Nineteen seventeen. Imagine a full-blown 20th-century war fought on horseback. I don't know exactly why this wasn't a more popular movie because it's pretty good. It's made for mature audiences in the sense that so many emotions and attitudes are left unspoken, just as they are in real life, their presence betrayed only by a glance or an expression.
I have no idea what the budget looked like but the movie has characteristics associated with fully fledged feature films, not made-for-TV quickies. The camera catches the sweep of the desert, the impressive arched architecture of the Middle East, the isolation of the units, and the gradual integration of newcomers into sometimes hostile elite groups. I guess the wardrobe is accurate. A casual shot of someone's brown riding boots shows the extra patch of leather across the upper arch to protect against abrasion from the stirrups. Myriad extras.
There's little in the way of back story except what emerges in everyday conversation, and there were times when I was lost while trying to keep the flow chart of command in mind. Perhaps it wouldn't be a problem for an Australian audience. At least at first, it was also difficult to keep the actors straight. It's an ensemble movie and a handful of characters are kept in focus while many others come and go. The identical uniforms are a kind of identity mask and the actors (who are all quite professional) are all handsome and fit young men with similar Aussie personalities -- cheerful, witty, somewhat embarrassed by sentiment, responsible, kinetic, and eager for a challenge, as if it were a sporting contest -- a horse race or a cricket match. I love the Aussies, having lived among them for a while. But this movie is one of those where some familiar Australian faces would be welcome, like Mel Gibson, Eric Bana, Russell Crowe, or -- especially -- Nicole Kidman or Naomi Watts, preferably out of uniform. Not to mention the immortal Chips Rafferty.
When wounded during an air attack one of the men winds up in hospital, attended by a toothsome young nurse. My nurses never look like that. They all remind me of Miss Pavor de Grunt, my fifth grade algebra teacher. There are some amusing scenes. General Allenby arrives to take command. (Jack Hawkins was Allenby in "Lawrence of Arabia.") He and his staff are British. The Australians are subordinates. And the "Pommy bastards" strut around impeccably uniformed even at the rest camp. A British officer registers a complaint that the Aussies are wearing shorts. He knows this is a rest camp but after all. Moments later he's astonished to see men riding their horses bareback -- both man and horse -- through the gentle surf.
There are scenes of combat scattered throughout the plot and a final heroic cavalry charge. The Turks, whom we tend to think of as indecisive warriors, give a good account of themselves and make the Allies pay dearly, although of course there is never any doubt about who are the good guys and the bad guys.
The scenes on horseback are striking. There's nothing like horse in full stride, going like hell, while the horseman stands slightly in the stirrups and doesn't bounce an inch. Staying on a galloping horse requires experience. I once applied for a job as an extra in a cavalry charge in a movie dealing with the pursuit of Pancho Villa in Mexico. They turned me down when they learned how few horses could be seen in Newark, New Jersey.
I have no idea what the budget looked like but the movie has characteristics associated with fully fledged feature films, not made-for-TV quickies. The camera catches the sweep of the desert, the impressive arched architecture of the Middle East, the isolation of the units, and the gradual integration of newcomers into sometimes hostile elite groups. I guess the wardrobe is accurate. A casual shot of someone's brown riding boots shows the extra patch of leather across the upper arch to protect against abrasion from the stirrups. Myriad extras.
There's little in the way of back story except what emerges in everyday conversation, and there were times when I was lost while trying to keep the flow chart of command in mind. Perhaps it wouldn't be a problem for an Australian audience. At least at first, it was also difficult to keep the actors straight. It's an ensemble movie and a handful of characters are kept in focus while many others come and go. The identical uniforms are a kind of identity mask and the actors (who are all quite professional) are all handsome and fit young men with similar Aussie personalities -- cheerful, witty, somewhat embarrassed by sentiment, responsible, kinetic, and eager for a challenge, as if it were a sporting contest -- a horse race or a cricket match. I love the Aussies, having lived among them for a while. But this movie is one of those where some familiar Australian faces would be welcome, like Mel Gibson, Eric Bana, Russell Crowe, or -- especially -- Nicole Kidman or Naomi Watts, preferably out of uniform. Not to mention the immortal Chips Rafferty.
When wounded during an air attack one of the men winds up in hospital, attended by a toothsome young nurse. My nurses never look like that. They all remind me of Miss Pavor de Grunt, my fifth grade algebra teacher. There are some amusing scenes. General Allenby arrives to take command. (Jack Hawkins was Allenby in "Lawrence of Arabia.") He and his staff are British. The Australians are subordinates. And the "Pommy bastards" strut around impeccably uniformed even at the rest camp. A British officer registers a complaint that the Aussies are wearing shorts. He knows this is a rest camp but after all. Moments later he's astonished to see men riding their horses bareback -- both man and horse -- through the gentle surf.
There are scenes of combat scattered throughout the plot and a final heroic cavalry charge. The Turks, whom we tend to think of as indecisive warriors, give a good account of themselves and make the Allies pay dearly, although of course there is never any doubt about who are the good guys and the bad guys.
The scenes on horseback are striking. There's nothing like horse in full stride, going like hell, while the horseman stands slightly in the stirrups and doesn't bounce an inch. Staying on a galloping horse requires experience. I once applied for a job as an extra in a cavalry charge in a movie dealing with the pursuit of Pancho Villa in Mexico. They turned me down when they learned how few horses could be seen in Newark, New Jersey.