I never believed that I would ever see Richard Attenborough in a movie in which he seemed to be overacting. I mean "Attenborough" and "overacting" don't belong in the same sentence. Yet here he is, as the Sergeant Major left in charge of half a dozen non-commissioned officers at a British Army post in Africa, the highest rank an enlisted man can achieve, and he enacts a blustering stereotype, his mess hall accent full of roller coaster contours.
Actually I didn't mind it too much. Make up has aged him, given him and intense, almost crazed look, and the director, John Guillerman, seems to have given Attenborough his own leash, and Sir Richard takes off with it. He's a bundle of fiercely constrained potential energy. He never walks. He strides. He snaps out orders to African and British soldiers alike. He insists on proper decorum. He will not recognize an African colonel who has just taken over the country and is threatening to destroy the British post with 40 millimeter cannons -- until the infuriated colonel removes his cap in the mess hall. First things first.
It's mostly a filmed play that takes place in the Sergeants' Mess, and it looks it. There are a few outdoor scenes but they're brief, and mostly filmed at night.
The performers all look properly sweaty. They're competent too, though none stand out except Attenborough and a few scenes with the ever-reliable Jack Hawkins, who breezes through his part in a state of quizzical tranquility. The women -- Flora Robeson and the teen-aged Mia Farrow, are mostly along for the ride. Farrow looks plumper, more succulent, than we're used to seeing her.
The story is fairly comic at first, concentrating on the men's resigned acceptance of Attenborough's by-the-book military character. When he spins a tale at the bar, the other men can mouth the story silently word for word.
He performs an heroic deed at the end, but unknowingly he does it after the conflict is resolved. At the request of the new African president, Attenborough is sent back to England. He's not reprimanded or court martialed but it's a definite slap in the face, considering what he accomplished. Later, alone in the mess, he flings a glass of whiskey at the portrait of Queen Victoria, then hurriedly tries to cover up signs of the deed. The significance of the act may have escaped me. I'd have to guess that he, who has lauded the British Army from the beginning, feels that it has turned on him, and that Victoria represents the Army. Instead of a decoration, he's gotten a boot in the pants. If that isn't why he hurls the glass at the picture, I don't know what it is.
It's not a bad film and I realize Richard Attenborough has received a cornucopia of kudos for his performance, but it's still a stereotype, a kind of Colonel Blimp. This was shot in 1963 when the British Empire was in the process of contracting and it occurs to me that it might seem dated now, except that as this is being written, the United States is having an almost identical problem in Iraq.
Actually I didn't mind it too much. Make up has aged him, given him and intense, almost crazed look, and the director, John Guillerman, seems to have given Attenborough his own leash, and Sir Richard takes off with it. He's a bundle of fiercely constrained potential energy. He never walks. He strides. He snaps out orders to African and British soldiers alike. He insists on proper decorum. He will not recognize an African colonel who has just taken over the country and is threatening to destroy the British post with 40 millimeter cannons -- until the infuriated colonel removes his cap in the mess hall. First things first.
It's mostly a filmed play that takes place in the Sergeants' Mess, and it looks it. There are a few outdoor scenes but they're brief, and mostly filmed at night.
The performers all look properly sweaty. They're competent too, though none stand out except Attenborough and a few scenes with the ever-reliable Jack Hawkins, who breezes through his part in a state of quizzical tranquility. The women -- Flora Robeson and the teen-aged Mia Farrow, are mostly along for the ride. Farrow looks plumper, more succulent, than we're used to seeing her.
The story is fairly comic at first, concentrating on the men's resigned acceptance of Attenborough's by-the-book military character. When he spins a tale at the bar, the other men can mouth the story silently word for word.
He performs an heroic deed at the end, but unknowingly he does it after the conflict is resolved. At the request of the new African president, Attenborough is sent back to England. He's not reprimanded or court martialed but it's a definite slap in the face, considering what he accomplished. Later, alone in the mess, he flings a glass of whiskey at the portrait of Queen Victoria, then hurriedly tries to cover up signs of the deed. The significance of the act may have escaped me. I'd have to guess that he, who has lauded the British Army from the beginning, feels that it has turned on him, and that Victoria represents the Army. Instead of a decoration, he's gotten a boot in the pants. If that isn't why he hurls the glass at the picture, I don't know what it is.
It's not a bad film and I realize Richard Attenborough has received a cornucopia of kudos for his performance, but it's still a stereotype, a kind of Colonel Blimp. This was shot in 1963 when the British Empire was in the process of contracting and it occurs to me that it might seem dated now, except that as this is being written, the United States is having an almost identical problem in Iraq.