The Big Lift is remarkably good—natured, genuinely likable, composed as a sequence of scenes from post—war Berlin's daily life—satire and all. A merry in bits, jolly (but there's also the lumbar punishing of the limping prison guard), light travelogue, a reportage about a metropolis in a devastating political situation, seen from the common people's angle—a tandem of American soldiers in occupied Berlin. Here's another tandem movie, with contrasting acting habits, where the most interesting of the pair is relegated, at first, to the lesser part—in this case, Clift. His sidekick Douglas stands for a class of American actors I routinely dislike.
The general style of 'The Big Lift' seems a bit eclectic, not to say patched—and the script is, I should say, inconspicuous, and endearingly naive and ingenuous—journalistic slapdash of no depth whatsoever, but you get to watch Clift and a sexy young German broad, and there are nonetheless some interesting touches—so, yes, this movie is quite likable—indeed, very likable—and Clift was one of the ten best actors ever, so he can't help being much better than the script. He was in other WW 2 movies, as well. I know of at least other three—counting the 'Nurnberg' as well—and he was a soldier in 'From Here ' and 'Lions'. Sharper and much better focused than Brando—though, perhaps, not better.
The denouement is deliberately goofy—treason vanquished by treason, commendable treachery, an evil broad betrayed by a jerk, anything goes, the script isn't really ingenious—who cares? The Big Lift poses an interesting taxonomic and stylistic question—as it is, like other post—war movies, not a semi—documentary, but a pseudo—documentary—in that it aims at documenting in a convened style. It shows 'facts' as folks would expect them to be—sort of like the legal thrillers about daring lawyers, etc.. Which means that the supposed documentary fragrance and freshness are themselves quite convened. The details may be true—but the shape and atmosphere aren't, these are convened, ready—made.
Locations, dizzying locations as post—war Berlin might of been, often spoil the actors, give them a sort of holiday trip air, they often start behaving as if they are shooting in Disneyland.
Clift had a blaze of his, sort of like Garbo had a blaze, and other actors from the '20s had such blazes, and is one of the actors I'm a _completist admirer of—others being Brando, Mastroianni, Newman, Belmondo, Rourke, Crowe, and a few actresses. Clift is absolutely original; but is he anyone's heir? I think he comes from a type of early movie stars, of an underscored glamor and power; he has their ineffable beauty.
Clift knew how to be gently amusing—not in Brando', or even Newman's mischievous, crooked way, or with their taste for the immense farce—but with a convincing, distinguished and noble intelligence, a sharp focus, a lively frankness. The few gags in this movie are funny.
I liked Cornell Borchers, a '50s German actress, 25 yrs when she made this movie. In a couple of scenes, she sings.
Clift looked well in movies made in Europe.
There are actors whose performances show some sort of intrinsic metaphysical quality—beyond and other than the fantasist/ realist sets of characteristics, and Clift looked well in European settings, perhaps because he had a Kafkaesque look. (Him, much more than Perkins.) Just imagine 'The Trial'—but with Monty (and, yes, there's indeed some sort of semiconscious 'Nurnberg' hint here); the Dreiser, the Huston movie contend for the same rank, as Clift was very fit for phrasing an individual's place in the Cosmos' economy. (Dean had both the anxiety, and the fits of fury; but his art comes more from Monty, than from Brando. And Bogart was, in a loose sense, their predecessor—unlike Tracy, Gable, Olivier, Flynn, Cooper, Grant, Welles; only Robinson and Cotten might have this metaphysical hint with their roles. In a word, Clift and Bogart belong in a Kafkaesque representation.) And by this, I mean that Clift looked convincing in grim metaphysical tale.
Pages have been written about the metaphysical suggestiveness of the actors—Garbo had her learned admirers, Ekberg too. In Romania, great authors of the '30s (C. Petrescu, Holban, Ş. Cioculescu, not to mention Cãlinescu, Sebastian, Noica, Cioran) left pages or at least testimonies of this kind.
In a shorter career, Clift's roles and movies were better chosen than Brando's. He was for 20 yrs in the movies, and achieved much.
