I haven't read the source, Richard Brooks' novel "The Brick Foxhole," which I hope is not as infelicitous as its title, but I understand the original villain was a homophobe not an anti Semite. (And to be honest, Sam Levene is written as a gay guy who picks up a drunken soldier.) But, okay, you have to go with the flow. Consider 1947. Not even anti-Semitism has been treated on screen yet. Many of the people responsible for contemporary movies were themselves Jews but anti-Semitism had been verboten for years because it was considered unpleasant. So we can hardly blame the makers of this film for not leaving the victim a homosexual. Now that's REALLY unpleasant -- and besides there might have been many among the audience rooting for Robert Ryan to get away with it. We are by no means free of prejudice but we've still come a long way since 1947.
Watching this again for the first time in years I was impressed with the rather slow pace of the first half of the movie, the many shots of two people talking, the shadows, the time that passes between the question and the answer, the uninspired editing. But I could live with that because of the film's subject matter and because of a few other things.
One of the things that keep me glued to events as they unfold so deliberately is Robert Ryan's performance. The guy does a splendid job. At times he can seem thoughtful, cheerfully subordinate and helpful to the police -- "Any way I can help, yes sir." Then, alone or with another soldier, the simmering hatred rises to the top, not so much through what he says but the way he LOOKS. That scowl, that penetrating stare, those dark eyes glittering. Wow.
The film has taken a lot of heat because of Robert Young's preachy speech about his Grandfather's murder. That doesn't bother me at all, although I guess Dmytryk didn't have to have Young shove his face into the camera while talking about "MICKS and PAPISTS". Still, taking the context into account, it's one of the more shocking moments of the film. Part of its impact is due to Young's almost casual delivery of the message, and part of it is due to the message's not having been heard on screen before.
Another feature of the film that transforms it almost into the surreal is the Paul Kelly character and his relationship to the whore Gloria Grahame. Holy Guacamole, what elliptical conversation Kelly is given to. "You know what I told you? All those things I just told you? They're all lies." His character neatly crosses pathos with creepiness. It's impossible to know what to make of him. He adds virtually nothing to the plot but the movie would be a lot less without his presence.
It's a moody, murky film. Its people live in the dark. And there is murder afoot. Practically no one screams or shouts. The horror that these men have experienced and that some of them still carry with them like malaria seems just beneath the surface.
See it if you have a chance.
Watching this again for the first time in years I was impressed with the rather slow pace of the first half of the movie, the many shots of two people talking, the shadows, the time that passes between the question and the answer, the uninspired editing. But I could live with that because of the film's subject matter and because of a few other things.
One of the things that keep me glued to events as they unfold so deliberately is Robert Ryan's performance. The guy does a splendid job. At times he can seem thoughtful, cheerfully subordinate and helpful to the police -- "Any way I can help, yes sir." Then, alone or with another soldier, the simmering hatred rises to the top, not so much through what he says but the way he LOOKS. That scowl, that penetrating stare, those dark eyes glittering. Wow.
The film has taken a lot of heat because of Robert Young's preachy speech about his Grandfather's murder. That doesn't bother me at all, although I guess Dmytryk didn't have to have Young shove his face into the camera while talking about "MICKS and PAPISTS". Still, taking the context into account, it's one of the more shocking moments of the film. Part of its impact is due to Young's almost casual delivery of the message, and part of it is due to the message's not having been heard on screen before.
Another feature of the film that transforms it almost into the surreal is the Paul Kelly character and his relationship to the whore Gloria Grahame. Holy Guacamole, what elliptical conversation Kelly is given to. "You know what I told you? All those things I just told you? They're all lies." His character neatly crosses pathos with creepiness. It's impossible to know what to make of him. He adds virtually nothing to the plot but the movie would be a lot less without his presence.
It's a moody, murky film. Its people live in the dark. And there is murder afoot. Practically no one screams or shouts. The horror that these men have experienced and that some of them still carry with them like malaria seems just beneath the surface.
See it if you have a chance.