Spend
eleven million dollars (that was a lot of money in 1970-1971), cast classic
Hollywood stars like Kirk Douglas and Yul Brynner, hire an international
production crew from Spain, Italy, and France, appoint Alexander and Ilya
Salkind as producers (with Douglas himself credited as producer), and adapt a
little-known public domain novel by Jules Verne about pirates in the Cape Horn
area in 1865, and you’ve got the ingredients for a rousing, epic
action/adventure flick to rival Journey to the Center of the Earth or 20,000
Leagues Under the Sea, right?
Unfortunately,
something went wrong. The Light at the Edge of the World flopped at the
box office, and, while the picture has its fans—who will welcome this
impressive new Blu-ray restoration from Kino Lorber—the movie is a dud.
Douglas
plays Will Denton, a lighthouse keeper on an isolated island. His only
companions are a crusty sea captain (Fernando Rey), young Felipe (Massimo
Ranieri), and a cute monkey named Mario. One day, a group of truly nasty
pirates, led by the sadistic Jonathan Kongre (Brynner), arrives. They proceed
to murder the captain, Felipe, and, in a particularly disgusting moment, the
monkey. Denton hides out amidst the caves and rocks on the island, and for the
rest of the movie attempts to pick off the pirates, guerilla style. Soon,
though, a ship of innocent travelers sails by. The pirates kill off everyone on
board except a Arabella (Samantha Eggar, who coincidentally is the spitting
image of the woman who broke Denton’s heart back in America). Kongre decides to
keep Arabella alive for himself. From then on, the tale becomes a case of one
man against a small army, with a final showdown, of course, between the two
leads.
On
paper it sounds exciting enough. However, one of the problems that struck this
reviewer today is the level of cruelty enacted by the pirates throughout
the movie. There are sequences of serious violence, and the film was rated only
PG at the time! Granted, in those days, the MPAA was rather lenient in the
movie ratings when it came to violence—this was the year of Dirty Harry,
Straw Dogs, and A Clockwork Orange (which were rated,
respectively, R, R, and X, although Orange was eventually re-rated to
R). Light at the Edge contains R-rated violence and scenes of torture;
perhaps they got away with the PG because the producer/star was Douglas—who knows?
Besides
the relative unpleasantness of the feature, there’s nothing exceptionally
striking about it. Douglas delivers a solid “Kirk Douglas†performance, but
Brynner is simply awful. He’s suitably wicked in an “I’m-so-villainous†manner,
but it’s obvious he’s walking through it for the paycheck. Every beat of the
lighthouse keeper’s battle to regain control of the island is predictable and
oddly unsatisfying. The look of the picture also lacks that cinematic sweep
that usually accompanies such fare as Center of the Earth, 20,000
Leagues, or even something like the 1962 Mutiny on the Bounty. The
thing feels like it was, well, made for television.
Perhaps
it was the skinning of the monkey that turned off this reviewer.
Kino
Lorber’s high definition restoration is quite well-done visually and sonically.
The feature comes with English subtitles for the hearing impaired, and there’s
an audio commentary by film historians Howard S. Berger and Nathaniel Thompson,
who appreciate the picture much more than this reviewer. Producer Ilya Salkind
and director Kevin Billington make cameo commentary as well, and this adds some
extra value to the proceedings. Other supplements are a radio spot and
theatrical trailers to this and other Kino Lorber titles.
As
mentioned above, there are indeed fans of The Light at the Edge of the World,
and this Blu-ray will be cherished by them and those admirers of Douglas and
Brynner who will undoubtedly forgive the actors for lesser works.
It
was a pleasant surprise to find the one motion picture directed by actor Karl
Malden to be a riveting, well-acted military legal drama along the lines of The
Caine Mutiny, but made at half the cost. Released in 1957, Time Limit
was based on a Broadway play by Henry Denker and Ralph Berkey and is a story
set mostly in one room. Like the same year’s 12 Angry Men, the movie
features some fine known and up-and-coming actors in a talky, but engaging,
conflict.
Richard
Widmark (who also co-produced the film) stars as Army Colonel Bill Edwards, who
must oversee an investigation into the actions of Major Henry Cargill (Richard
Basehart) when he was a POW during the Korean War. Cargill and eighteen other
American soldiers were held captive in harsh conditions. Two men died,
allegedly from dysentery, and Cargill ended up committing treason by
cooperating with the enemy and participating in North Korean propaganda. One of
the men who died was the son of General Connors (Carl Benton Reid), who is
Edwards’ boss. It is up to Edwards to find out if a court-martial is in order,
but there’s something fishy about the surviving soldiers’ stories—and Cargill
refuses to talk.
As
the secrets come out, the tension builds. Director Malden does a fine job with
the material, but the picture is genuinely carried by the excellent
performances by not only Widmark and Basehart (who was nominated for a BAFTA
Award for his role), but also a very young Rip Torn as one of the prisoners,
Martin Balsam as Edwards’ smart aleck right-hand man, and Dolores Michaels as
the super-smart Corporal Evans, who acts as Edwards’ secretary and court
reporter. In fact, it is Evans who ultimately guides Edwards through the
puzzle. June Lockhart, as Cargill’s wife, additionally has a striking dramatic
scene worthy of an award.
The
picture never feels like it needs to be “opened up.†The dialogue is crisp and
pointed (the script was adapted by co-playwright Denker) and doesn’t feel
stagy. Notably, Time Limit was released by United Artists, which at the
time was rapidly becoming one of the major players in Hollywood by allowing
filmmakers to follow their visions.
The
quality of Kino Lorber’s new Blu-ray restoration is quite good, on par with
other releases from the same period by the company. There are English subtitles
for the hearing impaired, but sadly no supplemental features other than
theatrical trailers for this and other Kino releases.
Even
though it is not particularly well-known today, Time Limit is a
late-fifties Hollywood gem.
The
novel Beau Geste by Percival Christopher Wren was published in 1924 and
has been adapted to film no less than four times and parodied a few instances as
well. It’s a classic story of the French Foreign Legionnaires set in the years
between the turn of the 20th Century and the First World War, and for nearly a hundred
years it has been deemed one of the great adventure tales.
The
1939 adaptation, directed by William A. Wellman, was the second filmed version
and is generally considered the best and certainly most well-known variation
(the first was a silent picture made in 1926 and starring Ronald Colman). With
an outstanding cast that includes Gary Cooper, Ray Milland, Robert Preston,
Brian Donlevy, Susan Hayward, J. Carrol Naish, Broderick Crawford, Albert
Dekker, and even a young Donald O’Connor, Beau Geste is indeed a rousing
“Arabian†action flick, but it’s also an intimate tale of the bond between
three brothers.
Cooper
is Beau Geste, the oldest of the three siblings who were adopted by the wealthy
Brandon family in England. His brothers are John (Milland) and Digby (Preston),
but there’s also Isobel (Hayward), Lady Brandon’s ward (with whom John is madly
in love), and Augustus (George P. Huntley), the Brandons’ nephew and heir to
the family fortune. Sir Brandon has abandoned the family for reasons not
entirely clear, so it’s up to Lady Brandon (Heather Thatcher) to head the
household and keep safe the MacGuffin of the story—a valuable sapphire called
the Blue Water. One day, Beau seemingly steals the gem and runs away to join
the Foreign Legionnaires. He is quickly joined by his two brothers, hoping to
get to the bottom of the theft.
The
commanding officer, Sergeant Markoff (Donlevy), is the heavy—cruel and overly
demanding of his men. There are a few subplots and action sequences such as an
attempted mutiny and skirmishes with the Arabs in the desert around the
Legionnaires’ fort, but ultimately the story comes down to what really happened
to the Blue Water. Without giving too much away, Beau’s name, in French, means
“a gallant gesture.â€
Beau
Geste was
one of the year’s most popular films. It’s well-shot by Theodor Sparkuhl and Archie
Stout, and Wellman’s direction—especially of the battle scenes—is superb. Wellman
was a consummate studio craftsman who worked in many genres, but he was at his
best with action pictures (his 1927 Wings won the first Academy Award
for Best Picture). Oddly, though, Beau Geste received only one Oscar
nomination—Supporting Actor for Donlevy (who is indeed marvelous as the
baddie).
Kino
Lorber’s new high definition Blu-ray looks great for most of the 112-minute
runtime, but there are a handful of sequences in which artifacts and scratches
are still apparent. There are English subtitles for the hearing impaired, and a
very interesting audio commentary by William Wellman Jr. and historian Frank
Thompson. The only supplements are the theatrical trailers for this and other
recent Kino Lorber releases.
Many
film scholars cite 1939 as one of the great years in cinema history, and Beau
Geste is definitely a component of this acclaim. Highly recommended.
Victor
Halperin and his brother Edward were a Hollywood filmmaking team in the early
30s who specialized in low budget schlock, for lack of a better description.
Sort of the William Castle of the era. For example, they were responsible for
the Bela Lugosi eye-roller, White Zombie (1932).
How
they got Carole Lombard to star in this hoot of a pre-code horror film is more
of a wonder than the film itself, but here she is in all her blonde beauty,
playing a non-comedic, almost villainous, role. Supernatural is exactly
the type of movie you might have seen as a kid on the Friday or Saturday late night
TV horror presentation hosted by a kitsch spooky host like Elvira or Svengoolie
or Count Floyd of “Monster Chiller Horror Theater†(SCTV fans will get
that reference). The flick is short, cheap, unintentionally funny, and dumb—but
a heck of a lot of fun for its sixty-four-minute runtime.
Lombard
reportedly didn’t enjoy making the film, but she’s surprisingly effective at
being the grieving, innocent, and beautiful Roma who then turns deliciously
nasty after Ruth has taken over her body. Dinehart is appropriately campy in
his part as the main villain, but poor Randolph Scott, as Roma’s boyfriend, is
wasted in a set-dressing part. The visual effects, such as they are, are of the
ilk achieved with lighting, shadows, and a few wires.
Kino
Lorber’s high definition restoration looks remarkably good, and it comes with
English subtitles for the hearing impaired. The only supplement is an audio
commentary by the reliable film historian Tim Lucas, along with trailers for
this and other recent Kino Lorber releases.
So,
turn out the lights, kids, and put on this verrrry scary movie! You’ll
have nightmares for days!—or at least a few laughs.
We
lost one of the world’s great thespians on March 8, 2020, and it’s sad that so
many in the U.S. know him only from such Hollywood-fare franchises such as Star
Wars, Game of Thrones, and even James Bond.
In
fact, my Facebook and Twitter feeds on March 9 were full of tributes to the
late Max von Sydow, but I despaired to see so many Bond fans acknowledge him only
for what amounted to a five-minute-ish cameo as Ernst Stavro Blofeld in the
1983 non-Eon Productions 007 picture, Never Say Never Again. REALLY? That’s
what you remember him for?
Max
von Sydow was so, so much more than Blofeld, or Lor San Tekka, or the
Three-Eyed Raven, or even Father Merrin (The Exorcist). (Interestingly,
there is some evidence to suggest that von Sydow was considered to play the
title role of Dr. No, which was eventually taken by Joseph Wiseman.)
For
me, I knew Max von Sydow through the films of the late Ingmar Bergman. (I
wonder how many of those well-meaning Bond fans posting photos of von Sydow as
Blofeld have even seen a Bergman film.) For it was in these pictures by
the Swedish master where von Sydow truly shined. He delivered the performances
of his life in the eleven titles he made with Bergman between 1957 and 1971. Of
course, von Sydow starred in many other international art-house movies outside
of Hollywood, and it is for all of these that he deserves the acclaim he has
been receiving since his death at the age of 90.
I
initially became aware of both Max von Sydow and Ingmar Bergman when I saw The
Seventh Seal (1957) for the first time as a freshman in the Drama
Department at the University of Texas at Austin (Texas). I had become friends
with Stuart Howard, who was serving with me on the tech crew of a play in
production, and we hit it off—mainly because of our love of movies. One day,
Stuart asked me, “The Seventh Seal is playing on campus tonight, have
you seen it?†I vaguely knew that it was a foreign language film, but not much
more (hey, I was young, and prior to moving to Austin, Texas, I had little to
no exposure to international cinema). When I replied that I hadn’t, he said,
“We’re going!†And I’m so glad that Stuart pushed me to go with him to see this
mesmerizing, deeply moving motion picture that quite frankly was one of those eureka
moments in my intellectual and artistic development. To this day, I count The
Seventh Seal as one of my favorite films of all time, and, by the way,
Stuart is still one of my closest friends.
Seal
is
really an ensemble picture, but von Sydow is undoubtedly the lead as Antonius
Block, a knight returning with his squire from the Crusades to a plague-ridden
Sweden. His existential crisis is the center of the film as he challenges Death
to an ongoing game of chess throughout the story to delay the inevitable. I was
immediately struck by von Sydow’s passion, uniquely thin physical shape, and remarkably
clear eyes (which were arresting even in black and white).
Seeing
art-house and foreign language films on campus were the only way to catch them
in those days. In the coming weeks, I attended more Bergman and von Sydow
collaborations… and then he appeared in the Hollywood blockbuster, The
Exorcist (1973). Most people around me in the audience had no idea who he
was, but I did.
After
that, I became aware of von Sydow’s previous Hollywood work, such as The
Greatest Story Ever Told (1965), but even up to the time of The Exorcist,
von Sydow’s work had mostly been international.
His
co-star in the Bergman films after 1968 was often Liv Ullmann. Together, they
portrayed husband and wife in a number of titles, the most memorable being Hour
of the Wolf and Shame from ‘68. They were also a couple in Jan
Troell’s Oscar-nominated The Emigrants (1971) and its sequel, The New
Land (1972). These two masterworks could very well be the defining
cinematic statements by both von Sydow and Ullmann.
And
one must not forget his Best Actor Oscar nomination for Pelle the Conqueror (1987),
which won the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film that year. (His
second and last Oscar nomination was for Supporting Actor in 2011 for Extremely
Loud & Incredibly Close. It’s a shame he never won a trophy.)
Thus,
for me, the loss of von Sydow was much more than the popcorn franchises he
began to appear in repeatedly in his later years. Okay, granted, he did bring
elements of grace, class, and intelligence to all of those roles, too—and here
are just a few of those titles: Three Days of the Condor (1975), Voyage
of the Damned (1976), Hurricane (1979), Flash Gordon (1980,
as Ming!), Conan the Barbarian (1982), Strange Brew (1983), Dreamscape
(1984), Dune (1984), Hannah and Her Sisters (1986), Awakenings
(1990), A Kiss Before Dying (1991), Needful Things (1993), Judge
Dredd (1995), What Dreams May Come (1998), Minority Report
(2002), and Shutter Island (2010).
Rest
in peace, Max. Say hello to Ingmar for me.
Max
von Sydow’s Collaborations with Ingmar Bergman: