Carlos

Many recent films have addressed historical terrorism, few better than Carlos (2010). Five-and-a-half hours uncut, Olivier Assayas's miniseries addresses radical activities with brutal clarity, bolstered by Edgar Ramirez's incredible performance.

Carlos chronicles the career of arch-terrorist Illich Ramirez Sanchez, aka Carlos the Jackal (Edgar Ramirez). Collaborating with Palestinian nationalists and Marxist groups like the Japanese Red Army and West Germany's "Revolutionary Cells" Carlos subjects Europe to a reign of terror, culminating in the kidnapping of OPEC ministers at a Paris conference in 1975. As Carlos' notoriety grows he finds it harder to keep working: Arab leaders shun him, the Soviets view him as a loose cannon, and his subordinates resent his arrogance. By the early '90s Carlos is reduced from feared kingpin to hunted fugitive.

Carlos echoes dispassionate works like The Baader-Meinhof Complex in its rich depiction of terrorism. Assayas shows Carlos' world as a strange nexus of Arab nationalism, Third World ideologues and leftist radicals (with KGB backing), all conflated into the "anti-imperialist" struggle. It's shocking post-9/11 how easily Carlos' gangs operate across borders, as well as authorities' willingness to accommodate their demands. For all their sound and fury, the terrorists never achieve their objectives. Carlos spends two years plotting the death of Egypt's Anwar Sadat, only for homegrown jihadists to beat him to the punch. 

Unlike Steven Soderberg's similar Che, Carlos makes no effort to romanticize its subject. Carlos is a charismatic idealist, but a showboating thug whose recklessness catches up with him. Even his most successful operation, the OPEC kidnapping, goes awry when he murders a Libyan delegate, infuriating Gaddafi's government and complicating their escape. Enraptured by success, lionized by the media and courted by the Arab Street and KGB, his leftist posturing belies his mercenary status. In private he's a didactic bore and a chauvinist womanizer, belittling his wife (Nora Von Waldstatten) as a bourgeois poseur.

The first two episodes bristle with thrilling set pieces: kidnappings, bombings, assassinations. Assayas' staging mix excitement with docudrama detail, especially the second installment's unbearable tension. Inevitably, part three takes a sour tone as Carlos' operation unravels. Authorities kill or capture his collaborators, the terrorists reduced to pathetic retaliation. With the Cold War ending, Russia and other Eastern Bloc nations view Carlos as a liability. Eventually he's reduced to teaching in rural Sudan, an easy mark for the CIA and French intelligence.

Edgar Ramirez impresses with a well-rounded performance. Impressively multilingual, possessing considerable charm and sex appeal, Ramirez can't help but be appealing. Yet he digs beneath the appealing surface, revealing the grandstanding, violent narcissist underneath, brooking no challenges to his authority while treating others like pawns. It's a fascinating portrait of a multi-layered monster, Ramirez playing all angles to the perfect pitch. It's no slight on the flawless ensemble cast to note that Ramirez utterly dominates Carlos.

Above all else, Carlos is commendably credible. It's easy for films like this to romanticize their subject, or else caricature them as inhuman monsters. By letting Carlos' words and deeds speak for themselves, Assayas shows him as less freedom fighter than self-aggrandizing criminal.

Caravans

A mammoth flop even in its day, Caravans (1978) hasn't aged well. This expansive adaptation of James Michener's potboiler novel is beautifully shot, but its story, characters and staging amount to a mountain of cliches.

1948 in a fictitious Central Asian country. American diplomat Mark Miller (Michael Sarrazin) is assigned to locate Ellen Jasper (Jennifer O'Neill), daughter of a Senator who's married local leader Nasrullah (Behrouz Vossoughi). Miller discovers that Ellen's left her husband, instead running away with tribesman Zullfiqar (who else but Anthony Quinn?). Zullfiqar's nomadic tribes resist Nasrullah's edict to settle on a reservation while trading in Russian rifles. Even as Miller gains Zullfiqar's trust and Ellen's affection, a showdown with Nasrullah's forces becomes inevitable.

Caravans is a very expensive show, filmed in Iran right before the Shah's downfall. Director James Fargo provides handsome vistas and cast of hundreds crowds, staging the requisite set piece: a trek through a monsoon, the climactic battle in an abandoned village. It's all accompanied by Mike Batt's robust score. Unfortunately, it's all surface gloss. Where a smart adventure like The Wind and the Lion comments pointedly on American-Middle East relations, Caravans deals exclusively in hoary Orientalism: jabbering crowds, decadent satraps, salt-of-the-earth bandits.

Nor does Caravans score any originality points, playing as a Persian riff on The Searchers mixed with '30s adventure movies. Zullfiqar acts like Sean Connery's Raisuli, inflicting barbaric punishments while lamenting Nasrullah's repressive government. Ellen's a liberated "modern woman" who incongruously chooses to live in a society where women are chattel. Worse still are the endless scenes of wizened locals explaining tribal customs to the gawking Americans. This isn't exactly boring, and Fargo adds some strange touches: you won't see many epics where public urination quells a riot. But Caravans' main hallmark is laziness.

Possibly Hollywood's most typecast actor, Anthony Quinn nonetheless remains likeable in his 500th iteration of the earthy ethnic. He's certainly livelier than Michael Sarrazin and Jennifer O'Neill (Rio Lobo), who act like gormless tourists. Christopher Lee plays yet another avuncular villain, while Iranian star Behrouz Vossoughi gives a surprisingly rounded performance. Joseph Cotten appears fleetingly as an Ambassador; Jeremy Kemp (Operation Crossbow) and Barry Sullivan (Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid) assay minor roles.

Caravans is passable pablum lacking invention or wit. There's potential in the story - say, the clash between Islamic modernity and tradition - that the movie scarcely has the wit to realize. But if you've never seen Anthony Quinn play a grizzled desert warlord, then you may find it strikingly original.

Zero Dark Thirty

Kathryn Bigelow crafts a striking thriller in Zero Dark Thirty (2012). It's a powerful piece of work that depicts the War on Terror in a commendably complex manner.

Maya (Jessica Chastain) is a CIA analyst assigned to Pakistan in 2003. Maya helps a field agent (Jason Clarke) crack an al-Qaeda courier and tracks Abu Hamid, a high-level operative with ties to Khalid Sheikh Mohammed. Her investigation stalls when another informant declares Hamid dead, and when the CIA relocates resources to homeland defense. Years later, a new lead convinces Maya that Hamid's actually alive - and that he can lead the Agency to Osama Bin Laden himself.

Zero Dark Thirty began as a project about the 2001 attempts to nab Bin Laden at Tora Bora. Real life rewrote the plot of course, refocusing things on Bin Laden's death. Assorted media and political gasbags spouted off before its release, claiming the film an endorsement of torture, pro-Obama propaganda or flag-waving jingoism. Not surprisingly, these preliminary complaints are remarkably unjust. 

Zero Dark Thirty operates on two levels. Bigelow and writer Mark Boal first present an unusually complex spy thriller. Maya finds her colleagues viewing Bin Laden through a pre-9/11 mindset: "You can't run a global network of interconnected cells from a cave." Human intelligence is flawed, electronic surveillance useless without hard leads. Political hurdles interfere: the Bush Administration downplays the hunt for Bin Laden, Barack Obama shuts down the CIA's detainee program. CIA bureaucrats are gun-shy after proclaiming Iraq a "slam dunk," delaying the operation by months. Only Maya's determination keeps things afloat.

Bigelow commendably downplays hot button issues. The film opens with a brutal torture scene, but the actual impact of "forceful interrogation" is secondary to analytical skills and luck. The detainee program, use of drones, electronic surveillance - heck, the legality of SEAL Team Six's raid - are unquestioned. The closest Bigelow comes to overt editorial comment is showing President Obama disavowing torture. The lack of an overt message may niggle liberal viewers, but it's Zero Dark Thirty's greatest strength.

Or second greatest strength, after its protagonist. Maya spends early scenes fitting into the man's world of spying, disarming colleagues with both her intelligence and coarse profanity. Virtually ignored in early scenes, she ends the film instinctively trusted by the CIA director (James Gandolfini) and Navy SEALs alike. One imagines Bigelow relating to this, a female professional gaining respect by besting her peers. Maya has only her gut feeling to confirm Bin Laden's presence in Abbotabad.

Unsurprisingly, Maya's obsession takes a mental toll. This takes an obvious form when one of her colleagues dies. More generally, she grows completely absorbed by her mission. Maya lacks a personal life, imbuing even friendly dinners with shop talk, clinging to her leads out of self-justification more than genuine conviction. Her entire life's been about hunting Bin Laden; the end of her quest leaves her drained rather than fulfilled. More than a feminist heroine, Maya symbolizes America's lingering obsession with terrorism.

If released two years earlier, Zero Dark Thirty might be a dark tale of obsession, a terrorist Zodiac. Instead Bigelow ends with SEAL Team Six's incredible mission. Truth be told, the climactic raid feels like a set-piece tacked on to an existing script. All the same, Bigelow handles it with remarkable skill, mixing handheld camera with night vision effects. It's an excellent finale, tense and exciting yet commendably muted. No rah-rah heroics at film's end, just numb relief.  

Jessica Chastain gives a flawless turn. She's not a complete blank slate, allowing humor and camaraderie to bleed through periodically. But the main impression is Chastain's bluntness, smarts and fierce dedication, whether coolly directing operations or telling off superiors. Chastain makes a commendably rounded heroine, easy to root for and emotionally sympathetic, and should nab this remarkable actress an Oscar.

Bigelow provides Chastain solid support. Jason Clarke (Public Enemies) makes a strong impression as Maya's hard-nosed partner. Jennifer Ehle (The King's Speech) gets an affecting role playing a CIA friend with a poor prognosis. Kyle Chandler, James Gandolfini, Mark Strong (Kick-Ass) and Stephen Dillane (John Adams) play skeptical agency bigwigs.

Zero Dark Thirty is remarkable. Smart, lucid and realistic, it joins Lincoln as a real-world drama for thinking adults.

Outside the Law (2010)

Algeria's War for Independence remains a contentious subject. Not a far-off colony like Indochina, Algeria was an incorporated region of France with a large settler population (pied noirs), making its 1954-1962 revolution especially bitter. Besides the conflict's nastiness - widespread torture, terrorist bombings and up to 1,000,000 deaths - the fallout embroiled France in several military coups, a domestic terror campaign and an influx of pied noirs and loyalist Algerians (and massacre of those remaining in Algeria). Algeria descended into a brutal dictatorship, more recently experiencing civil war with Islamist groups. Algerian immigration to France remains a tense issue between these nations.

Outside the Law (2010) provides a controversial take on this "War Without a Name." It compares favorably to past portrayals: Gillo Pontecorvo's The Battle of Algiers (1966) is masterful Algerian propaganda cleverly framed as a docudrama, while Jean Larteguy's novel The Centurions invests its hard-bitten paratroopers with nationalist angst. Rachid Boucherab's film is less flattering towards FLN and France alike. Its ambiguity and diverse protagonists make it refreshingly complex.

Three Algerian brothers, separated by 1945's Setif Massacre, reunite ten years later in southern France. Abdelkadr (Sami Bouajila) spent the intervening decade in prison for nationalist agitation; Moussaud (Roschdy Zem) is an ex-paratrooper who survived Dien Bien Phu; and Said (Jamel Debouzze), an amoral criminal. The three form the nucleus of an FLN cell within France. They target both French officials and rival MNA nationalists, aided by French leftists. Abdelkadr's single-mindedness alienates his brothers, with Massoud pining over his wife (Louiza Nehar) and Said's devotion to his nightclub undermining his commitment. The French government brings in Colonel Faivre (Bernard Blancan), who forms a paramilitary unit - the Red Hand - to beat FLN at its own game.

Outside the Law re-frames Algeria's struggle as a stylish gangster movie. Bouchareb stages smoke-filled meetings in restaurants and night clubs, clothes his heroes in pinstripe suits and lifts set pieces (Said stabbing a traitorous Caid, a mistaken car bombing) from The Godfather. The FLN certainly appear as brutal thugs, whether extorting supporters or murdering rival nationalists. The heroes have the panache of the Corleones in their period duds and colorful assassinations (including a daring raid on a police station), but Western viewers may have trouble cheering them on.

Not that this ambiguity ill-serves the drama. Indeed, Bocuherab presents three commendably complex protagonists. Abdelkadr is a frightening extremist willing to provoke police raids and sacrifice anyone in furtherance of independence. Massoud proves more sympathetic, his bitterness and family loyalty drawing him to a fight he's ambivalent about, while Said remains interested in business. A subplot has Said grooming an Algerian boxer (Assadd Bouab) to be France's heavyweight champion. The FLN views this as unacceptable: any Algerian glory, sporting or otherwise, must accrue to Algeria.

The movie came under fire for historical license. FLN activities in France were more modest than the film suggests, while Boucherab's comparing their exploits to the wartime Resistance will rankle some viewers. More contentious is the staging of the Setif Massacre: hardly an unprovoked "police riot," French reprisals came after Muslim rioters killed 103 Europeans. But Alistair Horne notes that "even if one were to accept the very lowest figure [of 1,000 Muslims killed]… it still represents… ten-to-one over-kill." Boucherab correctly marks Setif as the catalyst for Algerian nationalism and, along with a childhood eviction, the protagonists' formative event.

Outside the Law grows more predictable in its second half. With Faivre's arrival the movie falls into cops-and-robbers plot conventions, with man-hunting, chases and shootouts. Fortunately, Boucherab compensates with engaging set pieces and a downbeat ending. And the script by Boucherab and Olivier Lorelle remains commendably lean, with few subplots and only a wisp of romance (Abdelkadr's flirtations with leftist Helene [Sabrina Segvecou]) to distract from the main story.

Most of the actors worked on Boucherab's Days of Glory (2006), and all excel here. Sami Bouajila makes Abdelkadr a single-minded revolutionary to make Tom Courtenay's Strelnikov flee in terror. Roschdy Zem is perfect as a man scarred both physically and mentally, while Jamel Debouzze makes an agreeable hustler. Bernard Blancan is a ferocious villain but no Colonel Matthieu. The female roles are sparse, though Chafia Boudra's matriarch gets some choice dialogue.

Outside the Law falls just short of greatness. Despite a familiar conclusion, it's still a powerful, revisionist look at a bloody conflict.

Argo

Ben Affleck's Argo (2012) is a pleasingly creative thriller. Part "incredible true story" satire and part intense thriller, it depicts a truly bizarre scenario: a Hollywood-CIA conspiracy to rescue refugees from the Iran Hostage Crisis. Besides its timeliness with recent Middle East violence, it's a cracking good movie.

Six American diplomats escape the Iranian takeover of America's embassy in 1979. While the world focuses on the greater hostage crisis, CIA extractor Tony Mendez (Ben Affleck) focuses on rescuing these six from the Canadian embassy. His plan: disguise the hostages as a Canadian film crew scouting locations in Iran. This involves convincing Hollywood producer Lester Siegel (Alan Arkin) and makeup man John Chambers (John Goodman) to manufacture Argo, a science fiction epic with a screenplay, advertisements and even a press event. The early stages work flawlessly, but indecision by the hostages, executive meddling and suspicious Iranians make their getaway no easy task.

Like Charlie Wilson's War, Argo's covert ops are an expose reshaped as farce. Hollywood (or at least a chunk of it) is shown in bed with the US government, who engineer a dummy film with no one batting an eye. At the end, when higher-ups call off the plan, Mendez disobeys orders, short-circuiting the whole chain of command. At the end, the CIA successfully covers its tracks, allowing Canada to take credit. Beyond a fleeting reference to the Mossadegh coup, Affleck opts not to probe the story's darker implications.

And why should he? The story's mix of farce and derring-do deserves celebration. Affleck and writer Chris Terrio provide a perfect balancing act, mixing satire with thrills. The Hollywood scenes crackle with pointed barbs, with Siegel and Chambers using bluff and guile to arrange a "fake hit." The best scene has Siegel confronting a hack screenwriter whose value is exponentially inflated by the crisis. Unionized and cliquish Hollywood proves thornier than the Ayatollah's regime.

Argo flawlessly shifts gears in the second half. We get glimpses of Iranian repression to raise the stakes, while early exposition establishes the Carter Administration's uneasiness with Mendez's plan. Afraid of an embarrassing catastrophe, the State Department nearly scrubs Mendez's plan. The last half hour is an exercise in tension, with brilliant inter-cutting between the hostages's escape, bureaucratic muddle and near-misses with Iranian authorities. It's amazingly gripping, so intense that the sappy finale barely registers.  

Ben Affleck's wooden acting isn't too big a drawback: playing an intense G-Man minimizes his woodenness. John Goodman and Alan Arkin are perfectly cast as archly cynical movie big shots: their scenes are alone worth the ticket price. Bryan Cranston gets a meaty role as Mendez's boss. The excellent supporting cast includes Victor Garber, Bob Gunton, Phillip Baker Hall, Zeljko Ivanek, Titus Welliver and Isabelle Adjani.

Argo is a resounding success. It proves again that Ben Affleck should stay behind the camera instead of take up space in front of it.

The Four Feathers (2002)

Another lousy remake of a classic movie, The Four Feathers (2002) is a woeful miscalculation. Shekhar Kapur's take on A.E.W. Mason's book is handsomely mounted, but warps everything that made the 1939 Korda production so enjoyable into wretched nonsense.

British Army officer Harry Faversham (Heath Ledger) resigns his commission after becoming engaged to Ethne (Kate Hudson). Unfortunately, Harry's decision comes on the eve of the Mahdist War, when Muslim fanatics threaten to overrun Anglo-Egyptian Sudan. Harry's friends (Michael Sheen, Rupert Penry-Jones, Kris Marshall) and Ethne deem him a coward, giving him feathers to symbolize his shame. Only Jack Durrance (Wes Bentley) sticks up for him, even though he has eyes for Ethne. A chastened Harry must redeem his honor, joining friendly native Abou (Djimon Hounsou) on a death-defying mission into enemy territory.

The Four Feathers certainly looks good. Kapur and photographer Robert Richardson deliver a visually lush film, every frame a delight. The period detail is perfect, the costumes beautiful (though inaccurate - the Brits had switched to khaki uniforms by 1885), the Moroccan locations breathtaking. Best of all is the set-piece battle towards the halfway point (supposedly Abu Klea, though not very accurate). Despite some egregious slow-motion, Kapur stages it with verve, excitement, and a genuine sense of scope. The lack of obvious computer effects is really refreshing in a modern film. Aesthetically, it's an accomplished film.

Otherwise, the film gets everything wrong. Kapur queasily vacillates between modern sensibility and imperial adventure, satisfying neither approach. A particularly stupid scene features Jack trying to disarm a Mahdist sniper, a bit more appropriate to modern policemen than Victorian soldiers. The racial politics are all over the place. The '39 film's charming Arab doctor is replaced with a sleazy slave trader. Abou comes from the original book but seems dumb for helping Harry; all he gets for his trouble is repeated beatings. The Brits treat their servants harshly, but since most of the non-white characters are murderous fanatics who cares?

There's also a baffling lack of context. Having read Michael Asher's Khartoum: The Ultimate Imperial Adventure I know the rough outline of the Mahdist Wars. Can most audiences say the same? Will they have seen earlier Four Feathers films or Khartoum as a guide? Even I had a hard time following what the hell was going on. A single fleeting reference to General Gordon is all we have to go on. Geography and strategy are a complete mystery: what are the British doing in Sudan? Where are they going and what do they hope to achieve?

Harry's heroics are toned down considerably. He's an inveterate coward in this version and frankly, we feel his peers right for judging him. Nor is his redemption very convincing. In the '39 film, he goes deep cover as an Arab, singlehandedly saves his friends and helps rout a Mahdist army at Omdurman. In this version, he more or less blunders into the Sudan and achieves little beyond his own survival, needing Abou even for that. Instead of an improbable hero, we get a sunburned git wandering around the desert.

Worst of all, though, is Kapur's unaccountably somber tone. Earlier versions knew the material was ridiculous and had fun with it. The remake's seriousness is wholly inappropriate for such lightweight material, lacking the original's humor or flare. Moving the story to the Gordon Relief Expedition allows Kapur to depict the British expedition as a failure. This bleakness jars badly with the story: Harry is redeemed, most of the protagonists survive and all should be right with the world.

The cast is the final insult. Heath Ledger showed some talent in his later films but he's an unemotive stump here. Wes Bentley made a splash in American Beauty before mostly disappearing, while Kate Hudson vanished into Romcom Hell by mid-decade. Both make game tries at English accents but can't overcome weak characters. Djimon Hounsou (Gladiator) seems lost in a pointless role, lacking his usual intensity. Pros like Michael Sheen (Frost/Nixon) and Tim Piggot-Smith (V for Vendetta) don't fare much better.

More than anything, The Four Feathers seems superfluous. True, the 1939 film's unabashed imperialism wouldn't go over well with modern audiences. But when a perfectly good version exists already, why bother?

Angie, Queen(s) of the Desert?

Yesterday I started reading Georgina Howell's biography of Gertrude Bell. Ms. Bell is a really fascinating individual: an Englishwoman who spurned pretty much all of her era's conventions, she did turns as an archaeologist, explorer, mountaineer, spy, Arabist and political player. If you're looking to credit (or blame) anyone for the current State of the Middle East, look no further than Ms. Bell; indeed, Christopher Hitchens calls her "the woman who made Iraq."

Today I came discovered that Ridley Scott, once he wraps up Prometheus, his mooted Alien prequel, is planning a biopic of Ms. Bell. Scott wouldn't be my first choice for the subject, but beggars can't be choosers.

Which leads us to the $64,000 question: Who is playing Gertrude Bell? Funny you should ask...



Yes, Angelina Jolie.

As if that weren't insulting enough, Jolie is also lined up to play Cleopatra.

Why get worked up over this? Hollywood recently has been turning lots of fascinating history into lousy films, from Public Enemies to J. Edgar. Red Tails, debuting this week, seems likely make a mess of the Tuskegee Airmen if the trailers are any indication.

This isn't a new phenomenon, of course; Hollywood's been cramming actors into ridiculous roles for time immemorial (Gary Cooper as Marco Polo? John Wayne as Genghis Khan?). Regardless, for a history buff like me it's disheartening. These are important, fascinating people who deserve to have their stories told, not poorly-thought-out schlock or Oscar-baiting bores. Is it so hard to ask they cast someone who looks and acts vaguely like the individuals they're portraying? Is it possible that a Ridley Scott epic can be anything but dull and derivative? And Angelina Jolie, seriously?

On the plus side, this might mean a Lawrence of Arabia remake with Leo DiCaprio. Stay tuned.

Exodus

The same year he broke the blacklist with Stanley Kubrick's Spartacus, writer Dalton Trumbo teamed with Otto Preminger for another outsized tale of national liberation. Exodus (1960) is one of Hollywood's more challenging epics: very long, very talky and with precious little action, it should be a thudding bore. But this adaptation of Leon Uris's novel is a powerful experience.

Recently widowed nurse Kitty Fremont (Eva Marie Sant) arrives on Cyprus, where the British military governor (Ralph Richardson) is detaining hundreds of Jewish refugees. Ari Ben Canaan (Paul Newman), a member of the Zionist Haganah, arrives in Cyprus with a cargo ship and a plan to smuggle the refugees into Palestine. A hunger strike leads to their success, but in Palestine Ari gets caught in a struggle between his moderate father (Lee J. Cobb) and revolutionary uncle (David Opatoshu). Refugee Dov (Sal Mineo), a bitter Holocaust survivor, joins the terrorist Irgun and is arrested by the British until rescued by the Haganah. Eventually Israel achieves independence, but Arab resentment gives rise to a new conflict.

Despite its near-four-hour length, Exodus is never boring. Preminger's film is wonderfully huge in scope, mixing authentic location shooting, a perfect cast and Trumbo's literate script. The movie will frustrate those looking for action and spectacle. Like Spartacus, it sets up battles and confrontations but only shows the bloody aftermath. The second half has its share of exciting setpieces, however, especially an elaborate jailbreak of terrorist leaders and a subsequent chase scene. Ernest Gold's evocative score is another highlight.

Preminger and Trumbo endorse Zionism as a great liberal cause. Discovery of Hitler's Final Solution let to an outpouring of horror and guilt in the West. The true story of the SS Exodus isn't half so bad as similar incidents (see: MS St. Louis) which occurred before and during World War II: restrictive immigration laws and Western indifference doomed untold European Jews. The war left millions of Jewish refugees with nowhere to go; the British Mandate of Palestine, with its sizeable Jewish population, became a pragmatic solution. Championing Israel was a liberal imperative, ignoring what the Arabs might think about a Jewish nation in their midst.

Exodus has no doubts about the righteousness of Israeli statehood. Jews languish in poorly-run camps on Cyprus, overseen by British troops either anti-Semitic or indifferent. Barak's Jewish settlement is a perfectly run communal society where even Arabs are welcome. The Arabs who oppose Israeli statehood are crudely represented by an odious ex-Nazi (Marius Goring). While characters debate the righteousness of the Irgun's terror campaign, the movie never seriously questions their motives.

Given the modern left's ambivalence towards Israel, Exodus's pro-Zionist attitudes might surprise viewers. In 1960, barely a decade removed from WWII, surrounded by Arab nations and viewed warily by the West, Israel was a clear underdog. In the aftermath of the Six Day War and four decades of heavy US support and Palestinian occupation, its position is more ambiguous.



Trumbo loved utopian excess and Exodus is no different. Ben and his father indulge in purple prose oratory about the coming paradise, while Arab sheik Taha (John Ireland) pleges his undying friendship. The scenes with Karen (Jill Hayworth), an improbably-innocent teenager, register more strongly: her monologue about Denmark's reaction to Nazi occupation is enough to melt the stoniest heart. But this aspect is contrasted with reminders of real-world nastiness. Dov's anguished reminiscence of his time in Auschwitz is skin-crawlingly effective. Exodus reserves the nastiest fates for its nicest characters, showing that the promised land is a long way off.

Paul Newman is in top form. Ben Canaan is more conventionally heroic than his usual troubled protagonists, but Newman's rugged charisma and gritty determination suit him perfectly. Eva Marie Saint (North By Northwest) has a difficult character arc - grieving widow, aloof humanist, passionate patriot - that she pulls off beautifully.

The supporting cast is a pleasant surprise. Of course Ralph Richardson and Lee J. Cobb provide their usual gravitas, and old pros Hugh Griffith (How to Steal a Million), Felix Aylmer (Becket), Gregory Ratoff (All About Eve) and Marius Goring (The Red Shoes) are always good. But outside of Rebel Without a Cause, when has Sal Mineo done anything worthwhile? When have John Ireland and Peter Lawford ever been anything but embarassing hams?

They're all in unusually fine form here. Mineo is superb as a traumatized punk turned revolutionary, nourishing a budding romance and finding a cause to believe in. Ireland plays his role with unusual sensitivity, and Lawford's caricature Englishman is amusing. Best of all is Jill Hayworth, whose Karen serves as the film's emotional rock.

Exodus is a fine film. It's a shame that some viewers will be put off by its politics, because it remains one of Hollywood's most thoughtful epics.

Lion of the Desert

Lion of the Desert (1981) is an extraordinary film. Moustapha Akkad's smart historical epic is a fine celebration of a country's struggle for independence, a depiction of imperial cruelty and a first-rate war epic.

In 1912, Italy, a late-comer to the Scramble for Africa, invades Libya, overwhelming the weak Turkish client state and establishing authoritarian rule. Twenty years later, however, armed resistance led by teacher-turned-guerilla Omar Mukhtar (Anthony Quinn) lingers on. Benito Mussolini's (Rod Steiger) Fascist regime sends in the ruthless General Rodolfo Graziani (Oliver Reed) to crush Mukhtar once and for all. Despite Graziani's technological advantage and incredibly brutal tactics - concentration camps, decimation and use of poison gas - Mukhtar refuses to submit.

Lion of the Desert was probably doomed for failure. Made at a hefty price of $35 million, it sank like a stone at the box office. A movie with a Muslim protagonist could not be well-received two years after the Iran Hostage Crisis, and the fact that Muammar Gaddafi, at the height of his America-hating, terrorist-sponsoring phase, funded the film surely didn't help. (Indeed, the film was banned in Italy until 2009.) This is a shame, as Lion's refreshing take on the Middle East is definitely worthwhile.

Lion in the Desert serves as a strong corrective to Hollywood Orientalism. The first shots of Libya are of beautifully verdant countryside, not the foreboding desert, and the depiction of Libyan families at play provides an unusually human portrait of Arab culture. Mukhtar's religion is emphasized, so we know he's not just a nationalist hero but a Muslim one. No doubt the film's portrayal of Mukhtar is one-sided and idealized - he refuses to execute prisoners or attack Italian civilians - but this shouldn't bother any but the most reactionary viewers.

Hollywood typically depicts Fascist Italy as Hitler's bumbling sidekick but Lion of the Desert shows them as evil enough on their own. The megalomaniacal Mussolini fancies himself a new Caesar with ambitions far in excess of his competence. Italy's justification is laughably based on Ancient Rome's regional dominion and they have no qualm with using extreme tactics. Men and children go to concentration camps, rebels are sprayed with mustard gas, the country is threaded with a "Hadrian's Wall" of barbed wire, and in a particularly gruesome scene, Italian tanks crush wounded rebels. An interesting sequence has Graziani arranging a peace conference with Mukhtar that he knows will fail, giving him time to strengthen his forces.

To be fair, Akkad doesn't demonize the Italian people: Raf Vallone's diplomatic Colonel and Stefano Petrizi's hero-turned-conscientious objector show that good men existed under Fascism. Even Graziani is shown as a human character who respects Mukhtar and regrets his fate. But Italy's atrocities speak for themselves, belying Italian notions of "civilizing" Libya. It's one of the most searing indictments of imperialism outside of Gillo Pontecorvo's Battle of Algiers and Burn!

Moustapha Akkad (killed in a 2005 terrorist attack) is best-remembered for producing the Halloween films, but he'd previously directed Anthony Quinn in the sensitive Mohammed, Messenger of God (1977). He mixes beautiful Libyan landscapes and period detail with battle scenes that are both exciting and viscerally brutal. A rebel stand at a desert village, and a huge set-piece ambush near a bridge, are really impressive, Akkad using thousands of extras, horses and period vehicle for exhilarating spectacle. H.A.L. Craig's script is thematically on the nose, but the story structure and characterizations are sound. There's also a superlative score by Maurice Jarre that somehow avoids resembling Lawrence of Arabia.

Anthony Quinn gives a superlative performance. The usually-boisterous Quinn is remarkably restrained, making his protagonist thoughtful and religiously devout, but a tough fighter in the clutch: Gandhi with a jezail. Oliver Reed's (Royal Flash) is equally impressive, making Graziani a restrained yet ferocious villain. Raf Vallone (El Cid) has some choice scenes as an Italian with a conscience. International stars Rod Steiger (On the Waterfront), John Gielgud (Becket) and Irene Pappas (The Guns of Navarone) have brief cameos.

Lion of the Desert is an unfairly overlooked gem. Its pro-Arab viewpoint is certainly unique, and it's a handsomely shot, exciting epic to boot.

Three Kings

One of Hollywood's best films about the Middle East, Three Kings (1999) holds up remarkably well twelve years and three "interventions" later. Like another Groggy favorite, The Wind and the Lion, David O. Russell's Gulf War opus is a pointed treatsie on American foreign policy disguised as a macho action flick.

March 1991. The Persian Gulf War has ended, with the US-led coalition expelling Iraqi troops from Kuwait but leaving Saddam Hussein in power. Special Forces Major Archie Gates (George Clooney) hears that a trio of soldiers - First Sergeant Troy Barlow (Mark Wahlberg), Staff Sergeant Chief Elgin (Ice Cube) and Private Conrad Vig (Spike Jonze) - have discovered an "ass map" detailing the location of stolen Kuwaiti gold within Iraq, and conspire to "liberate" it. Gates and his cohorts find Iraqi's Shia population rebelling against Saddam, but without American support they're slaughtered in brutal reprisals. The Americans try to focus on the mission, but spiralling Iraqi atrocities force them to get involved.

Three Kings borrows its basic plot from Kelly's Heroes, the goofy Clint Eastwood vehicle which had World War II GIs searching for German gold and inadvertently kickstarting the liberation of France. Russell's film, however, is much more serious, even as it retains a darkly comic edge. It's the rare action movie that takes its content seriously, and I hope you'll forgive me for a longer-than-usual review.

Plenty of Middle East-themed films have been made since 2001, but most are burdened with the usual "issue movie" baggage. Syriana and Lions for Lambs try to be cerebral but play as obnoxious PC posturing, and even Munich struggles with moral equivalence. Occasionally we get throwbacks like The Kingdom, whose puerile culture clash jokes seem anachronistic. Movies actually dealing with Afghanistan (Brothers) and Iraq (The Hurt Locker) generally have little to say.

Made two years before 9/11, Three Kings seems remarkably prescient. Despite the Gulf War's tactical success, the failure to remove Saddam left a bad taste. The opening scene, where Troy mistakenly kills a surrendering Iraqi, sets the tone immediately. American soldiers don't know why they're fighting, and all Troy can do when interrogated by an Iraqi Captain (Said Taghmoui) is spout propaganda. The toned-down depiction of Republican Guard atrocities against Shiite rebels throws the moral posture into question: If America's on the side of the angels, how can they let this happen? The liberation of Kuwait isn't unjustified, but as with our heroes self-interest takes precedence over moral concerns.

The strangest thing about Three Kings is that it's a liberal film. Eight years of George W. Bush made people forget that humanitarian intervention is a liberal idea: hence Clinton's dispatch of troops to Somalia, Bosnia and Kosovo (and our current difficulties in Libya). The film is very smart in showing that even "humanitarian" wars have consequences - rebel Amir (Cliff Curtis) lost his business to American bombs - but it ultimately endorses the Magnificent Seven scenario of gun-toting Americans rescuing downtrodden Iraqis. Again, one is reminded of The Wind and the Lion, where Marines on a political mission are shanghaied into an impromptu rescue: "I'd like to throw in with you. And God help us!"



It's easy to quibble with Three Kings' depiction of the Gulf War. All wars have unforseen consequences, even the rare, unquestionably justified ones: didn't World War II give us nuclear weapons and the Cold War? And since 2003, we've seen that the alternative to keeping Saddam around was problematic, to say the least. But the overall message is powerful: American interventions in the Middle East, whether for democracy, oil or counterterrorism, have consequences, and we ignore them at our peril.

Three Kings won't disappoint those looking for action and thrills, either. There are plenty of excitingly-staged gun battles and action scenes, with enough variety in stylization to keep from growing repetitive. It's also a very funny film, with a lot of great dialogue (the protagonists debating which Arab slurs are acceptable) and clever gags. There are a few pointed digs at the news media, with Nora Dunn's ratings-hungry reporter ("Stupid fucking birds!") and her rival (Judy Greer) sleeping with Gates for a story.

Russell's direction is heavily stylized, with use of handheld, Steadicam and tinted photography. A variety of editing choices - slow-motion shootouts, quick cut fantasy sequences - make for arresting viewing, as do the unique insert shots of bullets destroying organs and internal structures. Russell's script is extremely clever, turning throwaway gags into key plot points: a running argument about whether Lexus makes convertibles, and a Nerf skeet shooting scene have big payoffs. The only flaw is a happy ending, which undermines the caustic message a bit.

This film gave a huge career boost to its trio of stars, each struggling to break into "serious" acting. Mark Wahlberg scored a success with Boogie Nights two years earlier, but George Clooney was still struggling to shake off E.R. and Batman and Robin and Ice Cube worked to build off his cult hits Boyz n the Hood and Friday. All three stars are at the top of their game: Clooney mixing cocky and cynical, Wahlberg exuding confused intensity, Cube the stoic anchor.

Cliff Curtis (The Insider) and Said Taghmaoui (The Kite Runner) give layered portrayals of Iraqis caught up in the war. Spike Jonze's dumb Private and Nora Dunn's (Pineapple Express) self-absorbed reporter get some big laughs. Mykelti Williamson (Forrest Gump) and Holt McCallany (Rough Riders) play befuddled superior officers.

Three Kings is smart, funny and entertaining. If I've dwelt excessively on the politics, it's only because the movie actually has something to say about its hot-button content (Rambo, anyone?). Whether you enjoy it is a smarter-than-average war movie or an interesting look at the Middle East, Three Kings is excellent.

Sirocco

One of Humphrey Bogart's worst films, Sirocco (1951) is borderline unwatchable. Playing like a strange mixture of Casablanca and The Battle of Algiers, it's dramatically stilted, thematically garbled and completely unsatisfying.

In 1925, Syrian Arabs revolt against France's heavyhanded rule, plunging Damascus into brutal guerilla warfare. General LaSalle (Everett Sloane) urges brutal tactics in suppressing the uprising, but sensitive Colonel Feroud (Lee J. Cobb) urges negotiation with Arab leader Hassan (Onslow Stevens). Into this volatile mixture steps Harry Smith (Humphrey Bogart), an American ne'er-do-well who ends up running guns to the Syrians. Harry seduces the pretty Violette (Marta Toren), who happens to be Feroud's lover, and the American finds himself caught between the two sides.

Prior to Lawrence of Arabia, Hollywood rarely even tried to get the Middle East right, and Sirocco is more egregious than fantasies like The Sheikh and The Four Feathers because of its seriousness. An early scene has a journalist interviewing the French and Arab leaders, showing each of them equally intransigent, but this interesting idea is lost with a completely one-sided portrayal. The French engage in disreputable tactics but Feroud's disapproval is emphasized, while the Arabs ambush French soldiers in the streets and blow up nightclubs. France's occupation of Syria was baldfaced imperialism, League of Nations Mandate or no, and Sirocco bests even the later Lost Command in its unsophisticated view of Middle Eastern insurgency.

Sirocco has more problems than its politics. The plot is a lazy retread of Casablanca, with the same roughish protagonist, tortured love triangle, shifty French officers and air of amorality, but without anything approaching the richness and enjoyability of that classic. The film was obviously made on the cheap and director Curtis Bernhardt does little to make it look good, with generically seedy back alleys and bombed out streets straight out of The Third Man. Most of the action occurs offscreen and the facile dialogue and characterization make it hard to care about what we do see. Sirocco is just a sour and empty experience all around.

Humphrey Bogart is on autopilot. By this point in his career, Bogie could play a cynical, amoral adventurer in his sleep and he proceeds to do just that. The idea of Harry as an anti-Rick Blaine is an interesting conceit, but Bogart does little with his character, merely going through the roguish motions. Even in lesser roles like Sabrina Bogart is rarely forgettable, but he comes awfully close here with a character who's just a low-rent creep.

Lee J. Cobb (On the Waterfront) anchors the film with a surprising role. Usually a scenery chewer extraordinaire, Cobb gives a refreshingly restrained, down-to-earth performance, his honorable French officer far more appealing than the unpleasant Bogart. Marta Toren is pretty in a weak role as the love interest. The supporting cast, despite including recognizable names like Onslow Stevens, Zero Mostel, Everett Sloane, Gerald Mohr and Jeff Corey, is completely forgettable.

Sirocco is junk of a rather low order. It's interesting neither as a portrayal of the Middle East, nor as a foreign noir, nor as a vehicle for Humphrey Bogart.

Beau Geste

Beau Geste is another classic adventure from Hollywood's golden year, 1939. Based on a P.C. Wren novel, it's the most iconic - and shamelessly romantic - film portrayal of the French Foreign Legion. It's not as brilliant as its same-year counterparts The Four Feathers or Gunga Din but it's enjoyable enough as featherweight escapism.

Three orphaned children - Beau Geste (Gary Cooper) and brothers Digby (Robert Preston) and John (Ray Milland) - live with foster mother Lady Brandon (Heather Thatcher), a generous British noblewoman spurned by her husband. Lady Brandon plans to sell a family jewel for money, but someone steals it and blame falls on the Gestes. The brothers flee to the French Foreign Legion, and are shipped to Algeria where they serve under the sadistic Sergeant Markoff (Brian Donlevy). The Gestes make plenty of friends, but run afoul of Markoff and his weaselly informant Rassinoff (J. Carroll Naish), who knows their secret. An attempted mutiny and attacks by marauding Tuaregs postpones the confrontation, but a reckoning with Markoff is inevitable.

Beau Geste is pitched at an adolescent level, playing like a precocious thirteen year old's fantasy. It portrays the Foreign Legion as a summer camp, with lots of cool guys and fun activities but a jackass counselor who tries to ruin everything. This fantasy is undeniably appealing; who wouldn't want to go off with your brothers and friends to an exotic country and fight Arabs? (Granted, that last part isn't so exciting these days.) The undying camraderie of the brothers drives the story forward, kids who never grow up and always stick together, and the movie earns its sentimentality by playing things absolutely straight.

Beau Geste is enjoyable but dramatically mixed, getting by on the barest minimum of plot. The story is extremely thin, and the rivalry between the Geste and Markoff isn't given proper room to breathe. The film plunges into a series of battles just as intersquad tensions come to a head, and the showdown with Markoff is almost an afterthought. The Tuaregs are just pop-up targets without discernable motivation beyond the need for action fodder.

Director William Wellman (Battleground) shows his usual flare for action scenes, and the battles are well-staged and exciting, keeping the movie entertaining even when the pace flags. The final reels go on a bit too long, but the final twist adds a clever layer to the story. Despite its faults, there's never a dull moment.

Gary Cooper is heroic in his usual noble, colorless fashion, with Ray Milland and Robert Preston following suit. The three heros are extremely likeable, but function as a unit and none of them really standout. The real standout is Brian Donlevy (Hangmen Also Die!), giving a deliciously hammy performance that dominates the film's second half. The interesting supporting cast includes a young Susan Hayward as a love interest, J. Carroll Naish (Rio Grande) as a snitch, Albert Dekker (The Wild Bunch) as a mutineer, and Broderick Crawford, Stanley Andrews (Mr. Smith Goes to Washington), James Stephenson (The Sea Hawk) and Henry Brandon (The Searchers) as various Legionnaires. A young Donald O'Connor (Singin' in the Rain) plays Beau as a child.

Beau Geste is a fun little adventure. If it runs a bit thin on story in the later sections, at least it never wears out its welcome or loses its charming tone.

Gallipoli

Gallipoli (1981) is a superlative war film. Director Peter Weir moves from the bizarre atmospherics of Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) to a moving tale of World War I's most disastrous campaign - the Anglo-French invasion of Gallipoli, Turkey.

Archy Hamilton (Mark Lee) is an aspiring runner trapped on a farm in the wilds of West Australia. World War I breaks out and Archy feels compelled to enlist, despite the protests of his Uncle (Bill Kerr), who feels the war doesn't concern Australia. At an athletic event, Archy meets Frank Dunne (Mel Gibson), a ne'er-do-well fellow sprinter, and the two trek to Perth to join the Lighthorse Regiment. After training in Egypt, they're sent to join the Allied landing at Gallipoli, aimed at knocking the Ottoman Empire out of the war. Archy and Frank find themselves front and center for a desperate attack against well-entrenched Turkish troops at Anzac Cove.

Gallipoli stands at the forefront of Australian heritage films from the '80s, emphasizing their heroic role in Britain's imperial conflicts. It lacks the anger of the previous year's Breaker Morant but has the same message: Australian lives are wasted by callous British generals. A mixture of miscommunication (a telephone line with the Lighthorse Colonel (John Morris) fails during the battle) and pig-headedness causes of the carnage, killing thousands for no appreciable gain. The battles are brief but extremely harrowing: the first two waves in the final attack are mowed down literally in seconds by Turkish machine gun fire. The gut-wrenching finale rivals All Quiet on the Western Front as a potent anti-war statement.

However, Gallipoli keeps sermonizing in the background and focuses on its characters. Both protagonists are strongly sketched: Archy idealistically serving his country and naively trusting imperial propaganda ("We fight them there so they won't come over here!"), Frank a likeable scoundrel more interested in chasing girls than war. Their early scenes in Australia are endearing, their reunion in Egypt poignant and their fate in Turkey shocking. As a representation of a generation of Aussies, forging a national identity through wartime sacrifice, they're compelling and believable.

Weir manages an impressive production on a relatively tight budget. The film transitions from character drama to war film with ease, matching the scenic beauty of the South Australian desert and Egyptian pyramids with an impressive recreation of the Dardanelles trenches. The battle scenes are horrifying, but the most creative sequence involves soldiers dodging shrapnel while swimming nude at the beach. A synth-heavy score by Brian May and Jean-Michel Jarre strikes a false note, however.

Mel Gibson had already made a splash in Mad Max two years prior, but this film catapulted him to superstardom. Gibson's full of raw charisma, perfectly suited for his roguish character, but never hogs the spotlight. Mark Lee gives a fine performance, likeable and believably idealistic. Bill Kerr (as Archy's Uncle) and Bill Hunter (as a sympathetic Major) give strong supporting turns.

A seminal work in Australian cinema, Gallipoli is an excellent take on World War I, Australia's emerging national identity and wartime friendship and loss. Other Aussie films (The Light Horsemen, Anzacs) touch on these themes, but never to such strong effect.

Sahara (1943)

The Korda brothers hit a home run with Sahara (1943), one of the best World War II movies made during the war. Expertly plotted, perfectly paced, with an interesting ensemble cast, it's an excellent, highly influential adventure film.

American Sergeant Joe Gunn (Humphrey Bogart) and his tank crew become separated from their unit during the Battle of El Alamein. Facing a trek across hostile desert, Gunn links up with a handful of British soldiers led by Captain Halliday (Richard Nugent), a Free French corporal (Louis Mercier), and a Sudanese Sergeant (Rex Ingram) and his Italian prisoner (J. Carroll Naish). They also shoot down a German plane and capture its pilot (Kurt Kreuger), who causes them no end of trouble. This motley crew reaches a remote well, where Gunn decides to make a stand against a German battalion desperate for water.

Sahara was inspired by a Soviet film, but plays like a more refined version of The Lost Patrol. It retains the Ten Little Indians structure of the Ford film, along with the siege at a desert waterhole, but plays much better. The abstract menace of Ford's Arabs is replaced by a very tangible danger in crack German troops. The movie delivers plenty of action, with lots of excellent battle scenes in the second half, around which Zoltan Korda and writers James O'Hanlon and John Howard Lawson build a very interesting scenario. The Germans have numbers and firepower on their side, but the Allies' access to water levels the playing field. This leads to a very clever, unexpected conclusion.

Like many WWII films, Sahara plays heavily on the "world united" theme, with its motley multi-national gang of Allies (Americans, Australians, Brits, South Africans, Sudanese, French) teaming up against the Nazis. The dialogue exchanges and unit bonding scenes play naturally, unlike The Lost Patrol's facile character monologues. There are a few cliches thrown our way (various characters show pictures of their wife and kids - I hope you've got your will made out!) and Bogey gets a noble speech or two, but generally the movie provides unique, well-crafted entertainment.

Humphrey Bogart is in fine form, mixing grouchy cynicism with self-sacrifice in approved Casablanca fashion. Bruce Bennett (Treasure of the Sierra Madre) and Dan Duryea (Winchester '73) play Bogart's crew. Richard Aherne is a fine foil for Bogey, and his interesting gaggle of Commonwealth troops includes Lloyd Bridges (Try and Get Me!), Patrick O'Moore (My Fair Lady) and Louis Mercier (What Price Glory?). Rex Ingham (The Thief of Baghdad) and J. Carroll Naish (Rio Grande) give excellent performances, with dignified characters that transcend ethnic stereotypes.

Sahara is a top-tier war film. Mixing excellent storytelling with exciting action, it's definitely one of the best WWII movies ever made.

The Lost Patrol (1934)

John Ford's The Lost Patrol (1934) is an existential war film masquerading as a straightforward adventure. Dated and flawed, it nonetheless retains a certain power through its grim, stark simplicity - and Victor McLaglen's powerhouse performance.

Mesopotamia, 1917 at the height of World War I. A British cavalry patrol loses its Captain to an Arab sniper, leaving his tough Sergeant (Victor McLaglen) to take command. Unfortunately, the Captain is the only man who knew the patrol's destination, so the unit must wander, hoping to link up with British forces. They come across an oasis, but find themselves pinned down by the mysterious Arabs, who pick off the command one by one. As their numbers dwindle, the soldiers become desperate: some pick a fight with the Arabs, some try to escape, and religious nut Saunders (Boris Karloff) loses his mind completely.

The Lost Patrol is a lean, mean film, clocking in at a fast-paced 72 minutes. In approved Agatha Christie style, the main characters are bumped off one by one, with straightforward dialogue and exposition marking time between deaths. What was likely a budget-conscious decision to limit the film's scope gives the movie a grim, nihilistic feel. The "dirty Arabs" aren't seen until the very end but are always present, coloring the film with a bleak sense of doom. Some memorably nasty touches - a tragic "friendly fire" incident, the encounter with a hapless aviator - enhance the fatalistic atmosphere. No one is safe and everyone's a target, with the soldiers, lost in the desert and ignorant of their destination, having no choice but to stay put.

The movie isn't without flaws. The supporting cast overacts terribly, led by Boris Karloff's truly bizarre performance, and Ford and writer Dudley Nichols trot out cliche after cliche, with characters playing the harmonica, musing about their home life and showing pictures of their kids before dying. Equally tiresome is the utter stupidity of the soldiers, who shout, argue, climb trees and fall asleep when it would be best to hunker down and shut up. Max Steiner's overbearing score is another problem: musically it's fine, but loud, insistent cues drown out quiet dialogue scenes to ill-effect.

Victor McLaglen owns the film, delivering one of his best performances. His boisterous acting style is wildly hit-or-miss: in The Informer and Gunga Din, McLaglen's hamminess fits the bill, but in Ford's Cavalry Trilogy and The Quiet Man, he just seems a crude buffoon. In Lost Patrol, however, McLaglen dials down his acting style, giving a wonderfully subdued portrayal of a professional soldier, ever calm under fire.

If you can ignore the dated aspects and incongruities, The Lost Patrol is a fine, intense little film. Other war movies have done the Ten Little Indians schtick better (49th Parallel, Men in War) but few equal Ford's atmosphere of bleak fatalism.

Munich

Munich (2005) is arguably Steven Spielberg's best "serious" film. Heavy-handed and didactic at times, it's still one of Hollywood's more intelligent and reasonable takes on terrorism and the moral quandries of combatting it.

The Palestinian terrorist group Black September engineers the kidnapping and massacre of nine Israeli athletes during the 1972 Olympic games in Munich. Mossad agent Avner Kaufmann (Eric Bana) is personally recruited by a vengeance-minded Golda Meier (Lynn Cohen) to lead a team of crack agents on a deadly assignment: to unleash a campaign of vengeance against Black September, assassinating its leaders by any means necessary. Avner and his colleagues grow increasingly disillusioned by their work, finding their mission complicated by entanglements with the CIA and KGB, as well as a PLO-sanctioned counter-assassination team.

Spielberg and heavyweight scenarists Tony Kushner (Angels in America) and Eric Roth (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button) craft a smart look at a complex and troubling issue. Munich walks a tight-rope between condemning the Mossad action and seeing it as a cruel necessity; repeated flashbacks of the Munich massacre remind us that terrorism is a problem for Israel, regardless of the Palestinians' grievances against them. The Palestinians are allowed their say, particularly a nice debate between an undercover Avner and an articulate PLO leader (Omar Metwally), but Spielberg and Co. don't go overboard with moral equivalence either. Compared to the apolitical or stereotyped terrorists who usually populate Hollywood films - Die Hard, anyone? - it's refreshing to see such a thoughtful take on the subject.

The most convincing argument Spielberg and Co. marshal against counter-terrorism is its open-ended nature. The Mossad operation was a success, eliminating most of its targets, but did little to discourage the PLO at large. The scene where Avner and Co. track down a rival killer (the striking Marie-Josee Croze) is a brutal sequence that lays bare the essential nastiness of their mission. At base an act of vengeance, it's morally dubious but perhaps a necessity. By adopting such tactics, however, Israel risks lowering itself to the level of their enemies, a stark quandry Americans have constantly faced post-9/11.

Unfortunately, Spielberg was never a particularly subtle filmmaker, and this is occasionally to Munich's detriment. Throughout the movie we get lengthy scenes of Avner's team debating the ethics of their actions while in the field. Ciaran Hinds's obnoxious character is the worst offender: he's such a constant whiner that a viewer will question how he got attached to the mission in the first place. No doubt some of the Mossad had qualms about their mission, but these scenes ring as false as the commando debates in The Guns of Navarone. Generally speaking, men who kill for a living aren't as philosophical and introspective as Hollywood seems to think - at least not while in the process of killing.

Fortunately, Spielberg works around these rough patches. Munich plays as a slick, stylish thriller, with lots of intense action scenes and moody hand-held (but not shaky) photography thrown in. It doesn't lack for strong set-pieces, particularly the heart-breaking final flashback, even though Spielberg oddly juxtaposes it with a sex scene. The movie is a bit heavy on the homages to past films - an opening TV-watching sequence out of JFK, a hotel liaison from The Day of the Jackal, The Conversation's paranoid apartment-destruction - and a Spielberg-approved family angle is awkwardly worked in, but this sort of thing comes with the territory.

Eric Bana gives a solid performance in a difficult part. Daniel Craig has a superb "before-they-were-famous" role as Avner's fanatical right-hand man. A chameleon-like Geoffrey Rush shines in his spymaster role, making the most of a smallish part. Mathieu Almaric (Quantum of Solace) and Michael Lonsdale (The Day of the Jackal) get solid parts as a pair of anarchist informants.

Despite some rough patches, Munich is, on the whole, a successful movie. Many foreign films - The Battle of Algiers, The Baader-Meinhoff Complex - may have it beat, but Munich is still commendable as a film that's both thoughtful and entertaining.

Persepolis

Having recently fallen in love with Marjane Satrapi's Persepolis books, it was only natural that I should check out the Oscar-nominated film adaptation. Fortunately, Persepolis (2007) keeps Satrapi's work intact: her autobiographical tale of a child's life in Revolutionary Iran, and adolescence abroad, rings true through a perfect mixture of humor, pathos and personal tragedy.

Iran, 1979. Marjane "Marji" Satrapi (Gabrielle Lopes, Chiara Mastroianni) is a precocious child wrapped up in fantasy and materialism. Her parents (Catherine Denevue and Simon Abkarian) protest the Shah's regime, which collapses after the Shah flees. However, Marjane and her family find the Ayatollah Khomeini's new Islamic regime even worse, with alcohol outlawed, women forced to don veils, and a destructive war with Iraq making life unbearable. Teenaged Marjane is sent to live in Vienna, where she flits around the edges of counter-culture, struggles with romance and education, is stereotyped as a terrorist, and ends up homeless and destitute. She comes home to Iran, only to find herself a stranger even in her home country.

Persepolis is an excellent mixture of honesty and humanism, conveyed through its beautifully-realized protagonist. Satrapi is wonderfully forthcoming about herself: she presents episodes where, as a child, she leads an attack on the son of a policeman. Later, she condemns an innocent man to prison so she won't miss a date. Often narcissistic and self-destructive, Marji is no intellectual rebel or quirky heroine with all the answers, just an ordinary adolescent into music, boys and blue jeans, her faults and confusion magnified by the situation. Even transforming herself into a "modern woman" is a limited success: Iran remains repressive, and Marji is stuck in a rotten marriage which enhances her predicament.

We know, of course, that Satrapi went on to be a successful cartoonist and author, but Marji at age 18, penniless in the Vienna streets, would have no way of knowing it. Despite the depressing nature of the material, and its sad conclusion, Persepolis pulsates with joy and life-affirming happiness, with Satrapi's caustic wit and shrewd observations providing plenty of humor. The story's real-life conclusion provides an extra-textual delight.

The movie skims over the story's historical and political background, but this is forgivable. Background about Iran's history and the Shah's rise are presented in amusing vignettes, exactly how a child would digest a difficult history lesson. As in so many revolutions, the ideal revolution is subverted with something far worse: while the Shah arrests and tortures dissidents, the Ayatollah executes them. And for Iranians (and women especially), life becomes unbearable. Satrapi, who lost friends and relatives to both regimes, cannot be called objective, but Persepolis has the ring of truth throughout. Specific incidents and anecdotes are presented with vivid clarity: being harrassed by cops for "indecency," the underground parties and blackmarket music tapes, the disfigurement and death of friends in the war.

Satrapi and Vincent Paronnaud keep the comic's visual style intact: the simple, stark black-and-white visual style perfectly enhances the feeling of loss and nostalgia. Despite the story's episodic nature, it has a fast and urgent pace, flowing perfectly. The animation enhances the material with creative uses of montage, perfectly portraying the difficult backstory, and specific sequences - particularly Marji's descent into depression - are made extremely powerful. The voice work is uniformly excellent.

Some minor omissions aside, Persepolis is a fabulous, near-perfect adaptation of the graphic novel, and one of its decade's best animated films.

PS: Happy Father's Day!

Charlie Wilson's War

A nice piece of brain candy, Mike Nichols' Charlie Wilson's War (2007) is a fun "dramedy" from the pen of Aaron Sorkin (The West Wing, Sports Night). It's two-thirds a great movie, then drops the ball with a rushed, unsatisfying ending.

In 1980's Washington, Texas Congressman Charlie Wilson (Tom Hanks) is better known forpartying and womanizing than his record as a legislator. However, through the connivance of his old flame, Texas millionaire Joanne Herring (Julia Roberts), Charlie becomes highly involved in the CIA's "covert war" against the Soviets in Afghanistan. Enlisting the help of vulgar but dedicated CIA Agent Gust Avrakotos (Philip Seymour Hoffman), Wilson helps arrange a convoluted arms network involving Israel, Egypt and Pakistan, to fund the Afghan mujahedeen. Wilson's efforts are a smashing success, but as the war winds down, Gust fears that Afghanistan's problems are just beginning.

The material covered in Charlie Wilson's War remains highly topical. The CIA's support of the mujahedeen was a huge success that helped cripple the Soviet Union; however, it also laid the groundwork for the rise of the Taliban and al-Qaeda, with disastrous consequences. Just as unnerving is the picture of national security at work: Wilson sits on a secret Congressional committee with a potentially unlimited budget, and his multi-national arms network is accountable to no one. The movie presents it (not unfairly) as righteous in this context, but in others (Iran-Contra, El Salvador) it has been less moral.

Nichols and Sorkin play this material as light comedy, smoothing over the edges of the potentially rough subject matter. The complicated arms network and backroom dealings are portrayed as outrageously funny rather than outrageous, and it works like a charm. The banter between Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts and Philip Seymour Hoffman is as sharp and witty as Sorkin's best work. We see just enough of the Afghans' plight to sympathize with them, while retaining focus on our protagonists; Sorkin gets to indulge in his bleeding-heart liberalism on occasion (Wilson's speech about how he got into politics), but it's well within context. The name-dropping of then-obscure political figures (John Murtha, Rudy Giulliani) has earned laughs from both audiences I saw it with.

The movie is great for the first two-thirds, but the ending is rushed and unsatisfying. Quick montages show the weapons in action, turning the tide against the Soviets, as Charlie ratchets up the funding. Sorkin works in a quick warning about post-war consequences: without American help, Afghanistan will descend into chaos and violence, but Americans no longer care about the Afghans now that they're no long useful. The movie concludes, however, with a triumphant scene of Charlie being awarded by the CIA, fudging the message and ending the film on a discordant note.

Tom Hanks is pitch-perfect, a mixture of amoral bonhomme and moral righteousness, with a Texas accent that sounds uncannily like Robert Mitchum. Julia Roberts is fine in a difficult role; her Joanne has to be obnoxious and endearing, and Roberts pulls off the right balance. Philip Seymour Hoffman gets the meatiest role (earning him an Oscar nod), stealing his every scene while remaining credible. Amy Adams, fresh off Enchanted, shines in a key supporting role; her Sunshine Cleaning co-star Emily Blunt turns up briefly as one of Charlie's conquests. Ned Beatty (The Life and Times of Judge Roy Bean), Peter Gerety (Public Enemies), Om Puri (Gandhi) and Ken Stott (King Arthur) round out the supporting cast.

Charlie Wilson's War is a nice treat that just misses being a great film. On the balance, however, we can't really complain about what we have.

The Four Feathers (1939)

1939 was Hollywood's greatest year, producing an endless number of classics: Gone With the Wind, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, The Wizard of Oz, Stagecoach, Gunga Din. Alexander and Zoltan Korda (The Private Life of Henry VIII), the dons of the British film industry, apparently saw all this commotion across the pond and decided to trump the colonials. The result is The Four Feathers (1939), one of the all-time great adventure films.

Harry Faversham (John Clements) is the son of a British army hero, who reluctantly obliges his father's wishes and joins up. When the British send an expeditionary force to crush a Muslim uprising in Sudan, Harry resigns his commission - ostensibly for the sake of his fiancee Ethne (June Duprez). But Harry's action is perceived as cowardice, and his three army colleagues (Ralph Richardson, Jack Allen, Donald Gray) send him a parcel of white feathers to shame him. Chastened, Harry embarks on a mad quest to redeem his reputation, disguising himself as a native and rescuing his friends - and the British army - from the Khalifa (John Laurie) and his rapacious army.

I'll avoid the PC hand-wringing that plagued my Charge of the Light Brigade review, and just point out that The Four Feathers is a blast. Its absurd plot and plethora of unlikely coincidences are perfectly pulled off, mixing well with the serious character drama and sweeping battle scenes. This is a film that knows what it is and doesn't waste time explaining why we should take it seriously: it's enough that our noble, stiff-upper-lipped heroes are doing battle with heathen savages, and there's an end to it.

The movie does seem conflicted in its message about heroism. The old fuddy duddies, particularly Ethne's father (C. Aubrey Smith), are ridiculed as pompous dopes obsessed with military glory. Harry's refusal to serve, done with the best intentions, seems noble and understandable. It's hard to reconcile this lightly satirical material with the main thrust of the story, however: if there's nothing wrong with Harry's cowardice, why ought he go through such an ordeal to redeem himself? Still, the satisfaction wrought by Harry's achievements - particularly his deflating the old man's tales of Crimean glory - makes up for the garbled message, and why take this material seriously anyway?

Filming in color on location in Egypt and Sudan, Zoltan Korda and cinematographers Osmond Borradaile and Georges Perinal provide a truly epic production. By any standards, the scale is remarkable: the Technicolor images of the green English countryside, the arid Egyptian desert, casts of thousands and flocking birds and camels, are some of the most beautiful ever depicted. The movie's rousing battle scenes, with thousands of "dervishes and fuzzy-wuzzies" charging across the desert on camel-back, dodging bullets and explosions, set the standard for seven decades of movie action. Miklos Rosza provides a suitably rousing, dramatic score. In 1939, the film must have been a revelation, particularly from the chronically cash-strapped British film industry.

John Clements (Things to Come) is fine: handsome, dashingly heroic and conflicted, he makes a perfect protagonist. Ralph Richardson (Khartoum) gives the standout performance as Jack Durrance, the very proper gentleman who fights a campaign blind and graciously gives up the girl. June Duprez's love interest is pretty but doesn't have much to do, a common failing of this genre. C. Aubrey Smith (Rebecca) and Frederick Culley (The Private Life of Henry VIII) are fine as the bluff old men who get marvellously put in their place.

The Four Feathers remains among the best of the imperial adventure genre. I haven't seen the Heath Ledger remake, but I can't imagine it has a patch on this one.