I wanted to like ATTACK, and it gets every break Jack Palance, Lee Marvin and Eddie Albert ever get from me, which is many breaks indeed; but to call this movie an overlooked gem is to confuse ice with zirconium. Marvin is indestructible, even with a cardboard character and newsprint lines, but Albert is atypically embarrassing, and Palance gives a performance so overwrought he can't stop screaming even after he's dead.
These fine actors stand around a series of bunkers, declaiming if they're playing officers or mumbling as enlisted men, their endless chatter relieved by brief exterior shots of the Albertson Ranch. A social responsibility drama right out of 50s television plays out with no visible progression of story or revelation of character. Periodically we are treated to some of the least eventful combat to come out of the ETO. Finally there's a consequence to somebody's action - who cares whose, it's all so boring; but at last Palance spends five minutes trading body blows with an armored vehicle that resembles a Panzer nearly as much as it does a Checker Cab. The Ben Holt treatment is pretty intense, but this scene by its near-competence magnifies the flaws of the previous hour and a half, and renders unwatchable the remaining fifteen minutes.
A talky war picture can be fine, if the dialog wasn't already tired back on Bataan. This story was abducted from the stage, and still feels more play than film. It looks more like a teleplay. Aldrich movies always look like they were produced for TV, but any given hour of COMBAT! at least has a developed plot, a sound act structure, and a couple of decent wisecracks. James Poe adapted several plays to the screen, with varying degrees of faithfulness and quality, but never quite so unsuccessfully as here. I haven't read FRAGILE FOX, but I hope it was better than this. It probably was as long as Aldrich didn't direct it. He doesn't pose actors so much as suspend them. Static isn't the word; it's like being surrounded by Army Surplus mannequins with moving lips. Who repeat themselves.
And the music! Frank DeVol, or DeVol, as he cunningly rechristened himself in the 60s, was born to score Summer's Eve commercials and Bionic Man episodes. Through some cosmic clerical error he was allowed a long, destructive career in cinema. He serenades us with synthetic jazz, then takes a hammer to the piano wires, plucks them, strangles them. Then he strings up a cheap little waltz to follow emotional moments. BABY JANE's music has nothing on ATTACK for pure cheesy theatrics. At least the score for BABY JANE supported Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, who were enormous enough to drown it out. By contrast, Eddie Albert and Jack Palance merely help carry DeVol and Aldrich's gigantically unpleasant tune.
These fine actors stand around a series of bunkers, declaiming if they're playing officers or mumbling as enlisted men, their endless chatter relieved by brief exterior shots of the Albertson Ranch. A social responsibility drama right out of 50s television plays out with no visible progression of story or revelation of character. Periodically we are treated to some of the least eventful combat to come out of the ETO. Finally there's a consequence to somebody's action - who cares whose, it's all so boring; but at last Palance spends five minutes trading body blows with an armored vehicle that resembles a Panzer nearly as much as it does a Checker Cab. The Ben Holt treatment is pretty intense, but this scene by its near-competence magnifies the flaws of the previous hour and a half, and renders unwatchable the remaining fifteen minutes.
A talky war picture can be fine, if the dialog wasn't already tired back on Bataan. This story was abducted from the stage, and still feels more play than film. It looks more like a teleplay. Aldrich movies always look like they were produced for TV, but any given hour of COMBAT! at least has a developed plot, a sound act structure, and a couple of decent wisecracks. James Poe adapted several plays to the screen, with varying degrees of faithfulness and quality, but never quite so unsuccessfully as here. I haven't read FRAGILE FOX, but I hope it was better than this. It probably was as long as Aldrich didn't direct it. He doesn't pose actors so much as suspend them. Static isn't the word; it's like being surrounded by Army Surplus mannequins with moving lips. Who repeat themselves.
And the music! Frank DeVol, or DeVol, as he cunningly rechristened himself in the 60s, was born to score Summer's Eve commercials and Bionic Man episodes. Through some cosmic clerical error he was allowed a long, destructive career in cinema. He serenades us with synthetic jazz, then takes a hammer to the piano wires, plucks them, strangles them. Then he strings up a cheap little waltz to follow emotional moments. BABY JANE's music has nothing on ATTACK for pure cheesy theatrics. At least the score for BABY JANE supported Bette Davis and Joan Crawford, who were enormous enough to drown it out. By contrast, Eddie Albert and Jack Palance merely help carry DeVol and Aldrich's gigantically unpleasant tune.