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1. Josh Brolin can play a real-life character with more conviction than his father, who gave us Ronald Reagan in "The Reagans" and Clark Gable in "Gable & Lombard"--both Rich Little-type impressions.

2. No real surprises in W.--it presents recent history pretty much as I myself interpret it: a none-too-bright kid, dominated by his famous father, attempts to play Texas Ranger to the world and is bewildered when it doesn't work out. Jeffrey Wright plays Colin Powell as the lone voice of reason in the Administration; Richard Dreyfuss is nothing less than superb as Dick Cheney, with his nose buried up Bush's rear, all the better to manipulate him. Acting honors to Dreyfuss and to James Cromwell, who gives us all the strengths and weaknesses of George H.W. Bush, Toby Jones as Karl Rove, who (like Cheney) leads W. by the nose with false flattery, and Scott Glenn as an off-the-wall Donald Rumsfeld.

Virtually unrecognizable: Ellen Burstyn as Barbara Bush, and Stacy Keach, who has grown old and fat, as evangelist Earle Hudd, demonstrating why he should never appear without a mustache: his cleft-palate scar has never been more in evidence.

The film just leaves you feeling vaguely sorry for W, and sorrier for the country.

Since Douglas MacArthur affected more human lives—for the better—than any other American not elected President, he deserved a better film biography. Not that Universal's "MacArthur" is bad. It's just not all it should have been.

Oddly enough, the potential was there. From the very early "Star Trek" episode "The Corbomite Maneuver" (1966) to the recent HBO films "Something the Lord Made" (2OO4) and "Warm Springs" (2OO5), director Joseph Sargent has emerged as one of the most expressively human directors in film, a man capable of subtly shaping the emotional shadings of his actors' performances, and carrying the audience exactly where he wants them to go. The producer, Frank McCarthy, also gave us "Patton" (197O), the legendary Jerry Goldsmith scored both films, and Universal widely touted the fact that the film was "four years in preparation and production." Yet for all of this, "MacArthur" is perfectly adequate—and not much more than that.

The film begins in early 1942, shortly before the beleaguered general was ordered—by President Franklin D. Roosevelt (Dan O'Herlihy)—to flee the Philippines to avoid capture by the Japanese. Thus, this film omits:

· MacArthur's birth in 188O in a frontier barracks in Arkansas still subject to attack by Native American tribesmen—thus establishing that his remarkable life spanned the distance from bows-and-arrows to thermonuclear weapons;

· his graduation from West Point—first in a class of 95,

· how he joined his famous father, General Arthur MacArthur (who had earned the Medal of Honor at Missionary Ridge in the Civil War) on assignments in Japan, China and, most importantly, in the Philippines;

· his heroic exploits in the 1914 excursion into Vera Cruz;

· how he leaped about the trenches of World War One like a mountain goat, often wounded, and promoted with blinding speed to Brigadier General;

· his postwar service as West Point's youngest—and most progressive—commandant;

· his participation in the court-martial of Billy Mitchell in 1924;

· his routing of the Bonus Marchers in 1932;

· his efforts to sustain a woefully-underfunded Army as Chief of Staff in the early 193O's;

· his retirement from the U.S. Army to become Field Marshal (!) of the Army of the Philippines;

· and the reactivation of his commission by FDR shortly before the outbreak of the Second World War.

All this is omitted in favor of prolonged footage of MacArthur trying to fight off seasickness while being evacuated by PT boat—thus, we know that "General Mac" is a legend, but not why; nor can we appreciate why the allegations of cowardice were so wounding to "Dugout Doug"—and so patently unfounded.

The remainder of his career is presently straightforwardly: His island-hopping "Hit 'em where they ain't" campaign, the fulfillment of his pledge to the Filipinos— "I shall return!"—his crowning achievement, the winning of the peace in postwar Japan, then the difference of opinion with President Harry Truman (a properly feisty Ed Flanders) over the conduct of the Korean conflict which resulted in his outright firing, and finally, his proclamation to Congress that "old soldiers…simply fade away," after which he did just that. All quite historically accurate, and all presented with a very deliberate lack of commentary.

Sargent and the producers almost painfully distance themselves from adorning the historical record with their own approval or disapproval: If MacArthur's actions appear noble, let them be presented as such; if they appear egotistical or bombastic, let those conceptions register sans comment. Since Joe Sargent is quite expert at subtly manipulating his audience's reactions—again, see Warm Springs—this refusal to offer comment appears quite intentional. Historically, that may be commendable, but it almost defeats the efforts of the viewer to place this extraordinary man in any kind of rational perspective.

And finally, there is a sort of "made on the cheap" feel to the film, as there is to "Midway," released about the same time. Both films were relegated to "television" directors--Sargent in this case, Jack Smight on "Midway," and both have a made-for-TV-look. Even Jerry Goldsmith's march, while perfectly serviceable, lack the subtle undertones and the grandeur of his "Patton" theme--just another way in which a larger-than-life man is memorialized by a very ordinary film.

There was vanity and pettiness in this man, inarguably; there was also greatness—and love him or loathe him, one must acknowledge the fact that MacArthur did what no military commander before him had done: he won the peace.

In the end, "MacArthur"—like so many film biographies—is a good place to begin research into this remarkable man, but a poor place to end it.

Although it contains a few moments of real power, WHAT DREAMS MAY COME is a sad, pale echo of the powerful film it should be--which is not too surprising, considering the track record of writer Richard Matheson. Far too many of Matheson's stories have been mutilated in the transition to film; prime example: I AM LEGEND was screwed up TWICE, as THE LAST MAN ON EARTH with Vincent Price, and again as THE OMEGA MAN with Charlton Heston. Arguably the best realization of a Matheson story on screen was DUEL, which put young Steven Spielberg on the map--and that time, Matheson himself wrote the screenplay. (And, of course, he wrote many of the better original TWILIGHT ZONE stories.)

In writing WHAT DREAMS MAY COME, Matheson set his cautionary tale of life before-and-after this brief time on earth, in a carefully-researched setting WHICH HE BELIEVED TO BE TRUE: the place from which we come into this world, and the place to which return after death. The research, of course, delves into the ever-growing number accounts of near-death experiences and past-life hypnotic regressions. Believe this scenario or disbelieve it as you will, to Matheson, as a setting, it was quite real, with its own hard and fast rules.

Unfortunately, no such restrictions burdened director Vincent Ward or screenwriter Ron Bass, who produced a film that is rich in visuals but lacking in impact. Both novel and film tell the story of Chris Nielsen (a heartfelt performance by Robin Williams) and his efforts, after death, to redeem the heartbroken wife who committed suicide in the wake of his passing. The differences, however, are shattering:

In the book, Annie (an intense, if somewhat misguided, Annabella Sciorra) takes her life after Chris' death, leaving her children to fend for themselves. Fearing that this rendered her unsympathetic, Ward and Bass killed off her children as well, as though the onslaught of grief could somehow "excuse" her suicide.

In the book, Chris encounters, and is helped by, people he knew in life. In the film, these encounters become a bewildering (and pointless) series of mistaken identities: Cuba Gooding, Junior, is supposedly his old black mentor, but turns out to be his late son; Max Von Sydow, the mysterious "tracker," turns out to be the old black mentor; and completing the trio of race changes, Rosalind Chao is the Asian-adult version of his daughter. This a a major violation of Matheson's scenario, in which PRETENSE IS STRIPPED AWAY IN THE AFTERLIFE, and one's identity is obvious to one and all regardless of whatever race, sex or other outward appearance one chooses to manifest.

Most importantly, Chris remains oblivious to his situation, except for the information doled out sparingly to him by his contacts--although, in Matheson's scenario, a deceased person soon recovers the memories of his/her past, both earthly lives and time in the "real" (afterlife) world, and realizes his/her immediate past life was just a drop in the bucket.

That said, the film works in a very few places--most vividly, when Chris finally finds his wife in her own personal "hell" (and the dialogue, for once, is largely based on what Matheson originally wrote.) But by and large, the cautionary message of Matheson's story--LIFE IS ETERNAL, SO BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU DO AND SAY--is completely lost in a film which, despite its award-winning special effects, ultimately disappears up its own rear end.

IF EVER A FILM CRIED OUT FOR A REMAKE...!

Elleston Trevor's book is dedicated to those who, given the choice to do the impossible or die, "elect to live." To do so, director Robert Aldrich's plane crash survivors must fight not only thirst and desert heat, but each other—and themselves as well. Jimmy Stewart shines as the proud but aging pilot who cannot accept the authority of the cold and calculating German designer (Hardy Krüger) who knows how to rebuild their wrecked twin-boom Flying Boxcar into a single-fuselage makeshift craft—the Phoenix. (When he finally does, it's one of the most breath-catching scenes in the film—and in Stewart's career.) The ensemble cast is uniformly excellent. Standouts: Richard Attenborough as the alcoholic navigator who mediates between Stewart and Krüger, Peter Finch as the by-the-book British army captain, Ronald Fraser as his quietly (later not-so-quietly) rebellious sergeant, Ernest Borgnine as an oil driller "losing his marbles," and Ian Bannen, nominated for an Academy Award as an acerbic Irish oilman. Even the supporting actors—Christian Marquand, Dan Duryea, George Kennedy—are experienced leads! And the one female role in the film—an Arab dancer seen only in a hallucination—is played by Barrie Chase, Fred Astaire's TV dance partner. Frank DeVol's music is the perfect counterpoint to Aldrich's visuals—especially in the opening credits, when Aldrich freeze-frames each of the actors—including his son William and son-in-law Peter Bravos, playing the two passengers who are killed even before the credits are complete! The basic story begins when a Skytruck, a twin-boom cargo plane, takes off from a remote oil drilling station in the Central Libyan Desert. The passengers are oil drillers beginning a much-anticipated leave, along with a British Army Captain and his sergeant, and a cargo of worn-out tools being returned for replacement. The pilot, Frank Towns (Stewart), is an aging, veteran flier from the seat-of-the-pants-days, when "You took real pride in just getting there." When the radio fails, and a sandstorm springs up, he continues to fly on—after all, forty thousand flying hours amounts to a lot more than "a little local sandstorm." It's a bold decision—and, for the first time in Towns' career, the wrong one. The sandstorm is overwhelming; it chokes first the starboard engine, then the port one. Towns brings the plane down with a great deal of skill but very little luck; he slams into the dunes, breaking up the starboard boom and the undercarriage. Two men are killed, another critically injured—and as the days pass, the survivors begin to realize that they are stranded in the middle of a very big desert—and no one is likely to find them, at least not before the water runs out.

The British Army captain and one of the drillers set out on a gallant—but hopeless—attempt to march a hundred and sixty miles to the nearest water point; another driller (Borgnine) has suffered a nervous breakdown, and wanders off into the desert. The score is mounting—and this is when one other man speaks up. He is a scholarly-looking young German (Kruger) who looks decidedly out of place among the hard-bitten oil workers—and he enthusiastically announces that they have everything they need "to build a new (plane) and fly it out!" They dismiss his idea as a poor attempt at humor, until they learn what he does for a living.

He's an aircraft designer.

The Skytruck is based on the real-life "Flying Boxcar." Envision a railroad boxcar with a cockpit in front, and, on either side, a boom—sort of like an outrigger—an engine, and a wing. If you take the port, or left-side, boom—separate it from the main hull, and attach the starboard wing to it—you have an approximation of single-engine, standard-fuselage airplane.

And eventually, that's just what they do. Under the most appalling circumstances…with nothing to eat but pressed dates…with the water supply constantly on the verge of running out…with exposure raising and bursting blisters on their skin…they bash their wrecked plane apart and bash it together again in the shape of a Phoenix…the mythical bird that rose again from its own ashes.

For James Stewart, it was the last really great role in an extraordinary career. His Frank Towns is not only an old-school flier whose day has already passed him by; he is an old man who chestnuts are being pulled out of the fire by a younger man: one of the "little men with slide rules,| as Towns pits it. And the conflict between these two is, if anything, a bigger threat to the building of the Phoenix than the heat…or the thirst…or the desert.

Finally Stewart has what may arguably be the best scene in all of his many movies. The water is about out, while the pilot and the designer have fought each other to the point that all work on the new plane has ground to a halt. Finally Dorfman appears in the door of the fuselage and tells the survivors, "I want to talk to you. I want to talk to all of you." And when they're all facing him, including the pilot, he puts the question on which their survival hinges: "Mr. Towns, who is in authority here?" Jimmy Stewart does an amazing thing. He draws himself up to his full height, staring the younger man straight in the eye…and then he visibly deflates, and he sighs: "You are." The scene is lifted almost word-for-word from Trevor's novel, as is most of the story. The film opened in 1966 and—crashed, if you will, at the box office. Despite the all-star cast, a long desert survival story with an all-male cast (except for the hallucinatory belly dancer) failed to sell much popcorn. Instead, over the next forty years, it became a staple of late-night movies and home video, and has grown in critical stature until it's regarded as a classic.

P.S. This should NOT be confused with the overblown, clichéd 2004 remake!

Had it been released just a few years later—say, about the time of 1966's "Born Free"—this film might have achieved icon status in the environmental movement. As it stands, it's best known for the appalling difficulties of its location shoot in what was then French Equatorial Africa, and as the last major film appearance of Errol Flynn—who, although playing a distinctly supporting part, was accidentally catapulted into first-place billing when William Holden dropped out of the lead role of Morel, to be replaced by an equally skilled, but less "box-office-boffo," Trevor Howard.

Actually, the book, by the wry ex-diplomat Romain Gary, is a sharp satire of dry, tongue-in-cheek delights, gentle but telling jabs at both the increasingly impotent colonial masters and the wild-eyed, stout-hearted African revolutionaries who have learned all the wrong lessons from their European masters. Some of this attitude survives to inform the film—though not enough.

One character who does NOT spring from the pages of the book is on-screen for all of four minutes and forty-five seconds, yet he's a colorful springboard for all that is to come: Rush Limbaugh! Okay, El Rushbo had barely been born in 1958, but Cy Sedgwick, American broadcaster and columnist, as etched with relish by Orson Welles, predicts him with pinpoint accuracy: his girth, his pompous self-righteous, and his confident command of the opinions of "right-thinking Americans." Before Sedgwick's attempted safari, the misanthropic Morel's attempts to preserve the African elephants have made him a laughingstock; Sedgwick's broadcasts transform him into a cause celibre—

—and set the stage for the colorful characters who will follow: the haunted "hostess" (Juliette Greco), the "ancient" Danish naturalist (Friedrich von Ledebur), the Baron who has foresworn human speech (Olivier Hussenot), the colonial administrator who has arranged to be reincarnated as a tree (Paul Lukas), the opportunistic Arab (Gregoire Aslan), the would-be "African Napoleon" (Edric Connor), and the alcoholic, disgraced British officer (Errol Flynn, completing the trio of screen drunks that comprised his late-career "comeback" as a character actor.)

And one point that all Flynn biographers have missed is that his character is actually a composite of TWO from the book: Johnny Forsythe, the American who broadcast for the Communists during the Korean War—and Colonel Babcock, the "convivial English military man" whose only companion is a Mexican jumping bean named Toto.

Forgotten films CAN be rescued from obscurity: Universal just recently (December, 2OO6) released the cult classic The Spiral Road (1962) on DVD. Now, if Fox would only follow suit with The Roots of Heaven—!

Despite Thomas Keneally's excellent book and Steven Spielberg's awe-inspiring film, many people still avoid the story of Oskar Schindler and his famous "list," because they fear reading about, or watching, the Holocaust. They shouldn't, though, because this is a story where the "good guys" win--German industrialist Schindler and the more than 11,OOO Jewish workers he kept safe in his Brinnlitz, Czechoslovakia factory, while their brethren were being systematically slaughtered all around.

A number of viewers find it difficult to accept that the film is liberally laced with humor. But why shouldn't it be? Humor is one of the most effective weapons with which man on earth is armed, and, for the oppressed, humor can literally mean the difference between survival and destruction.

Some of the more humorous moments in "Schindler's List" include: ...The scene in which Poldek Pfefferberg (for those who haven't noticed, the same Pfefferberg who, as an older man, first told the Schindler story to author Thomas Keneally) and his fellow black marketeers are arguing about the quality of the merchandise: "That's not my problem," "That's not his problem," et cetera.

...The scene in which Wilhelm Nussbaum and his family have been thrown out of their luxurious home and relocated in a ghetto hovel: his wife remarks "It could be worse," Nussbaum thunders "HOW COULD IT POSSIBLY BE WORSE?!?" and then, as the OTHER new residents of these wretched quarters come filing in politely, he sees exactly how it can be worse.

...The scene in which Schindler holds auditions for a secretary: applicant after applicant is gorgeous but can't type for beans (hilariously, he shows one how to return the cartridge!)while the final candidate is a cigarette-smoking battle-ax who types with effortless efficiency--and in the next shot, he has hired them all! ...The scene in which Emily Schindler tells her husband that she'll stay with him in Krakow IF he can guarantee that no doorman or maitre d' will ever mistake her for a mistress, followed by an immediate cut to her departing on the train--the cut is so abrupt, it's almost slapstick.

...A similar scene in which Schindler is seeking permission to search a trainload of deportees for his manager Stern: he takes the names of the officer and the NCO who are blocking his way, assuring them that they will soon be serving on the Russian front, and CUT, the two Germans are shouting for Stern! ...The many scenes in which Oskar pours drinks for himself and the taciturn Stern, then ends up drinking them both--scenes which, of course, set up the poignant moment when Stern finally shares a drink with Schindler--just before Schindler makes his fateful decision to draw up the List.

And, lest the viewer object to "manufactured" humor in a serious story, three scenes are taken verbatim from fact: ...The scene during the clearing of the ghetto when Poldek Pfefferberg is trapped by Goeth and his officers and salutes them, declaring that he has been ordered to clear the passageway. Goeth is so amused by the "little Polish clicking soldier" (Poldek had, in fact, been a Polish officer before that army was wiped out) that he allows him to live.

...The scene in which Goeth accuses Rabbi Levartov, the hinge-maker, of being a slacker, and drags him outside to shoot him, only to have not one, but TWO guns misfire, after which Goeth stalks off in disgust and the Rabbi is spared.

...The scene is which the women from the Schindler factory have been mistakenly sent to Auschwitz-Birkenau. Clara Sternberg is ready to give up and throw herself against the electrified fence. Mrs. Dresner tells her friend, "Don't do it, Clara! You'll never know what happened to you!" Again, a human life is saved.

These scenes are sharp, and funny, and add immeasurably to the power of "Schindler's List." Such is the quality of this story that the viewer is compelled to IDENTIFY: with the hero, the victim, and, yes, even the villain.

The hero, at first reluctant but later coming to embrace the role, is Schindler, played with avuncular warmth by Liam Neeson. The victim is embodied by Ben Kingsley as the Jewish accountant/manager Itshak Stern. Kingsley virtually "becomes" Stern, just as he "became" Mohandas Gandhi in that outstanding biopic. And finally, Ralph Fiennes is so incredibly effective as the villain, the sadistic Nazi commandant Amon Goeth, that he lingers in the viewer's memory much as the real Goeth haunted the dreams of his charges (and may still).

When I first saw the film, I wondered why Spielberg had followed up the scene of a shirtless Goeth shooting prisoners at random from the balcony of his villa, with a scene of him walking to the toilet and urinating. Why, I wondered, did we have to watch the man taking a whiz? Then it came to me that the key word is that question is "man." Spielberg is graphically demonstrating that the Nazi commandant is NOT some demon from the depths, NOT some alien creature from another world, but a MAN. A man who has a pot belly, as so many of us do. A man who has to pee, as we all do. And a man who kills without compunction, AS WE ARE ALL CAPABLE OF DOING.

This may explain why so many, to this day, deny that the Holocaust ever occurred: they don't want to admit, they CANNOT admit, that they themselves are capable of such evil, so they desperately deny the truth they find so unacceptable.

That's the true glory of Fiennes' performance: he reveals the beast that dwells in all of us, and must always be guarded against. Because the beast denied is not the beast vanquished. It merely waits, and watches, and observes the opportunity. It is always ready to emerge again, in any government, in any nation, in any people. Constant vigilance is required to empower the cry of the Holocaust survivors: NEVER AGAIN.

Jimmy Stewart's screen-filling, secure in strength yet delicately nuanced portrait of paterfamilias Charlie Anderson is generally considered by most critics to constitute his next-to-last performance as a truly larger than life character--the last being Frank Towns in his next film, "The Flight of the Phoenix"--but the Anderson role begs a question I haven't heard asked elsewhere: just how familiar was the story's author, James Lee Barrett, with the work of author Ayn Rand? Because the character of Charlie Anderson could easily have stepped directly from the pages of "The Fountainhead" or "Atlas Shrugged." Charlie is especially reminiscent of Rand's signature hero, Howard Roark, in "The Fountainhead:" Proud, self-sufficient, and uncompromising to a fault. In his insistence on boycotting the Civil War thundering all around him, Charlie recalls the pugnacious determination of architect Roark to build his buildings as he and he alone sees fit, with no regard for the opinions or preferences of anyone else--the very essence of Rand's Objectivist philosophy.

In fact, Stewart's Anderson, who is capable of both wry amusement and intelligent self-questioning, comes closer to the Howard Roark of Rand's book than does the performance of Gary Cooper, whose film version of Roark expresses the character's dogged determinism through the trademark Cooper stoniness--effective as far as it goes, but greatly reducing the emotional range of the role. Stewart, whether softly chuckling, roaring with rage or quietly addressing the grave of his long-dead wife, gives full expression to the colorings and complexities of a hard-headed but soft-hearted man, who at film's end has grown in wisdom through his sorrowing--and humbling--experiences.

So totally does Stewart dominate the story that the rest of the fine cast is reduced to pretty much an even field, with none really warranting "co-star" status. Effective, though, are:

Glenn Corbett, as the son who questions his father's stubborn neutrality;

Doug McClure, as the Southern officer (named Sam Stephens in the film's press-book,though his last name is never mentioned in the film) who courts Anderson's lone daughter and marries her despite her "Papa's" reservations;

Philip Alford as "Boy," Anderson's youngest son, who grabs a "Johnny Reb" cap floating downstream and, with signal bad judgment, wears it, causing him to be identified as a Confederate and taken prisoner, thus setting in motion the Anderson's family somewhat Quixotic quest to find him;

Patrick Wayne, as the son who stays behind to care for his wife and newborn daughter--and who, when asked by a drifter (Kevin Hagen) for water, gives an uncanny imitation of his iconic father John Wayne when he answers, "Yer welcome to all ya c'n drink an' all ya c'n carry;"

George Kennedy, who normally plays hardboiled types, as the unusually soft-spoken Union Colonel Fairchild, who aids Anderson in his search;

Paul Fix, who literally inhabits the sorrow-filled figure of the town doctor, Tom Witherspoon;

Eugene Jackson, Junior, who brings a much-needed credibility to the part of Gabriel, the slave who joins the Union Army--and saves the life of his childhood playmate, Boy, in a coincidence that is at first hard-to-swallow, until one remembers that life itself is made up of just such unlikely moments;

and two actresses making their film debuts:

Rosemary Forsyth, as daughter Jennie who can "outrun, out-ride and outfight" any of her male siblings, displays the strength of character that would inform all of her best roles,

and Katharine Ross, who brings to the part of Pat Wayne's wife a sometimes wooden delivery ("You understand. don't you?")and little self-confidence--her star-making turns in "The Graduate" and "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" were still to come--but does project a certain luminous beauty (although, in a clumsy convention of the time, she emerges elegantly coiffed and perfectly composed immediately after giving birth!)

And finally, the entire enterprise is guided with quiet skill and taste by veteran director Andrew V. McLaglen, although even he exhibits one odd peccadillo: the humorous fistfight between the Anderson family and Federal purchasing agents recalls, almost too precisely, a similar fight in the beloved John Wayne vehicle "McLintock"--which turns out to have been the film just completed by McLaglen himself; perhaps he figured that what worked for Wayne and Maureen O'Hara would work equally well for Stewart and company, as, indeed, it pretty much does.

Shown as an ABC-TV "Movie of the Week" in March, 197O, "The Challenge" has all but disappeared from view--yet it lingers in the memory of those who saw it then, and has acquired enough of a cult following to allow collectors to share amateur DVD and VHS copies of the film, usually made from the same red-tinted 16-mm print.

(NOTE to ABC and 2Oth Century-Fox: none of us really wants to watch this film, or any other, on a "pirate" video. Release an authorized, good-quality "official" version and we'll jump at it. Think about it; I know you will.)

Adding to the film's obscurity is the somewhat generic title "The Challenge," which is shared by at least half-a-dozen other movies of varying merit. The above-mentioned print shows the title "Surrogate," which doesn't exactly set off bells of recognition with potential viewers, but hits somewhat closer to the mark.

The "surrogates" in question are Jacob Gallery (Darren McGavin in a rare performance worthy of his talent), an irreverent American mercenary, and Yuro (Mako), soldier in the army of an unnamed Communist country clearly modeled on Red China. They represent the "lowest common denominator" in warfare: two champions dueling on an isolated Pacific island to see whose nation will take possession of a nuclear payload-carrying-satellite that crashed in the ocean.

Among a truly stellar supporting cast, James Whitmore is the American in charge (National Security Adviser?), big-voiced Skip Homeier plays the State Department rep who pushes for Gallery as the U.S. champion, Broderick Crawford is General Meyers, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who'd rather send his own Major Bryant (an impossibly young Sam Elliot)in place of the unconventional Gallery, and the legendary Paul Lukas (in his last film role) is the U.S. expert on all things Oriental, who offhandedly predicts that Gallery will lose--and precisely how.

(Incidentally, the highly individualistic Gallery, a court-martialed ex-officer, is one in a series of "nobly rebellious" characters created by writer Marc Norman--who, a quarter-century later, would win an Academy Award writing similar characterizations for Joseph Fiennes and Gwyneth Paltrow to play in "Shakespeare in Love.")

The scene that sears the memory occurs when a wounded and dying Gallery sees that Bryant, in violation of all the rules (written and unwritten)has been sent in as a backup by General Meyers, and has the drop on Yuro. Ordered by Bryant to "Use your weapon. USE IT!" Gallery, nodding, damn well does--

--ON BRYANT, not Yuro!

Shortly afterward, Gallery finds that Yuro has likewise eliminated his own backup, leaving the two badly wounded adversaries free to proceed to the concluding scene of their personal drama, an object lesson in futility.

Released at the height of the Vietnam controversy, "The Challenge" no doubt ignited fires of its own, especially with the Bryant shooting scene, which apparently represents Gallery honoring a higher loyalty than patriotism--truth, perhaps? It's an attitude found more often among thoughtful patriots than among those flag-fondlers and bell-ringers who blindly chant "my country, right or wrong" in any and all circumstances.

Besides being well-made and well-acted, "The Challenge" carries a message that cries out to be heard--now, even more than then.

An amusing clip from "The Steve Allen Show" opens this documentary. Spoofing "What's My Line," three mustachioed gentlemen identify themselves as Errol Flynn: Louis Nye, Don Knotts(!) and Errol himself. This humorous and charming tone continues through the entire show, with rich footage of some of Flynn's best performances.

Interestingly--and refreshingly--the producers include material not only from Errol's hits--"Captain Blood," "Robin Hood," "The Dawn Patrol," "Gentleman Jim"--but some of his very best acting as seen in:

..."Uncertain Glory," where he played a French gentleman thief named "Jean Picard," no doubt a distant ancestor of a familiar starship commander...

..."Thank Your Lucky Stars," one of only two films which allowed Errol to do song-and-dance (the other being "Let's Make Up")...

...and "Too Much Too Soon," the dreary story of Diana Barrymore's spiral into oblivion, but a film redeemed by Errol's haunting and touching performance as John Barrymore.

About the interviews: some (David Niven, Vincent Sherman) are taken from earlier documentaries (by Tony Thomas, if memory serves). In the new interviews, critics have questioned the appearance of Richard Dreyfuss, Joanne Woodward and Burt Reynolds, none of whom, to my knowledge, worked with or even knew Flynn. Yet they bring a unique perspective as both fans (especially Dreyfuss) and accomplished actors in their own right, colleagues who have appropriate credentials to render evaluations of his work.

And finally, it is fascinating to see how the three who knew Errol best have aged. Widow Patrice Wymore has acquired a silver-haired stateliness very much like that of Lauren Bacall. Daughter Deirdre, who of course is older than her father ever lived to be, now looks very much like him--sort of the way Michael Douglas only started to resemble his father Kirk after hitting middle age. And although she looks quite matronly (but about twenty years younger than her actual age), Olivia de Havilland still shows flashes of her delightful younger self. High point: Olivia tells of deciding to get some of her own back by "torturing" Flynn during the making of "Robin Hood," flubbing take after take of their love scenes and prolonging their physical contact until Errol had "trouble with his tights." Delightful!

The best recommendation for this documentary is simply: it is NOT superficial. Viewers unfamiliar with Flynn and his "adventures" will get a full recitation of his virtues AND vices, including the alcoholism and drug abuse that eventually destroyed him, and the rape trial that, many believe, triggered (or at least exacerbated) both.

Interestingly, the allegations of Nazi involvement on Flynn's part, which originated around 198O, are given the short shrift they deserve, since they were largely based on guilt by association (with Hermann Erben, who was a Flynn friend years before he, Erben, became a Nazi)--and this is done without mentioning the name of the name of the shameless author who published those charges! (I won't mention him either.)

Curiously, charges made by the same writer that Flynn was a homosexual aren't mentioned in this program at all, probably because his very public involvement with women renders such an idea preposterous. Not preposterous is the idea that Errol was bi-sexual--and if he was, what of it? This was a man who wanted to experience EVERYTHING, and he gave it the old college try--entertaining a lot of people along the way, too.

Errol Flynn was a very good actor. This statement always raises a snicker from film buffs who blithely assume that he coasted his way through his signature roles as Hollywood's Greatest Swashbuckler--"Robin Hood," "The Sea Hawk," "Captain Blood" and other giants of that genre on sheer good looks, panache and athleticism. All three of these had been depleted by the end of the 195O's by prolonged abuse of alcohol and drugs, largely triggered by the spiritually demoralizing effects of Flynn's statutory rape trial in 1942. Nevertheless, he proved his abilities in a surprise comeback in three films: "The Sun Also Rises"(1957), "Too Much, Too Soon" and "The Roots of Heaven" (both 1958), in all of which he played aging alcoholics with a depth of feeling that startled his detractors. At this point, most critics allege he "went out like a clown" with a dismal performance in a truly dismal film, "Cuban Rebel Girls"(1959). He didn't. He redeemed himself with a charming turn as an aging con man in "The Golden Shanty," helped in the by-now hard work of memorizing lines--a strain which seldom shows on screen--by the sympathetic direction of future screen great Arthur Hiller, and sharp supporting turns by Peter Hansen and Patricia Barry.

Yes, he looks old and tired, but these qualities are absolutely right for the part--and the role of "Doc Boatwright" offers Flynn fans a tantalizing glimpse of how he might have fared as an older, character actor had he lived. Watch his priceless facial expressions as Barry, who he's trying to swindle, talks giddily of running off to St. Louis with him, or his deliberately hollow protestations to Hansen ("Our national monuments!") This half-hour episode is funny and charming; don't be turned away by stories of the difficulties he had making it--it stands as a last, small triumph and a vindication of his acting ability.

The mystery here is why such absolutely wonderful production values were wasted on a story that falls apart as soon as it begins to supply "answers" about what's going on with this derelict liner clearly (and admittedly) based on the "Andrea Doria." The transformation of the liner from its 1962 glamor to its present-day magnificent desolation is the cutting-edge of the film-maker's art, and the lushness of the sets is reason enough to give this film at least one look--just don't say you weren't warned when the storyline unravels to the point that Julianna Margulies, Gabriel Byrne & Company can no longer save it. Incidentally, Margulies' role seems to be clearly patterned on Sigourney Weaver's "Ripley" in the "Alien" flicks, and she's more than adequate in it. In fact, all the roles are given more characterization than is normal in this kind of horror film, and that includes the non-speaking roles of the ship's crew. More's the pity that they're wasted on a picture whose goofs are so glaringly obvious: click on the "goofs" section here on IMDB and you'll quickly see that this film about an Italian ship was made by people who know little Italian and less about the sea.

Another reason for watching the film, at least for hetero guys and lesbians: Francesca Rettondini as the lounge singer is, with or without her breasts covered, the most beautiful woman I have seen on screen in many a year. Oh, and although it's Monica Mancini doing the singing rather than Rettondini, it's wonderful that "Ghost Ship" resurrected as its theme the beautiful "Senza Fine" from 1966's "The Flight of the Phoenix."

"Star Trek: Nemesis" had the potential to be one of the best "Trek" incarnations. Instead it's one of the worst. Without being horrendously wordy (as some commenters have been) here are three big reasons: (****Possible spoilers****)

1. CASTING. This film hinged on the audience's belief in one basic premise: that Shinzon is a close of Jean-Luc Picard. Unfortunately, that's a non-starter because TOM HARDY DOESN'T REMOTELY RESEMBLE PATRICK STEWART. Not in eyes, nose, body, voice, or movements. As an actor he tries for Stewart's stance and speech patterns: sorry, Charlie, only the best tasting tuna get to be Star Kist. Probably the only way it would have worked would have been to cast Stewart in both roles. (And by the by: if scriptwriter John Logan is such a great lifetime Trek fan, how did he miss the many series flashbacks that showed the younger Picard with A FULL HEAD OF HAIR?

2. THE CUTTING-ROOM FLOOR. That's where the scenes that might have made the film fly wound up, apparently--dialogue scenes with Guinan and Wesley (just how and when DID Wesley leave the Traveler and return to Starfleet, anyway?), Picard's new First Officer (cut entirely), Captain Riker and Troi on board the Titan, and possibly an appearance by Diana Muldaur as Katherine Pulaski. (Some of these show up as deleted scenes on the DVD.)

3. THE COSTUMES. True, these black-and-gray abortions have been around for two or three films now. They're still lousy. The Great Bird himself learned it the hard way: Trek is doing well when it's portrayed in vivid, primary colors, and doing lousy when it's portrayed in drab colors ("The Cage," "STTMP.") One hopes that the bright costumes of the future, seen in "All Good Things" and "The Visitor" (Deep Space Nine), arrive soon. In "Nemesis," the crew of the Enterprise-E looks not like Starfleet officers, but like telephone repairmen.

The plot, to say the least, is confusing: a man and a woman playing the old badger game get caught up in a web of sleuthing, multiple identities, and shifting loyalties that leave the viewer wondering what happened. It's hard to find a "good guy" character to root for. Nevertheless, the performances are quite watchable, especially Bobbie Phillips in the lead--she can act, and she's not afraid of a little nudity (full frontal, in fact), nor should she be, as she's drop-dead gorgeous, and has a wonderful set of breasts. (If that's a blatantly sexist observation--well, it's also a true one.) The other actor who compels one to watch is the always dependable Stephen McHattie, he of the evil grin, who shines as the "mastermind" of the whole weird mess. These two actors should be offered roles in far better films than this! Oh, and if you do watch it, you'll get the impression that Robert Wagner gets prominent billing due to his name, rather than his limited footage, and you'll be right, but he does have his moment, very near the end. Performances by the above actors: 8.5 out of 1O. Film as a whole: 4 out of 1O.

This film is a curiousity that seems to have achieved cult status by showcasing the early Brigitte Bardot--okay, so she's easy to look at, but as a character she invites no audience identification whatsoever. Nor do the always reliable actors Christian Marquand ("Flight of the Phoenix," and director of one of THE worst movies of all time, "Candy") and Curt Jurgens, as two of the men "bewitched" by this unlikable bitch. The only sympathetic role in the whole film belongs to Jean-Louis Trintagnant, as the younger brother of the Marquand character.

And it is Trintagnant who is the unfortunate victim of the worst-choreographed fight scenes I have ever, EVER seen. Especially pathetic is the first fight with a dockyard tough: the blows and kicks are very obviously not connecting, and the sound effects are not only insufficient, they're out of synch with the onscreen action. The very worst John Wayne western from his pre-stardom period in the 3O's boasts better action sequences. Errol Flynn's legendarily awful "Cuban Rebel Girls," which resembles a home movie more than a film, has better fight scenes. In fact, I personally am but a community-theatre actor, and even I can fake giving and receiving punches better than Vadim's performers!

Two things puzzle me: Why did the people who meticulously "restored" the film for DVD not upgrade the sound effects to at least partially fix these absurd scenes? And how did Vadim's reputation ever survive this demonstration of ineptitude? Or is there some "artistic significance" associated with hilariously awful filmmaking that I am missing here?

Not long ago, Matt Damon starred in "The Bourne Identity," an "adaptaation" of the Robert Ludlum book that retained the name of the main character and the fact of his amnesia--and little else. Especially regrettable was the fact that the twists and turns of Ludlum's storytelling--in which nothing is ever what it seems--were obliterated.

Now, here is a story that plays very much like Ludlum: nothing is what it seems. "Everything is a lie," proclaims Walter Burke, a juicy role for Al Pacino, who thrives on over-the-top roles in films such as "Scent of a Woman" and "The Devil's Advocate." Colin Farrell and Bridget Moynahan are effective as CIA recruits who get caught up in the what-is-real, what-is-not world of this entertaining film. Trust me, the ending will surprise you.

One drawback: Farrell, throughout, wears what appears to be a three-day growth of beard. (How does one maintain that length, anyway? Don Johnson used to have to use a special razor called a "Miami Device.") Anyway, the stubble is credible when he is a civilian, prior to recruitment into The Company. After that, it's NOT credible--just a distraction.

This taut, thoughtful-at-times actioner works a lot better if you haven't read Robert Ludlum's book, or its two sequels, The Bourne Ultimatum and The Bourne Supremacy. If you have read them, you've probably developed an emotional attachment to David Webb (the real name of the man whose cover identity was Jason Bourne) and his wife, Marie--thus, you'll be offended by the characters played by Matt Damon and Frank Potente resemble the Ludlum players in name only. Indie director Doug Liman has thrown away most of the book save the title and the basic situation of the main character being an amnesiac who is dismayed at the talents he discovers in himself, talents which point toward his bring an assassin (which David Webb, in the book, is NOT--the reputation of "Jason Bourne" as a hit man is a plant.)

The new film sports some good acting from Damon, who is not yet a great or accomplished actor--but may very well be a great actor IN THE MAKING. From the time of Good Will Hunting and Dogma, he has shown enormous promise and still does. Franka Portente is a strange mixture (at least to American audiences) of strength alternating with vulnerability; the fact that she's quite good-looking but not a Pepsodent-smile model-type is rather refreshing. Good support from Brian Cox and Chris Cooper, who seems to be a dead ringer for Lloyd Bochner--remember his legendary line from the Twilight Zone episode "To Serve Man?" "It's a cookbook," he screams--and hilariously, his character, apropos of nothing, repeats the line in Naked Gun II.

Back to Bourne Identity: if you've not read the book, you'll probably like it. If you are a Ludlum fan, look for the VHS of the 1988 TV version with Richard Chamberlain and Jaclyn Smith: not a perfect adaptation by a long stretch, but at least an honest attempt to be faithful to the original.

Many filmmakers, including giants of the industry such as Cecil B. DeMille and George Stevens, have shown great REVERENCE for God. Others have shown disrescpect. Independent filmmaker Kevin Smith is the only one, in my experience, to actually show AFFECTION for God!

***(SPOILERS AHEAD)***

DOGMA hits great highs and lows. On the high side, two of the most beautiful speeches ever filmed are made to Bethany, the "Last Scion," by the Apostle Rufus (Chris Rock) and the Voice of God (Alan Rickman) in the middle of the movie, both concerning the poignant terribleness of having to tell a twelve-year-old boy--Jesus of Nazareth--that he bore the responsibility of living the life of the Lord and Savior of Mankind, up to and including a painful and degrading death.

On the other hand, there are scenes of such vulgarity that they're really and truly hard to watch, the worst of these, of course, being the one featuring the Excremental, or the S**t Demon--but then, this scene is somewhat redeemed by the Muse's explanation of the Demon's nature (composed of bodily wastes of criminals crucified on Golgotha), which has the same pseudo-logical tone as most authentic (?) dogma.

And, of course, I could f*****g take issue with a whole f*****g lot of the f*****g language, especially when f*****g Jason Mewes is doing the f*****g talking. But f**k it.

DOGMA is not for the faint of heart, or for the faint of faith. Kevin Smith believes as least two things about God, or Jehovah, or Allah, or Man Above (an Arapaho appellation I especially like) that I do, and these beliefs inform the entire film:

1. GOD IS PLAYFUL.

2. GOD IS FALLIBLE.

These two statements, verging on blasphemy to those who would rather believe than think, go a long way towards explaining the fanatic hostility that has greeted this very funny and wonderfully acted film from certain quarters. If you have no problem with these two ideas, then you'll probably love this film. Kudos to Kev Smith for having the humor, the perception, and the courage to make it.

If you liked "Cuban Rebel Girls," the semi-documentary long thought to be Errol Flynn's last film, you'll love this--but who in their right mind liked "Cuban Rebel Girls?" (Well, fans of really bad movies would. Apparently Michael and Harry Medved and Randy Dreyfus were unaware of this one; it might have beat out "Plan Nine From Outer Space" in their polling for "Worst Film of All Time.") Anyway, CRG was a grainy, poorly filmed "semi-documentary" of the days when Castro's forces were on the verge of ousting Batista from Cuba; "Cuban Story" is an all-documentary attempt at the same thing. For Flynn enthusiasts whose interest includes his last days, CS--available on DVD only--is a treasure trove: here's Errol in an office setting, sporting his trademark cigarette holder and attempting, none too successfully, to ad-lib an introduction and ending to the hodgepodge of documentary footage that makes up most of the film. The liner notes to the DVD suggest that Flynn recorded the narration to the middle of the film at a later, and presumably more sober, date. In fact, he did nothing of the sort--the voice that narrates the documentary footage is quite obviously not Flynn's at all--although the script is written in first person for Flynn, when "he" narrates footage of himself and Beverly Aadland in a casino! The mystery voice is unmistakably British, but much closer to, say, Ronald Colman's accent than Flynn. (Some sources say it's the voice of director-producer Victor Pahlen.) So, if you're interested in Flynn's last year--or historical oddities from the early days of the Cold War--this one'll pique your interest. Otherwise, it'll make "Plan Nine From Outer Space" look like "Citizen Kane."

A quietly charming film that starts slow and builds: Father (Dan Ackroyd) and son (Corbin Allred) take Grandpa (Kirk Douglas) along on a vacation trip, despite the fact that Gramps has had a stroke and his health--physical and mental--is in question. Those who've read Kirk's books, "Climbing the Mountain" and "My Stroke of Luck" will realize just how many of Kirk's real experiences have been written into the role, especially his continuing efforts to improve his damaged speech. (Who will ever forget the 1995 Academy Awards, when Kirk, just weeks after the stroke, came out to accept his honorary Oscar, and forced recognizable speech out of a mouth that was, at the time, very much a ruined instrument?) The film begins with a uneasy tenseness that makes it hard to enjoy, but this moderates as we come to know the characters, and a certain largeness of spirit appears when the three generations enter a brothel, run by Lauren Bacall, whose screen magic hasn't diminished one little bit. Incidentally, this is only the second film Douglas and Bacall have made together; the first was "Young Man With a Horn" in 1949. Does that mean we have to wait until 2O49 for them to do it again?

***NOTE: SPOILER AHEAD*** (unless you've read the book.) In John D. MacDonald's 21-book "Travis McGee" series, "The Empty Copper Sea" is a standout: up to this point, the books could more or less be read as the reader happened to encounter them. But, by "Copper," John D. had come to realize that "his people" were following the books as a chronological series, with the characters learning and growing--and, in McGee's case, moving into a wonderfully-described, full-blown midlife crisis. So, from "Copper" onward, the books read like chapters, with events in one leading to consequences in the next. For me--and I'm one of those McDonald afficionados who periodically rereads the 21 McGees in order--"Copper" is the best of a very fine lot.

Which is why I wish it had led to a better movie. Certain elements showed promise: the wonderful choice of Andrew V. McLaglen ("Shenandoah," "The Wild Geese") to direct, and the inspired casting of Katharine Ross as the extraordinary heroine, Gretel Tuckerman Howard. Other elements, though, led the adaptation astray:

Location: One one other McGee novel made it to celluloid, "Darker Than Amber." While it wasn't a marvelous adaptation, it tried for the most part to be faithful to John D.'s characters and settings. Thus, "knight-errant" Travis McGee was shown on his barge-type houseboat, "The Busted Flush," moored at the Bahia Mar marina in Fort Lauderdale. The makers of "Copper," on the other hand, inexplicably tunred the Flush into a sailboat--and home-ported it in California!

Leads: Again, "Amber" wasn't perfect, but it tried hard in its casting: Rod Taylor wasn't too far off as McGee, probably a little stockier--but he can go from a look of bovine incomprehension to seething anger quickly, McGee's trademark. And as McGee's confidant, the hairy, gentle economist Meyer, Theodore Bikel wasn't dead-on, but he wasn't bad. "Copper," conversely, gives us the (then) heavily mustachioed and debonair Sam Elliot as McGee--far too close to the traditional dashing hero--and rough, gruff Gene Evans is hopelessly miscast as Meyer!

Supporting: As mentioned, Katharine Ross personified Gretel, while Richard Farnsworth is certainly appropriate as McGee's "client," Van Harder. But--SPOILER HERE--the pivotal role of Gretel's brother, John Tuckerman, goes sadly awry. McDonald describes Tuckerman as a "Clark Gable gone seriously to seed." The character gradually exhibits symptoms of derangement that eventually lead to the story's climax. "Copper" gives us in this part Geoffrey Lewis, a talented actor but no Gable type--in fact, he's known for portraying crazies; thus, the "unfolding surprise" of Tuckerman's derangement is lost, as he appears to be ga-ga from the get-go. (Same thing happened in Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining": the lead, in King's book, is a man under stress who gradually goes bonkers; by casting Jack Nicholson, fresh off his role in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest," Kubrick short-circuits the entire character development.)

Summary: Fans of John D. MacDonald and Travis McGee will find a game but flawed attempt at an adaptation; those unfamiliar with John D. and Trav will encounter an unobjectionable mystery-suspense film.

This little gem can be appreciated on two levels. Non-jazz fans who have never heard of Red Nichols will find a fine little "family movie," which despite its 192O's-speakeasy milieu offers up nothing seamier than the observation by Red's wife, Bobbi (Barbara Bel Geddes in a performance of remarkable warmth) that their daughter has come to believe that "breakfast is a cup of coffee and an aspirin." The story of the daughter's attack of polio and her fight to walk again is unflinching and the first-time viewer should pack sufficient Kleenex. Fans of Danny Kaye will find plenty of examples of his trademark clowning, but they'll also find moments of wonderful dramatic and introspective acting.

The most remarkable scene in the movie: a guilty Nichols/Kaye, feeling that his daughter's polio is the direct result of his neglect of her in favor of jazz, promises God that if she survives, he will give up music and devote himself to her care. Sound hokey? Could have been. But the scene where Kaye throws his cornet into the river is absolutely spine-chilling. He stops, tenderly caressing the cornet keys, allowing the happy memories to pass wistfully over his features...then coldly, abruptly, tosses the instrument into the waters below. When Kaye straightens up, he seems to have aged twenty years and gained fifty pounds...a remarkable scene.

The second level on which the film can be appreciated: an introduction to a wonderful musician. Like "The Glenn Miller Story" and "The Benny Goodman Story," "The Five Pennies" makes little attempt to give an accurate portrayal of its subject. Ernest Loring Nichols, from all accounts, was a cool, calculating businessman, nothing like the madcap, freewheeling character played by Danny Kaye. As a cornetist he stood willingly in the shadow of his idol Bix Beiderbecke, whose playing style he strove (with some success) to duplicate. Despite the fact that Bix was the major personal and professional influence on Red, he is mentioned only once, toward the end of the film: "(in those early days) there was Louis (Armstrong), Bix and me--and that was it!"

Biographical inaccuracies aside, the pure tone of the real Nichols' cornet shines through brilliantly, and reaches out to grab the ear of the traditional jazz fan--at least it did mine. When I first saw the film in '81, I was a Glenn Miller and Benny Goodman fan, and knew Nichols only as a bandleader they had played with early on. The movie was a springboard, leading me to search out the albums, and the real biographical details, of the very real Red Nichols.

Incidentally, the film benefited the by-then largely forgotten Nichols greatly: just as the late-5O's dixieland-revival was gathering steam, he landed a Columbia contract, and recorded some wonderful stereo albums of his past hits--and of the music specially written for the film by Silvia Fine (Mrs. Danny Kaye). Though he died in '65 (while in Vegas to play a gig), his music lives on through these wonderful albums --and through the soundtrack on Decca, featuring not only Nichols but Louis Armstrong. Their duets, through placed in fictionalized scenes, stand as a legitimate audio document of two of the earliest and most influential cornetist/trumpeters in history playing together--in glorious, analog stereo. I'll join the others who've commented on this film in wishing that this wonderful soundtrack would be released on CD. (Not outside the realm of possibility: the soundtrack of "Pete Kelly's Blues, from the same time period, has just appeared on CD...so who knows?)

For both traditional jazz fans, and those who appreciate wholesomely uplifting (but NOT goody-goody) film, this movie is a treasure.

One of those special films I can watch over and over again, noticing new details on each viewing, "The Spiral Road" hasn't even made it to video--my own copy was taped off the air long ago--yet it seems to have enjoyed a long life on television. Even harder to find than the film is the book on which it's based, written by Jan De Hartog, whose other works are easily found in most libraries.

The book is very Dutch is setting and tone, and this was predictably softened in the film: Dr. Anton Zorgdrager becomes Dr. Anton Drager, Dr. Brzhezinska-Jansen becomes Dr. Brits Jansen, et cetera. Much of the soul-searching in the book is lost, though not all. In particular, the very seamy backstory of Salvation Army Captain Willem Wattereus is completely missing from the film, though Geoffrey Keen is skilled enough to convey, through looks and movement, the suggestion of uncharted depths in a character reduced by the script almost to cardboard.

It is fine performances that make this film work. Rock Hudson has always, I believe, been underrated as a dramatic actor--although this is beginning to change, as new audiences discover his brilliant performance in the video release of "Seconds." Too bad they can't find "Spiral" on video as well. He made it just before "Seconds," and he's just as good, striking the perfect balance of competence and arrogance as an opportunistic and atheistic young doctor who comes to the then-Netherlands East Indies in the late '3O's to fulfill his contract: five years of service in return for a government-financed education--during which he will confront cunning natives (the whites' contempt for them is a subtle undertone carefully controlled by director Robert Mulligan), God and himself.

Other standout performances: Burl Ives as Dr. Brits Jansen, modulating perfectly the rolling transitions of his larger-than-life character from cynicism to wonder, gravity to buffoonery; Gena Rowlands as Els, the "girl" from back home, valiantly overcoming the "fainthearted" stereotyping of her part, the afore-mentioned Keen, the always-reliable Robert F. Simon, and Philip Abbott in a role pivotal to the plot.

UPDATE (12/O6): After forty-four years, this fine film is now available on DVD. What a wonderful surprise--thank you, Universal.