CINEMA
in order to have another chance to get killed on a battlefield, is something of an enigma, but for all young soldiers it seems a point of honour, and the inmates of Colditz try and try and try again. What is remarkable about this film, apart from its astounding atmosphere of authenticity, is that its characters are so ordinary. There are no traditional types; no coward or buffoon or Prussian sadist. The men are ones you would find anywhere, their conversation, brilliantly transcribed by William Douglas Home, is just what you would expect, and yet they emerge as individuals of extraordinary vividness. The British contingent is led by Eric Portman, John Mills and Christopher Rhodes, the German by Frederick Valk, the Dutch by Theodore Bikel, the French by Eugene Dcckcrs. The Poles, gay as grigs and disdainful of danger, are un- identifiable, but the most delightful company imaginable although they speak no English. Oh, the joy of hearing people talk in their own in- comprehensible languages rather than in that repulsive pidgin English so frequently favoured by film producers!
Although there is plenty of drama here and suspense, The Colditz Story is not a grim one because in all but the most dire situations its soldiers find humour. It springs naturally trom their youthfulness and from the irresistible urge to confound their gaolers, whose sense of the ridiculous is somewhat costive. At moments one feels quite sorry for the Germans striving so hard to decipher the obscure antics, verbal
as well as physical, of their British captives. whose contempt is couched in such eccentric terms. Splendidly directed by Guy Hamilton, this film has all the realism,, dignity and courage of the men it commemorates.
TER iNcE RATTIGAN has turned one of his less successful plays, Who is Sylvia?, into a film entitled The Man Who Loved Redheads. It is not bad, for nothing Mr. Rattigan touches is ever that, but neither is it good, possibly be- cause its theme has no variations, certainly be- cause it asks too much of its cast. John Justin is the man who falls in love with a face and pursues it throughout his life, and his many affairs with a very thinly disguised Moira Shearer are conducted on such orthodox lines, arc so lacking in surprise, they become as tedious as other people's love affairs are in real life. Miss Shearer looks ravishing and she does her best with the various accents allotted her, hut it is all surface work. Except, of course, when she dances, when it is all magic. John Justin up to the age of fifty is excellent, Roland Culver over the age of seventy is superb, but on their way from spry youth to dirty old age each meets his Waterloo in a different decade. Harold French has directed this period piece— for who now can afford to lead a double life— 'with lust the right amount of nostalgic con- descension, and at times he makes man's fidelity to a dream seem rather touching, like all vain pursuits.
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