like a Jack Elam role, Breezy’s mercenary amorality has sharp consequences. And Whitney’s character, Ed Bannister, is not the normal villain with an eye on a company’s payroll or a big bank deposit. He has grander schemes in mind; his retirement plan, in a way.

It’s of note that Robles’s Hispanic origin is hardly referred to, except by villains. Other gunfighters (ie. murderers) call him ‘boy’, despite his obvious middle-age. As no one else calls him this, it may be taken as a condescension, similar to the denigration implied when used of adult black men. Indeed, the townspeople, though most do not respect Robles, don’t seem concerned by his ethnicity, any more than they are by Estella’s; their disdain for the new gunfighter stems from his killings.

While Man From Del Rio probably won’t convert anyone who dislikes westerns, it will satisfy those who favour the genre, and may win over those who like a decent, small budget movie with a few twists to its seemingly routine tale.

All Is Lost (2013)

Directed by J. C. Chandor; produced by Neal Dodson, Anna Gerb, Justin Nappi, Teddy Schwarzman

An old man (Robert Redford) wakes in his ocean-going 40-foot sailboat to find that while asleep, his vessel has collided with an adrift shipping container. The hole in the boat’s hull is the start of an eight-day ordeal for the sailor, testing his endurance and resourcefulness, all of which may not be enough to survive.

Unique among movies I have watched, All Is Lost is the only one with just one character, one actor. Redford must carry this film, and it says much for his ability, and that of the director, that he does. This is the greater praise for Redford being a player for whom I don’t have an affinity. He strikes me as always having been aloof in his performances, and has, in my opinion, rarely created sympathetic characters, the sort you can like. Unlike other ‘stars’, leading men such as Paul Newman or Brad Pitt, who often come across as likeable, people with whom one might want to be friends, Redford’s roles are of people whom you may wish to have on your side, but wouldn’t really want to spend time with.

Here, however, that quality works in the movie’s favour. Alone in the middle of the Indian Ocean, Redford’s character, unnamed but listed in the credits as ‘Our Man’, has no reason to be ingratiating. He doesn’t try to communicate to anyone except when he sees passing ships; otherwise, he has no one with whom to interact.

Nonetheless, there is communication. It would be a poor actor and director whose movie is devoid of it. I have read other reviews stating that the audience learns nothing of the sailor. I wonder if the reviewers in question think about the films as they watch them, or even afterward. For one thing, as a preamble, before the first scene opens, we hear Redford speaking, probably a vocalisation of what he writes later; those sentences tell us much. The fact that he doesn’t look at a gift card he was given (by his family?) suggests more. He wears a wedding ring, but is sailing alone, likely around the world, and his boat is named the ‘Virginia Jean’. He is perhaps a widower. His expressions, his actions, what he does or doesn’t do, all tell us about the man. Trying to interpret such clues is part of a well-written movie’s viewing.

The writing is good, though I don’t imagine the script was very long. Despite the short recitation at the start and an obscenity shouted in despair two thirds of the way through (the manner in which it is issued also says something about the man), All Is Lost is pretty much a silent movie. The sort of film it is probably dictated more than a little improvisation.

The story, I suspect, presents most of the flaws in All Is Lost. There are a number of actions and omissions by the sailor which were probably viewed with frustration and incredulity by real-life seamen. If I had more nautical knowledge, I might have as much negativity to write about in this review as I do in regard to historical or war movies. But I can review only what I know. The little of which I am aware in terms of sailing did lead me to question some things, such as the man’s attempts to patch his hull, or his full rig of sails in a storm.

The direction provides plenty of excitement and tension. Storms cannot be avoided by the character, especially in the second half of the film, when he has no power over his own navigation. Redford clearly did some of his own stunts, particularly those in the water, remarkable for a man 77 years old at the time. As well, the less obvious qualities of the direction allow the viewer to understand reasons and thoughts without having them spoken. This is critical in an almost wordless movie.

Regardless of its problems - and this is not a perfect movie - All Is Lost is riveting, with excellent photography and acting. Perhaps the worst element is the title: whether the story ends well or poorly for ‘Our Man’ - and I won’t write which it does - the title will likely turn away many viewers who, even if they can tolerate a sad finale, don’t want to be burdened by a pessimistic film. Ignore the name, then, and think of All Is Lost as a perfect candidate for the title The Old Man and the Sea - if that hadn’t already been taken.

Mister 880 (1950)

Directed by Edmund Goulding; produced by Julian Blaustein

A small-time counterfeiter (Edmund Gwenn) has been passing fake American one-dollar bills in New York City for ten years. He has eluded every effort by the United States Secret Service to catch him, despite the fact that the notes he produces are so amateurishly inept that ordinary citizens would recognise them as phonies - if they paid attention to them; the word ‘Washington’ on one side of the money is even spelled incorrectly. The authorities put a different investigator on the case every so often, and this time, Steve Buchanan (Burt Lancaster), is on the criminal’s trail - and interested in the translator (Dorothy McGuire) who was duped into taking some of the funny money.

Not amusing enough for a comedy and not romantic enough for a romance, Mister 880 rides gently along on the charm of its performers. Perhaps unexpectedly, the principal draw is not Lancaster, though he receives top billing. Indeed, his performance, though good, as his always are, does not seem to have involved much effort on his part. Then again, it probably didn’t require much.

The main star is really Gwenn, who plays the easy-going and thoroughly decent (except for his forgery) criminal. He immediately conveys the impression of someone everybody would like as a neighbour, an old man everybody would want to take care of, like an elderly uncle. McGuire is immensely appealing in her own right, and Millard Mitchell, as another Secret Service investigator, is always watchable.

The writing is acceptable, though it has nothing very interesting or clever to offer. A good example is Lancaster’s character. He’s tenacious and smart, but otherwise is not revealed in any great fashion. He spends a little time making up a limerick, though we don’t know why. Good-natured, he nonetheless is not depicted as particularly funny. McGuire’s character is shown as intelligent and quick - she swiftly perceives that she is, at first, the subject of the Secret Service’s investigation - and has a responsible job as a United Nations interpreter.

The romance between the two leads is credible but not involving. It is realistic in that the two develop feelings for each other during actual dates, rather than while working together or at odds over something, as is often the case for movie couples. Ordinary life, however, seldom makes for fascinating viewing.

The story-line is predictable, and maintains the viewer’s attention mostly through a desire to see Gwenn’s predicament to its conclusion, which is not exactly riveting. There is no tension or conflict, since the forger’s candour in most things defuses any potential for a troubling situation.

While there may seem to be little to recommend Mister 880 in this review, it can be said that it is a pleasant movie that will provide an evening’s gentle cinematic entertainment when one is surfeited with car-crashes and ridiculous dialogue. And that really isn’t bad at all.

Dunkirk (1958)

Directed by Leslie Norman; produced by Michael Balcon

The last days of May, 1940, saw the climax of the German invasion of France and the besieging of the British Expeditionary Force’s fighting formations at the port of Dunkirk, against the English Channel. Against all odds, the British managed to evacuate the majority of their men, to form the basis of the armies that would liberate western Europe four years later.

In December, 2017, I reviewed an identically titled movie about the same event. I wrote then that I was disappointed in it; watching this earlier version emphasized what the later was missing.

One of the big differences between the 1958 version and the 2017 is the script. The sheer amount of story that the ‘58 movie incorporates is impressive. This movie begins just before the German invasion of the Low Countries and France, and includes some indication of how disjointed the Allied retreat became under the intense pressure of the German assault. We see the break-up of some British units into small parties, trying to make their way to their comrades; we see French refugees, attacked and killed by German air attacks; we see the often hopeless but necessary sacrifice of rear-guard units.

Both films use fictionalised accounts mixed with real events, but the ’58 film includes a wider vision of the crisis. We are shown high-ranking personages, such as Lord Gort (Cyril Raymond), Commander-in-Chief of the BEF, making his momentous decision to disobey orders and use his reserves to keep a corridor open to the Channel, and Vice-Admiral Ramsay (Nicholas Hannen), commanding at Dover, masterminding the evacuation. These scenes are juxtaposed with those of fictional Corporal Binns (John Mills) trying to guide his section through the dangerous countryside after their officer is killed. This duality gives a good sense of both ends of the operation, neither really aware of, but each affecting, the other.

As well, the script manages to introduce a great deal of information by way of almost incidental scenes. The collapse of French morale upon the German breakthrough is conveyed in the reaction of a French reporter; the lack of British air support explained in a complaint by a distraught RAF aircraftsman. British movies of the era seemed adept at including background information in a casual manner. In terms of drama, the script is pretty straightforward, but manages to introduce real tension, as when Binns’s squad must slip through a German position at night, when they find that the enemy has inadvertently surrounded them, or when Ramsay is begging his superiors for more ships.

Something that also occurred to me about the writing is that the movie seems to have been produced when British films were still principally for British (that is, non-American) audiences. Words and phrases - and names - that would be familiar to Britons of that era would not immediately translate. For instance “u.s.” automobiles did not refer to their origin, but to them being “unserviceable”.

The acting is natural and credible. Especially good are Mills and Richard Attenborough, who plays a civilian. His character, a garage-owner, is not particularly brave, rather glad of his ‘reserved occupation’ and doesn’t want to put himself in danger. Even so, he is dissatisfied with his non-part in the war, and finds himself caught up in the fleet of ‘little ships’ that helps rescue the trapped soldiers. He is as representative of the ordinary civilian as Mills, a reluctant corporal (“I never wanted these stripes,” he says, to which a comrade replies, “Well, you got ‘em.”) is of the ordinary soldier.

When watching two movies about the same subject, one made sixty years after the other reinforced something else. It is that people acted in real life differently then, and it is difficult for modern actors, writers and directors to capture the manners then prevalent. It may be the greater cause of the different ‘feel’ of movies then than is simply the style of acting or directing.

On the subject of the latter, the direction is good, though the least impressive of the major aspects of the film. The amount of stock or archival footage is wisely restricted to shots of aeroplanes and a few images of the beach. Considering the contrast in technology (a cast of thousands in the ‘50s meant thousands of people, not computer images) and budget (even for its time, this Dunkirk’s funds were rather limited) between 1958 and 2017, this version of the most victorious defeat of World War Two is the better. On its own merits, too, Dunkirk is an excellent movie, a fine evening’s viewing for history fan and drama devotee alike.

Faces in the Dark (1960)

Directed by David Eady; produced by Jon Penington

Hard-driving industrialist Richard Hammond (John Gregson) is blinded in a factory accident, and must learn to manage life with the help of his wife, Christiane (Mai Zetterling), who had been thinking of divorcing him, and his partner, David Merton (Michael Denison), whom he had been treating as little better than an errand-boy. The struggle is difficult for the independently-minded victim, but it grows worse as he begins to suspect he may be losing his mind.

Sometimes, entertaining and imaginative movies can result from such low-budget thrillers as Faces in the Dark. The movie so entitled is not, however, an example of that. As is often the case, this movie starts out well. Hammond is far from sympathetic, but Gregson’s performance manages to put the audience in his corner. The other performances are good or adequate. Nanette Newman has a small role as a maid, and John Ireland has a rare sympathetic role as Gregson’s ne’er-do-well brother, who is nonetheless fond of his sibling.

While much in such a film may be contributed by the acting, what a thriller - by nature a combination of mystery and psychological drama - depends upon is the story. The story here lets the movie down. Its complexity demands from the writers not just attention to detail but to logic. When a character or characters practice deception, the viewer has a right to ask not only if the motive fits, but if the plot (ie. the character’s scheme to deceive) makes sense.

In Faces in the Dark,  it does not. As an example, one may point to the expense of the plan launched and ask if it was feasible in a situation in which the character undertaking it is short of money; indeed, that may be a reason why he is doing what he is doing. The expansiveness of the plan, not just the expensiveness, must be questioned, as well. The story has the feel of a clever situation devised first, with thought then unsuccessfully devoted to determining how to reach it. There are too many questions, not unanswered, but the answers to which are unsatisfactory.

I don’t believe Faces in the Dark was attempting a Hitchcockian tale or atmosphere; the direction would not have been close to good enough. But it perhaps had been trying, albeit unconsciously, for an Agatha Christie-type thriller, as in her books that did not feature one of her regular detectives. No easier to achieve than a Hitchcock copy, the movie failed in this respect, too. Its outcome is a feeling of dissatisfaction, and wasted opportunity - and wasted time.

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman (1951)

Directed by Albert Lewin; produced by Albert Lewin and Joseph Kaufmann

Into the life of a jaded beauty (Ava Gardner) living in a Spanish coastal town comes a mysterious Dutchman (James Mason). Seemingly immune to her charms, indeed, seeming to know more about her than she knows herself, the woman is drawn to him, despite her engagement to a professional driver (Nigel Patrick) and the attentions of a matador (Mario Cabré). She cannot know that the relationship will end as part of a centuries-old myth.

A most entertaining movie, Pandora and the Flying Dutchman somehow manages to maintain one’s interest throughout, despite the knowledge, given to the viewer in the first few minutes, of how the story will end. This it does with a running time of just over two hours, greater than most films of the period. It’s style and narrative reminded me a great deal of Powell and Pressburger (“The Archers”) at their best; perhaps this is influenced by the vibrant colours used.

The story manages to bring together discouragement, despair, longing and hope, all at once. It combines ancient Greek and medieval Dutch myths. It may have seemed an arbitrary pairing, but it is not. If anything detrimental, it may be a bit awkward. Nonetheless, this presents both leading characters, male and female, to be in need of hope, possibly redemption. The Flying Dutchman is cursed for a heinous and prideful crime, while Pandora is responsible for unleashing all of mankind’s ills upon the world. Indeed, in the movie, the alluring Pandora drives men to their destruction; not through her own fault, however, but through their weakness in seeing her superficially. Hendrik van den Zee does not bother with her looks; he is seeking something deeper.

The script allows - also like those of The Archers’ movies - for digression, as might a novel. We see Patrick’s attempt to break the world land-speed record. This adds little to the story but involves us in the characters’ world. The writing and directing is such that the viewer doesn’t consider it superfluous to the film, which it is, but as an exciting minor adventure to be shared with the people in the film.

The characters are well defined, and not limited to mythical types. Pandora, for instance, taunts men with what she knows is her power over them. In fact, she is testing them, to find something different. She seems dismissive of others, including a plainer rival (Sheila Sim), yet may feel not a little envy of them.

The acting is very good. Mason may come across as more stiff than Gardner but this is in keeping with the character, who has had several lifetimes in which to hone his despair. His reserve is a kind of shield. Deliberately, Gardner’s character too is given a shield, though hers is more flippant and cynical. Both actors fit their roles well. Supporting players are meant to do just that and here they fulfill their roles admirably, especially Harold Warrender (who died at only fifty, a few years later), whose antiquarian provides the sparse narration and the bridge between what the characters see and what is truly occurring.

The direction and cinematography take advantage of the arresting scenery - and the history - of Spain’s northeastern Mediterranean coast. There are a number of intriguing images, making use of buildings, statues, and the vivid blue of the sea and sky.

Pandora and the Flying Dutchman is an excellent modern interpretation of the venerable myth, a fantasy and romance, in which adults act like adults. It’s a film that probably couldn’t be made today: though it did very well at the box-office, it seems like the product of people who wanted to tell a beautiful story, regardless of whether anyone would watch it or not.

(You may note that, bizarrely, the poster takes no advantage of the movie’s Technicolor: the colour image is an artist’s rendering, and the other pictures are in black and white. There is even what looks to be a sketch from the film’s storyboard!)