Sometimes films are dominated by their stars, moulded around a certain person, oozing with their personality. Other times it is the scenery that is central, or the photography, or lighting, or costumes. Often films are forged in the image of their director, bristling with symmetrical motifs from one production to the next. And occasionally it is the writing that comes to dominate, especially in a documentary, where our route through the material is extrapolated depending on the point of view being articulated for us.
Heading for Glory falls lock stock and (well-aged, finest Portuguese oak) barrel into that final category. The film is a lyrical essay put to imagery, meandering its way through the 1974 World Cup with a pompous allure, only acceptable when you consider its writer - Geoffrey Green - was the genius who recorded Billy Wright's evisceration at the feet of Puskas as being like watching "a fire engine rushing to the wrong fire". Everything spoken is hyperbolic in the extreme: Holland do not fly in a plane, they "head for home in a great white bird", Jack Taylor does not sweat during the final, "dew glistened in the sunshine on his face...."
This is not a film for everybody - those with a desire to see highlights of the matches should turn to YouTube, for while you will see each team present in West Germany here, you will only see some of them in the briefest passing. Games are presented as vignettes, with emphasis instead placed on a specific cast of characters. Johan Cruijff is the tragic hero of the film, followed lovingly by the cameras as he twists and turns defences to dust, then crumbles agonisingly to an almost petulant defeat in the final. Franz Beckenbauer is interjected as his opponent in this quest for greatness - surely not the villain, but clearly not portrayed as heroically either. And through these eyes we see the World Cup Final (for this is really a film overwhelmingly about the final itself) play out, for almost an hour.
The Dutch and the fans in the stands and in the streets are presented as free spirits of their age, all love beads and psychedelic haircuts, while virtually everyone else is shown to be a little authoritarian, and a lot more austere. Sir Stanley Rous (the outgoing President of FIFA) is shown liberally, greeting royalty, giving speeches, dining in Bavarian schlosses and reading telegrams in an almost automaton way, with barely any emotion. The other star of this side of the production (juxtaposed with Cruijff throughout the final) is English referee Jack Taylor, who we follow at great and almost intimate length. He is portrayed as the epitome of the rule of law, of fair play and of stoicism, while Cruijff and his cohorts have something of a slightly flailing failure to them. Indeed Green's script exclaims that Cruijff tilts at windmills almost before it tells us anything else about him. It's that kind of character piece throughout.
Joss Ackland reads this paean to an age now gone with just enough flair to stop it becoming over-the-top; his voice is nowhere near as booming as it was to become later in his career, but there is a certain gravitas in his delivery, that can describe a parade of Scania coaches before the final in a dignified way. While we see Cruijff and his wife passionately embrace aboard the "great white bird" waiting to take them home in defeat there is no salaciousness, instead we are left to ponder whether he has perhaps just flicked a tear from his eye, while lush strings and piano watch the mourning of Dutch defeat turn into commiseratory love, in respectful silence. The soundtrack is very good on the whole, with a haunting theme by Joan Shakespeare used to brilliant effect whenever the doomed Cruijff is centre stage. That said though it is paired with overly comical "boings" and "squeaks" when we see any strong, 1970s style tackling, so even this is as idiosyncratic as the verbose script.
Heading for Glory lacks the all round enjoyment of Goal, or the sheer weirdness of O Poder do Futebol, to recommend it wholeheartedly to the casual viewer, but it is clearly one of the better of the official World Cup films. There is now nowhere else that you can see high definition footage of masters of the game like Cruijff, Beckenbauer, Müller or Rep than here, and while you are not watching an ordinary highlights reel, you are actually getting something much more. Heading for Glory is a time capsule of the modern football world being born in front of our eyes, with the old guard in retreat and unable to do anything about it, even if Green exhorts that Taylor is determined to keep his "iron fist to the end".
The film closes to the sound of the crowd in the Olympic stadium and Taylor's whistle, while Ackland and Green tell us that "an Orange sun dies bravely from the day. Germany and History have won!" There is no suspense, no surprise, no "spoilers", just an inevitability and a sadness. It is that type of film.
Heading for Glory falls lock stock and (well-aged, finest Portuguese oak) barrel into that final category. The film is a lyrical essay put to imagery, meandering its way through the 1974 World Cup with a pompous allure, only acceptable when you consider its writer - Geoffrey Green - was the genius who recorded Billy Wright's evisceration at the feet of Puskas as being like watching "a fire engine rushing to the wrong fire". Everything spoken is hyperbolic in the extreme: Holland do not fly in a plane, they "head for home in a great white bird", Jack Taylor does not sweat during the final, "dew glistened in the sunshine on his face...."
This is not a film for everybody - those with a desire to see highlights of the matches should turn to YouTube, for while you will see each team present in West Germany here, you will only see some of them in the briefest passing. Games are presented as vignettes, with emphasis instead placed on a specific cast of characters. Johan Cruijff is the tragic hero of the film, followed lovingly by the cameras as he twists and turns defences to dust, then crumbles agonisingly to an almost petulant defeat in the final. Franz Beckenbauer is interjected as his opponent in this quest for greatness - surely not the villain, but clearly not portrayed as heroically either. And through these eyes we see the World Cup Final (for this is really a film overwhelmingly about the final itself) play out, for almost an hour.
The Dutch and the fans in the stands and in the streets are presented as free spirits of their age, all love beads and psychedelic haircuts, while virtually everyone else is shown to be a little authoritarian, and a lot more austere. Sir Stanley Rous (the outgoing President of FIFA) is shown liberally, greeting royalty, giving speeches, dining in Bavarian schlosses and reading telegrams in an almost automaton way, with barely any emotion. The other star of this side of the production (juxtaposed with Cruijff throughout the final) is English referee Jack Taylor, who we follow at great and almost intimate length. He is portrayed as the epitome of the rule of law, of fair play and of stoicism, while Cruijff and his cohorts have something of a slightly flailing failure to them. Indeed Green's script exclaims that Cruijff tilts at windmills almost before it tells us anything else about him. It's that kind of character piece throughout.
Joss Ackland reads this paean to an age now gone with just enough flair to stop it becoming over-the-top; his voice is nowhere near as booming as it was to become later in his career, but there is a certain gravitas in his delivery, that can describe a parade of Scania coaches before the final in a dignified way. While we see Cruijff and his wife passionately embrace aboard the "great white bird" waiting to take them home in defeat there is no salaciousness, instead we are left to ponder whether he has perhaps just flicked a tear from his eye, while lush strings and piano watch the mourning of Dutch defeat turn into commiseratory love, in respectful silence. The soundtrack is very good on the whole, with a haunting theme by Joan Shakespeare used to brilliant effect whenever the doomed Cruijff is centre stage. That said though it is paired with overly comical "boings" and "squeaks" when we see any strong, 1970s style tackling, so even this is as idiosyncratic as the verbose script.
Heading for Glory lacks the all round enjoyment of Goal, or the sheer weirdness of O Poder do Futebol, to recommend it wholeheartedly to the casual viewer, but it is clearly one of the better of the official World Cup films. There is now nowhere else that you can see high definition footage of masters of the game like Cruijff, Beckenbauer, Müller or Rep than here, and while you are not watching an ordinary highlights reel, you are actually getting something much more. Heading for Glory is a time capsule of the modern football world being born in front of our eyes, with the old guard in retreat and unable to do anything about it, even if Green exhorts that Taylor is determined to keep his "iron fist to the end".
The film closes to the sound of the crowd in the Olympic stadium and Taylor's whistle, while Ackland and Green tell us that "an Orange sun dies bravely from the day. Germany and History have won!" There is no suspense, no surprise, no "spoilers", just an inevitability and a sadness. It is that type of film.