THE CINEMA
" Germany Year Zero." (Curzon.) " Captain from Castile." (Odeon, Marble Arch.)—" Give My Regards to Broadway." (Tivoli.) To say what I have to say about M. Roberto Rossellini's Germany Year Zero I should be happier wearing a heavy motoring veil and a disguised voice, for, being of a cowardly disposition, I would, in very truth, like to disassociate myself from my review of it. Never- theless, as it is a glorious sunny day, a day on which people do not eat other people, I shall flaunt my convictions with courage and say that I think this film, which won two first prizes at the Locarno Festival of 1948, a bad film. Modesty compels me to assume I am wrong. Honesty compels me to stick to my opinion. Germany Year Zero is the tale of a little boy who lives in ruined Berlin with his family, scrounging, cheating, selling things on the black market, surrounded by unbelievable misery and vice. His invalid father, a useless mouth to feed, speaks often of wanting to die, so the child poisons him and then, after wandering aimlessly through the tattered city, throws himself off a bombed building into the street below. That this story is poignant and terrible none can deny, but M. Rossellini, for whom I carry the brightest of torches, has here failed completely as far as I am concerned to breathe life into his characters. The general anguish and despair, the boy's loneliness and longing for affection stay right where they are, on the screen.
Only in the last ten minutes, when this child murderer walks through the interminable wastes of Berlin playing games with himself, hopping from one crack in the pavement to another, sliding down walls or simply leaning on dusty parapets, does one get a sense of tragedy. The rest of the time one watches, unfeelingly, the hard confused life of the city, and not once is one given the opportunity to love, to pity or to sympathise with a single one of its inhabitants. As a documentary this picture has great historical value no doubt, and some of the photography is superb, but no one can tell me that a film set in such circumstances and with such a story to tell is a good one if it fails to evoke any human emotion whatsoever, save perhaps an occasional feeling of irritation.
The Captain from Castile is Mr. Tyrone Power who, escaping the attentions of the Inquisition in his native Spain, joins the neither stout nor silent Cortez, played by a much bewhiskered Mr. Cesar Romero, on his expedition across Mexico. This film, though far too long, is a fine swashbuckling affair, vigorous, full-blooded, with plenty of fighting, riding and loving, and for those who do not find an excess of energy in others a source of fatigue in themselves it will prove excellent entertainment. Mr. Power, with curling black locks and a dashing smile, will doubtless whip his public into fresh ecstasies of love, and indeed he cuts a gallant and romantic figure. Miss Jean Peters as his personal vivandiere looks and sounds about as Spanish as a New England dairymaid, but at any rate she is a real person even if she comes from the wrong country. As the villain Mr. John Sutton is exquisitely callous, and his clear diction stands out sharply against the blurred speech of his colleagues. Incidentally it is curious how, in films dealing with European peoples, one should find it irresistibly funny when the players speak with American accents. It is in point of fact just as funny when they talk with English accents ! Mr. Henry King has directed Captain from Castile with imagination, and the speed, colour and general high spirits of the whole affair deter one from bothering about historical accuracies or plausibility of plot until one is well clear of the cinema.
Give My Regards to Broadway stars Mr. Dan Dailey, and frankly he is wasting his time and your money as the son of an ex-vaudeville top liner, Mr. Charles Winninger, who won't take no for an answer and won't let his family either. Having seen the family's act, which largely consists of the most elementary juggling this side of a seal's, I am not a bit surprised that Broadway regards it with derision. Miss Fay Bainter and Mr. Charlie Ruggles hand out, metaphorically speaking, the Indian clubs and billiard balls, but they don't seem a bit hopeful or happy about it.
VIRGINIA GRAHAM.
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