Yul Brynner is a CIA agent who hasn't seen his son in two years, so when the son is killed at a small Austrian ski resort, Brynner is driven by guilt to find his murderer and uncover the motive.
Revenge gives Brynner an opportunity to glower his way through the entire film. His face seems carved of wood. If he changed his expression in the slightest, I missed it.
He's been with The Company so long that he's paranoid as well as angry. He thinks something is up, something to do with his job at the CIA, and he's determined to unravel the mystery that may exist only inside his head. He belts Britt Ekland around when she's trying to help him, and he tears half her dress off. The former is a bad idea. Oh, he's ignoble. He never says hello or thanks anyone.
I don't know exactly how much of this absurd plot I should give away. Maybe a hint. The Soviet Union has tricked him into coming to Austria for his son's funeral. They intend to kill Brynner and plant an exact substitute in his place. It gets twisted until the end, which is hopeful but still a little fuzzy. We hope for the best.
Okay, so Brynner has the plasticity of a cigar store Indian, but at least with Britt Ekland you get that face, so full of good bone structure, the enormous blue doll's eyes, and the plump round lips providing a soupçon of sensuality. Well, more than a soupçon. In the context of her diminutive frame that overgenerous mouth looks like it could suck you up through a soda straw.
The problem is that the entire movie seems awfully dumb. Ernie Freeman has overorchestrated it until it seems there's hardly a second without throbbing violins or pounding drums. And this William Wilson notion of substituting an exact duplicate is silly.
Casting is no help. The ligneous Brynner aside, the chief heavy is Anton Differing, who works for the Commies here, although he's clearly meant to be a German and, in fact, alludes to having "lost two wars." He's been a Nazi in more movies than I can remember. And his Number One, George Mikell, was Sessler, the Gestapo sadist, in "The Guns of Navarone." Hollywood never has trouble switching the identity of the villains around. It's either the Nazis or the Russians. Makes no difference. We hate both of them.
Nice features include beautiful shots of the Austrian Alps during the Easter festival, a reasonably perceptive portrayal by Clive Reville of a man torn between duty and self containment, and the scene in which Britt Ekland has her dress torn half off.
Revenge gives Brynner an opportunity to glower his way through the entire film. His face seems carved of wood. If he changed his expression in the slightest, I missed it.
He's been with The Company so long that he's paranoid as well as angry. He thinks something is up, something to do with his job at the CIA, and he's determined to unravel the mystery that may exist only inside his head. He belts Britt Ekland around when she's trying to help him, and he tears half her dress off. The former is a bad idea. Oh, he's ignoble. He never says hello or thanks anyone.
I don't know exactly how much of this absurd plot I should give away. Maybe a hint. The Soviet Union has tricked him into coming to Austria for his son's funeral. They intend to kill Brynner and plant an exact substitute in his place. It gets twisted until the end, which is hopeful but still a little fuzzy. We hope for the best.
Okay, so Brynner has the plasticity of a cigar store Indian, but at least with Britt Ekland you get that face, so full of good bone structure, the enormous blue doll's eyes, and the plump round lips providing a soupçon of sensuality. Well, more than a soupçon. In the context of her diminutive frame that overgenerous mouth looks like it could suck you up through a soda straw.
The problem is that the entire movie seems awfully dumb. Ernie Freeman has overorchestrated it until it seems there's hardly a second without throbbing violins or pounding drums. And this William Wilson notion of substituting an exact duplicate is silly.
Casting is no help. The ligneous Brynner aside, the chief heavy is Anton Differing, who works for the Commies here, although he's clearly meant to be a German and, in fact, alludes to having "lost two wars." He's been a Nazi in more movies than I can remember. And his Number One, George Mikell, was Sessler, the Gestapo sadist, in "The Guns of Navarone." Hollywood never has trouble switching the identity of the villains around. It's either the Nazis or the Russians. Makes no difference. We hate both of them.
Nice features include beautiful shots of the Austrian Alps during the Easter festival, a reasonably perceptive portrayal by Clive Reville of a man torn between duty and self containment, and the scene in which Britt Ekland has her dress torn half off.