Murphy's War

Peter O'Toole gets one of his more conventional vehicles with Murphy's War (1971). It's a fine if undistinguished wartime thriller, where solid action and good acting compensate for clunky dramatics.

Murphy (Peter O'Toole) is the sole survivor of a ship torpedoed by a U-Boat in the waning days of World War II. He winds up in coastal South America, nursed by Dr. Hayden (Sian Phillips) at a small mission. But the offending U-Boat turns up to destroy a radio station, the Captain (Horst Janson) executing a wounded English pilot (John Hallam). Murphy vows revenge, recovering the pilot's seaplane and enlisting a French captain (Philippe Noiret) to destroy the Germans.

Peter Yates makes Murphy's War enjoyable. War movie fans get their money's worth, with Yates mixing beautiful Venezuelan with violent action. Yates mixes conventional set pieces, like the Germans' violent shore raids, with more inventive fare, like Murphy's haphazard plane rides. The movie climaxes with an incredibly tense standoff; Murphy and Louis run down a fully-armed submarine with a ramshackle boat, dodging bullets and torpedoes but unsure how to vanquish their opponent. Yates' fascination with nuts-and-bolts mechanics, like Murphy's homemade bombs and shipboard mechanics, pays off handsomely.

Murphy's big problem lies between action scenes. Sterling Silliphant's script frequently bogs down, evincing a pace that's more pokey than engrossing. Murphy himself shifts between insouciant and implacable, with little effective transition; the supporting cast is even more thinly sketched. Presumably Silliphant meant an antiwar allegory, contrasting the greater conflict (heard through snatches of Edward R. Murrow broadcasts) with Murphy's petty vendetta. But any subtext or characterization is so scantily rendered, we're waiting impatiently for the next burst of violence.

Peter O'Toole does fine work, playing Murphy as a mix of Lord Jim and Paul Kersey. His trademark intensity commands the screen, though Murphy is far from his most effective characterization. Sian Phillips (Becket) does creditable work, avoiding all expected cliches in a decidedly unromantic part. Philippe Noiret (Topaz) gets the most interesting role, a practical man aloof from (but drawn into) Murphy's cycle of violence.

Murphy's War is an above-average war movie. It holds few surprises and occasionally drags, but should please viewers seeking colorful adventure. 

The Dresser

An early scene in Peter Yates' The Dresser (1983) provides the key. Albert Finney encounters a man who's lost his house to German bombs. Finney offers him free tickets to a performance of King Lear, hoping they'll provide comfort. Do we laugh at his delusional self-importance? Are we moved by his sincerity? It's a difficult balance effortlessly achieved.

During World War II, Shakespearean actor Sir (Albert Finney) tours England with a troupe of cut rate actors. Already eccentric, Sir is growing senile in old age, with assistant Norman (Tom Courtenay) embarrassed by his public outbursts and inability to remember lines. His relationship with his wife (Zena Walker) and co-stars grows increasingly strained, Norman barely keeping Sir in check. Things climax during a disastrous show of King Lear, performed during an air raid!

The Dresser is a thinly-veiled depiction of Sir Donald Wolfit. While contemporaries like Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud and Ralph Richardson became legendary stars, Wolfit earned derision as an embarrassing ham. Notoriously prickly and egomaniacal, he funded a touring company in the '30s and '40s, surrounding himself with hack actors and hogging the spotlight. Wolfit's film career was largely limited to B movies like Svengali, with occasional cameos in prestige shows like Lawrence of Arabia. Gielgud admitted "we always regarded him as a sort of joke," a reputation which has filtered down to posterity.

Drawing on a play by Ronald Harwood (Wolfit's dresser), The Dresser walks a thin line between ridicule and appreciation. Sir's hamminess isn't an act: off-stage he bellows with rage, bullies fellow actors and ignores his wife. Enraged by a train departing without his permission, he unleashes a Godly roar that echoes into the heavens. A shameless monomaniac, he considers his acting more important than the war: "Herr Hitler has made things very difficult for Shakespeare companies!" Confronted by a seductive admirer (Cathryn Harrison), Sir's thrilled at her light weight: perhaps she'll make a new Cordelia!

Albert Finney bears a strong resemblance to Wolfit but his performance transcends impersonation. Finney mixes comic bluster with more understated work: he gets a tender scene with his affectionate stage manager (Eileen Atkins), addressing her unrequited love. The snatches of Lear we see, however, show his ego has some justification. Sir is both a great actor and an insufferable human being. Finney brings him to life with a remarkable turn, surely among his best.

Tom Courtenay ended a ten year absence from films with this performance. Courtenay plays against type as a temperamental, effeminate assistant, endlessly patient. He's pushed to the breaking point but remains fiercely loyal to Sir, protecting him from sniping co-stars and lecherous fans. Yet he learns the feeling isn't mutual, leading to an outburst of heartbroken resentment.

Edward Fox (The Day of the Jackal) delivers some arch barbs as Sir's prima donna co-star, eager to upstage his boss. Michael Gough (Batman) plays a more supportive company member. Eileen Atkins (Equus) invests her brief role with heartbreaking anguish.

The Dresser is a fine, understated drama. Excellent acting makes this an affectionate tribute to an eccentric giant of stage and screen.