Try and Get Me!

Kudos to Netflix for inexplicably having this super-obscure, unavailable on DVD film in the deep recesses of their Instant Watch collection! Who knows what treasures I'll next uncover there? The missing cut of The Magnificent Ambersons? The full version of Greed? The lost footage from Major Dundee? Oh right, there's a movie to review.

Cy Endfield's Try and Get Me! (1950) (also known as The Sound of Fury) is one of the most angry, bitter and cynical films noir out there, which is saying something. A heavily-fictionalized telling of the infamous Brooke Hart murder and lynching, it uses the case to a cast a grim light on post-war America as an unfeeling, materialistic place easily whipped into a violent frenzy.

Howard Tyler (Frank Lovejoy) is a decent guy who can't catch a break. He already has one kid by his wife Judy (Kathleen Ryan) and she's pregnant again. While bumming around town, Howard runs into Jerry Slocum (Lloyd Bridges), a charismatic hood who convinces Howard to join his small-time criminal enterprise. The two graduate from petty robberies into the big time when they kidnap a local college student for ransom - though Jerry complicates things by deliberately murdering him. As the two languish in jail, journalist Gil Stanton (Richard Carlson) writes sensational stories that inflame the townspeople, until a mob of thousands gathers outside the jail to avenge the murder.

In 1933, college student Brooke Hart was kidnapped and murdered by two petty criminals in San Jose, California. The two were arrested, but fear that they might be let off for a legal technicality whipped the townspeople into blind rage. A crowd of 6,000 men, women and children stormed the jail, beat off the sheriff's deputies and lynched the two criminals. Only one of the mob was ever tried, and California Governor Sonny Rolfe, who had refused to dispatch National Guard troops to guard the jail, openly praised the mob in interviews. It's one of the most shameful and repulsive events in modern American history, and makes for a great social drama.

At least four movies have been inspired by the incident, including two recent indie films. Fritz Lang's Fury (1936) used the case for an overwrought, contrived allegory condemning revenge. Try and Get Me! is no less angry than Lang's film, but lacks its silly story and feverish speechmaking. Unlike Fury and The Ox-Bow Incident, it's notsomuch an anti-lynching tract as a stark criticism of American society.

Endfield and writer Joe Pagano paint a decidedly ugly picture of America. Howard's a basically decent guy who is driven to crime by desperation, the purest form of liberal, Hollywood criminology. The gossiping, materialistic townspeople are indifferent to his plight and readily turn on him when the crime. The film saves its strongest venom for the media: a local newspaper runs sensationalist stories about the crime spree, providing a catalyst for the lynching. (The media blowing a story way out of proportion? Say it ain't so!) As in the real case, a gaggle of college students are prominent in the lynch mob, joining ordinary townspeople to transform a grim lynching into a fun night on the town.

On an entirely different level is the Howard-Jerry dynamic, an odd bundle of nerves and neuroses. Their relationship owes much to Leopold and Loeb, with the cagey, very masculine Jerry dominating the weak-willed, wimpy Howard. A bizarrely homoerotic scene early on makes explicit that contemporary films like Rope only hinted at. And it's very much to Endfield's credit that, unlike Fury and other similar films (The Bravados, anyone?) the two crooks are unquestionably guilty. Aside from In Cold Blood's pair of psycho killers, it's hard to think of a more twisted and hateful criminal duo.

The film isn't without flaws. Endfield's leftism gets away from him at times, and the movie can't help but make its share of Stanley Kramer-ish speeches. An Italian professor (Renzo Casana) lectures the other characters on the "root causes" of crime and violence. The exchanges between the mob and the police at film's end turn into an obvious mess of author's messages, and the scenes with a blind preacher haranguing the townspeople clunk. Such obnoxiousness is the stock and trade of "message films," and perhaps oughtn't be criticized too much. What counts is the material surrounding these bits, and Try and Get Me! is otherwise a solid film.

Director Cy Endfield is best-remembered for Zulu, his iconic British war epic, but in 1950 he was an up-and-coming Hollywood director fresh off his biggest hit, The Underworld Story. A year after Try and Get Me!, Endfield was hauled before HUAC, and spent the rest of his career abroad, Hollywood's loss and Britain's gain.

Endfield's direction is masterful. The film has a wonderful air of claustrophobia, with Guy Roe's tight photography (heavy use of Dutch angles) and George Amy's sharp editing creating a remarkably oppressive film. The lynching finale is a remarkable set-piece, using a cast of hundreds to simulate a chillingly real and horrifying act of mob violence. It's a savage and brutal climax, and our protagonists don't stand a chance.

Frank Lovejoy makes a fine protagonist, completely believable as the desperate, destitute Everyman dragged into a life of crime. Stealing the show, however, is Lloyd Bridges, who was never better than here. His Jerry is a truly repulsive character, a creature of passions with no remorse for his crime and no concern about consequences. The beautiful Kathleen Ryan (Odd Man Out) is perfectly cast as Howard's tragic wife.

Try and Get Me! is a remarkably unique film, and it's a real shame that the film's not more readily available. Thank God for Netflix I suppose.

Zulu

Cy Endfield's Zulu (1964) is one of the greatest war films of all time. A cross between a Western, an imperial epic and a "unit picture" war film, it's a major success, mixing epic scope with intimate detail, and eschewing political considerations for the stark reality of war.

January 1879. Tensions between the British and Zulus in Natal explode into violence with the massacre of a British column at Isandlwana. The triumphant Zulu army, led by King Cetshwayo (Mangosuthu Buthelezi), closes in on the Rorke's Drift mission, with a small garrison of mostly Welsh soldiers. Engineer Lieutenant John Chard (Stanley Baker) clashes with the post commander, Lt. Gonville Bromhead (Michael Caine), over seniority, but they put aside their differences when 4,000 Zulus appear on the horizon. The 100 or so British soldiers, armed only with single-shot Martini rifles and bayonets, show remarkable courage in repulsing wave after wave of Zulus, but will it be enough?

At heart, Zulu is a Western in imperialist garb. Its characters chew off acres of laconic, clipped dialogue as they shoot down the Zulu hordes: "Why us?" "Because we're here, lad. Nobody else. Just us." The film is an ode to professionalism that Howard Hawks would envy: the drunken pacifist priest (Jack Hawkins), his wimpy daughter (Ulla Jacobsen), and the "cowardly" native levies have no place here. Just leave everything to the Welshmen and everything will be fine.

Aside from off-hand comments, the movie avoids the politics of war and imperialism, very much to its benefit - compare it to the overwrought Zulu Dawn (1979), which compares the British to Nazi Germany. Instead, it's a very convincing and detailed depiction of war, from the officers to the grunts. The first hour is leisurely-paced, taking care to establish its large cast. Dozens of soldiers get speaking parts, each with a simple but memorable characteristic: none of them are cannon fodder, and each death or injury matters. The movie lacks a Zulu perspective, but takes pains to show them as a heroic, honorable foe worthy of respect.

The main attraction, of course, are the battle scenes, which make up the entire second half of the film. They are some of the best ever filmed. Though dated in some of the details, they brilliantly mix intensity and scope: you can appreciate the tactics of both sides and the plight of the soldiers. Small moments, like Chard and two Zulus standing off, have a great impact: this is war at its most personal and frightening. The movie climaxes with an incredibly powerful sequence, as the British and Zulu soldiers singing war songs (Men of Harlech for the Brits, a haunting chant of defiance for the Zulus) before the final showdown.

Endfield provides skillful direction. Despite its limited scope, the film achieves a visual grandeur, using the mission as a natural ampitheater surrounded by beautiful South African hills and dozens of extras waiting off-stage. Besides Stephen Dade's gorgeous photography, the brilliant use of sound by Rusty Coppleman - particularly the recurring Zulu "train noise" - also plays a key role. John Barry contributes one of his best scores, a rousing, appropriately heroic battle theme that resonnates throughout the film.

Stanley Baker (The Guns of Navarone) both produced and co-stars, and he gives a career-best turn. Michael Caine, in one of his earliest roles, plays wonderfully against type; Bromhead starts out as a caricature, but Caine convincingly portrays his maturation under fire. Jack Hawkins (Bridge on the River Kwai) is uncharacteristically obnoxious, and Ulla Jacobson seems present only for sex appeal; these two drag down much of the early sections, and their departure is welcome.

Of the huge supporting cast, the best is Nigel Green (The Ruling Class), his Colour-Sergeant Bourne the coolly authoritative, fatherly career soldier, dominating his every scene. Other standouts include James Booth's cowardly Hook, Patrick Magee's (Barry Lyndon) dedicated surgeon, Ivor Emmanuel's cheery choir leader, and Gert Van Der Bergh's coolly professional Boer scout. Richard Burton bookends the film with brief but effective narration.

All in all, Zulu is an impressive achievement, and an enjoyable, gripping war film. It's simply among the best of its kind.

Zulu Dawn

Zulu Dawn is the follow-up to Cy Enfield’s 1964 classic Zulu, widely (and rightfully) regarded as one of the best war films of all time (which we ought to get around to sooner or later). This 1979 effort, directed by journeyman Rodger Hickox, is very much an answer to the unapologetic heroics of the previous film – focusing on the British military disaster as Isandlwana, where 4,000 British soldiers were slain by Zulu warriors the morning of the brave stand at Rorke’s Drift. However, the movie just doesn’t click, despite an interesting story and the best efforts of a distinguished cast.

1879. With tensions between British South Africa and King Cetshawayo (Simon Sabela)'s Zulu nation rising to a pitch, High Commissioner Sir Henry Bartle-Frere (John Mills) authorizes his military commander, Lord Chelmsford (Peter O'Toole), to launch an excursion into Zululand, despite London's express orders to the contrary. Chelmsford's army moves into Zululand, foolishly assuming victory is theirs for the taking, and generally treating the invasion like a holiday. Cesthawayo, however, has the advantage of terrain, intelligence, and overwhelming numbers - and when he finally decides to strike, a disastrous slaughter results.

Zulu, a depiction of the Battle of Rorke's Drift, was a straightforward celebration of military heroism. It can hardly be called a flag-waving propaganda film, but it made no bones about its celebration of British soldiers overcoming impossible odds. Zulu Dawn, a seventeen-years-later "prequel", feels curiously like Tony Richardson's Charge of the Light Brigade from 1968 - a revisionist look at a subject previously celebrated as a glorious imperial victory. Like Richardson's film, the movie's politics mark it as a product of its post-Vietnam, post-colonial era; politics aside, it is a pale shadow of its predecessor.

The movie’s anti-war posturing is obnoxiously heavy-handed. The British officers are portrayed, predictably, as arrogant, thick-headed upper class gits cheerfully leading their men to the slaughter, much as Charge of the Light Brigade, Gallipoli, and innumerable other anti-war films, with the Brit soldiers bumptious fools, while the Natal Native troops and the Zulus themselves are portrayed in a patronizingly positive light. Such a view may have credence in this particular instance, but for all the film’s claims of realism, its analysis of the Zulu War and its leaders amounts to cartoonish cynicism. The most obnoxious moment occurs when Cecil Bartle-Frere (John Mills), the British Governor of Natal, muses with Chelmsford that he hopes they will find a “final solution” to the Zulu question.

The movie's biggest flaw, however, are its surprisingly cheap technical aspects. The colors are dim and washed-out, the direction decidedly undistinguished, and the general look and feel of the film is that of a TV movie. Elmer Bernstein's score is okay but it lacks the rousing brilliance of John Barry's work for the original. Fortunately, the film excells at its battle scenes; the awe-inspiring sight of the impossible huge Zulu army, moving like a beast roused from slumber, is one of the most impressive pre-battle spectacles. And the disastrous fight at Isandlwana itself is a wonderfully desperate, confused affair, shown in all its gory detail. There is no glory to be had from the carnage, only ignominious defeat.

The all-star cast is badly used, given weak cipher characters to work with. Surprisingly, Burt Lancaster is the only star to emerge unscathed, despite a dodgy Irish accent; he’s the only one with any real sense of energy or emotion in his performance. Peter O’Toole plays Chelmsford as the stereotyped, gormless and arrogant British officer, with Nigel Davenport and Denholm Elliot not much better as his doomed subordinates. John Mills provides a typically stiff cameo as Bartle-Frere. Bob Hoskins and David Bradley have some nice scenes as a British Sergeant and his green trooper, which recall some of the character dynamics of the original Zulu.

Zulu Dawn is a well-intentioned film, but like so many other "revisionist" takes on imperial history, it goes too far the other way. Regardless, the movie is mostly worth watching as a footnote to its predecessor, lacking that film's wonderful, economic drama and retaining only the fine battle scenes.