Movie Review: How To Steal A Million (1966)

Genre: Romantic Crime Comedy  
Director: William Wyler  

Starring: Audrey Hepburn, Peter O'Toole, Eli Wallach  
Running Time: 123 minutes  

Synopsis: In Paris, Nicole Bonnet (Audrey Hepburn) is unable to convince her father Charles (Hugh Griffith), a master forger, that he should stop creating and marketing fake versions of classic art pieces. Charles lends a fake "Cellini" Venus statue for the centrepiece display at a museum exhibition, while Nicole and sophisticated art thief Simon Dermott (Peter O'Toole) start a romance after she catches him in the act. When Nicole learns the Venus may be inspected and exposed as a fake, she tries to convince Simon to steal it from the heavily-guarded museum.

What Works Well: This sophisticated and glossy heist romance and comedy is an effective vehicle for fashion icon Audrey Hepburn to model a succession of chic Paris-inspired outfits. She also brings a wide-eyed sparkle to the role of a daughter exasperated by her eccentric father's obsessive hobby, and mesmerized by a suave gentleman thief headquartered at the Ritz Hotel. The second half is focused on improvised heist mechanics featuring a tiny broom closet and the deft exploitation of the human condition to counter sophisticated technology. The script is occasionally witty but also leans on theatricality, while French actor Moustache contributes a few fine comic moments as a member of the museum guard team.

What Does Not Work As Well: The first hour is slow and ponderous, director William Wyler unnecessarily prolonging character introductions and dawdling on clutter, and Nicole's repeated use of "Papa" in her conversations with her father achieving fingernails-on-chalkboard levels of irritation. The romance ignites with nothing more than a kiss, the mild twist related to O'Toole's role is telegraphed well in advance, and Eli Wallach never finds traction as an under-scoped art collector.

Key Quote:

Charles Bonnet: Don't you know that in his lifetime Van Gogh only sold one painting? While I, in loving memory of his tragic genius, have already sold two.



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Movie Review: The Last Emperor (1987)

A historical epic, The Last Emperor is the biography of the last man to occupy an extravagant but obsolete role during turbulent times.

In 1950, former Emperor Puyi (John Lone) is a prisoner of the Chinese government, accused of collaborating with the Japanese enemy. He arrives for interrogation at a prison in Manchuria, and his life story is recounted in flashbacks.

In 1908, Puyi is not yet three years old when he is summoned to the Forbidden City and appointed Emperor by the dying Empress Dowager Cixi. Eunuch servants look after his every need, but by the time he reaches his teenage years, China is a republic and the young Emperor is a disempowered and forgotten presence strictly confined to the Forbidden City.

Reginald Johnston (Peter O'Toole) arrives from Britain as a tutor, and Puyi attempts some reforms by clamping down on corruption among the eunuchs. He also selects a wife Wanrong (Joan Chen) and a mistress. In the mid-1920s he is evicted from the Forbidden City and relocates to the coastal city of Tientsin. He lives the playboy life and gradually falls under the influence of the Japanese imperialist regime, which is harbouring ambitions to militarily and economically dominate China, starting with Manchuria.

Independently produced by Jeremy Thomas, The Last Emperor was provided with unique access by the Chinese government to film on-location in the Forbidden City. Director Bernardo Bertolucci creates a visually beautiful, immersive and often stunning tapestry of an isolated time and place existing outside the realm of concurrent events. While the mammoth 163 minutes offer no shortage of artistry, the subject matter is unworthy.

At best, Puyi naively allowed his title and presence to be exploited by the Japanese. At worst, he collaborated with a murderous expansionist regime against his own country. Either way, he lived an entitled life utterly detached from his people, until his capture, imprisonment and reprogramming. None of this is the fault of a child plucked from his mother and appointed Emperor before he was potty trained, but an unsympathetic character who achieved little of note makes for a poor choice at the centre of an epic.

Meanwhile, history passes by on the margins of the film. Mammoth events shaping China are barely noted and largely unexplained, leaving the film bereft of both a rewarding core presence and meaningful context. The pacing is predictably ponderous, and the first hour is particularly laborious, essentially consisting of Bertolucci's cameras chasing a toddler around. As a travelogue of a hidden China the film always offers something to look at, but it's a struggle for any semblance of a plot to emerge.

The final two acts are much better. Bertolucci sets aside the fascination with the Forbidden City and the film moves on to the adventures of a young man surrounded by a useless entourage, living a lavish lifestyle and creating an almost too-good-to-be-true target for the Japanese to influence. The interrogation scenes also build momentum, starting with an intimidating search for the truth by Puyi's captors but navigating towards a surprisingly nuanced attitude towards rehabilitation as defined by the state.

A fine artistic creation at a grand scale, The Last Emperor paints with loving detail on an exotic canvass, but this Emperor really had no clothes.

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Movie Review: The Lion In Winter (1968)

An insufferable talk-fest, The Lion In Winter is one prolonged argument between distinctly unlikeable family members.

It's Christmas in 1183, and King Henry II (Peter O'Toole) is turning 50 and thinking about who should succeed him onto the throne. He convenes a family gathering consisting of his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine (Katharine Hepburn) and sons Richard (Anthony Hopkins), Geoffrey (John Castle) and John (Nigel Terry). Also at the gathering are Alais (Jane Merrow), who is Henry's mistress but promised in marriage to Richard, and the young King Philip II (Timothy Dalton) of France.

Henry and Eleanor are estranged and he keeps her imprisoned. She wants Richard, a warrior, to become the new king, while Henry favours the weakling John. Geoffrey is a schemer but no one considers him worthy of the throne. Meanwhile Alais and the French Aquatine lands controlled by the King become pawns in the fervent succession debates.

The Lion In Winter is a film where family members take turns seething at each other before turning to conspiratorial whispers, hugs, and expressions of intense but often insincere love-hate sentiment. Rage and shouting erupt as routine punctuation marks. Then everyone moves to the next room and starts over. James Golding adapted his own play, and director Anthony Harvey essentially points the cameras at the rampant theatrics and allows the acting talent to talk non-stop, voice volumes often targeting the back row of the top balcony.

The endless series of conversations circle the same topics of succession, conspiracy and marriage for an interminable 134 minutes. Not one of the seven characters is remotely likable or sympathetic. Six are power hungry, phony, and take great joy in undermining each other, while John is a plain dolt. As such, who scores petty points in every round of debate is of no consequence; they all deserve to suffer, and moreover, they all deserve each other. The dialogue is a lot less witty than it thinks it is, and the drama sinks under the self-imposed weight of horrible people plumbing new depths of contempt.

The single setting is a chateau in Chinon, and the successive interactions take place in various candle-lit rooms that essentially all look the same. The performances are on the blatantly melodramatic side of committed, but a modicum of joy is derived from Peter O'Toole and Katharine Hepburn hamming it up. Undoubtedly willing, they anyway drown in the deluge of drudgerous dialogue.

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Movie Review: My Favorite Year (1982)

A nostalgia-driven comedy about the insanity of early live television shows, My Favorite Year combines laughs with joyfully expansive characters.

It's 1954 in New York City. Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker) has landed a job as a junior writer and errand boy for the weekly live television show Comedy Cavalcade, starring Stan "King" Kaiser (Joseph Bologna). While Benjy is busy trying to ignite a romance with office girl K.C. Downing (Jessica Harper), he is tasked with ensuring that ex-movie star Alan Swann (Peter O'Toole), once a popular hero of swashbuckling spectacles but now a notorious drunk, remains sober and functional enough to fulfil his guest star appearance.

In the days leading up to the show King is threatened by mobster Karl Rojeck (Cameron Mitchell), who is unhappy being one of the King's regular satirical targets. Meanwhile Benjy tries to keep Swann under control, and their misadventures include a wild sojourn to a nightclub, a highrise rooftop escapade, and dinner with Benjy's family in Brooklyn. The two men get to know each other and find they have more in common than expected.

A look back at the early days of writing and producing popular live television comedy shows, My Favorite Year feeds off the buzz and energy of writers, actors and producers tasked with pulling together a weekly event in which anything can go wrong in front of millions of viewers. Director Richard Benjamin finds a good rhythm alternating comedy and character depth, My Favorite Year enjoying moments of farce interspersed with more quiet scenes of pathos, reflection and some romance.

The film draws on the real-life personal experience of Mel Brooks, here an uncredited executive producer. The script (by Norman Steinberg and Dennis Palumbo) is inspired by Brooks' days writing with Woody Allen for the Sid Caesar variety program and Alan Swann is based by Errol Flynn, once a guest star on Caesar's show.

My Favorite Year plays on the theme of screen fantasy colliding with the reality of the men who create it. The larger than life imagery lifts but also consumes, and Swann's surrender to mythology comes at the expense of true fulfilment. While Peter O'Toole is in top form bringing Alan Swann to life as happily addicted to alcohol and women, some of the drunken antics are tiresome. Better are the moments where Swann displays surprising humanity and perception, demonstrating to Benjy a startling level of self awareness.

To a lesser extent King Kaiser is dealing with the same issues but at a more immediate level, his current mass popularity antagonizing the real target of his stinging sketches. The line between actor and role blurs, King standing up to mobster Rojeck as if he has an entourage of muscle rather than actors supporting him.

The romance elements are choppy and essentially disappear from the second half of the film. But the comedy highlights are many, including a dinner event with Benjy's parents that draws in all the occupants of a Brooklyn apartment building, followed by an attempted party gate-crash stunt involving misuse of a firehose. Director Benjamin finds a suitable finale that brings together the past and present while meshing the actors and their roles in a fitting tribute. As it turns out, once actors create their legend, there is no turning back.

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Movie Review: Zulu Dawn (1979)

A historical war movie, Zulu Dawn recounts the story of the Battle of Isandlwana at the start of the Anglo-Zulu War. The film suffers from a slow start but picks up some steam in its final third.

It's January 1879 in Natal, British South Africa. High Commissioner Sir Henry Bartle Frere (John Mills) contradicts Royal guidance and issues an ultimatum to the powerful Zulu King Cetshwayo (Simon Sabela), insisting that the King should adhere to British laws. Cetshwayo predictably refuses, triggering a declaration of war.

The British forces are under the command of the arrogant Lieutenant General Lord Chelmsford (Peter O'Toole). The other leaders include Colonel Durnford (Burt Lancaster), commander of a large force of the mounted Natal Native Contingent, and young adventurer Lieutenant William Vereker (Simon Ward), recently attached to Durnford's forces.

Chelmsford crosses the Buffalo River into Zulu territory with a large force and plenty of supplies. Initially encountering little resistance, Chelmsford leaves the main camp at Isandlwana lightly defended, splits his army and goes looking for enemy forces. The Zulu secretly amass 20,000 warriors and launch a surprise attack on the Isandlwana camp, where about 1,800 defenders have to fight for their lives.

Directed by Douglas Hickox and written by Cy Endfield (adapting his book), Zulu Dawn is a prequel to 1964's Zulu, which picked up the next day's events with the famous British defence of Rorke's Drift. In contrast the Battle of Isandlwana was an ignominious defeat for the British, the result of a modern army's arrogance and an overwhelming enemy numerical advantage.

Once the shooting starts Hickox does a good job of recreating the battle, which occupies the final 30 minutes of the film. The field tactics are coherent, the British errors are brought to the fore, and the gruesome action registers, as the fighting eventually defaults to close quarters combat. A few acts of heroism (mostly from the British side) punctuate the fighting, and the growing realization for key characters that this may very well be the end highlights the battle's outcome.

Unfortunately, Hickox has to find approximately 85 minutes of build-up before the film gets to the battle, and here he is much less successful. Zulu Dawn leaves behind the sense of misplaced ambition to create a relatively long military epic, and Hickox struggles for material to fill the front-end running time, resulting in a flabby and boring experience.

When afforded the opportunity, Endfield's script makes all the wrong choices. Instead of focusing on a few characters and zooming in on context, too much time is spent on pomp and ceremony, both in Zulu rituals and British garden parties. Too many characters clutter the British command structure, and none of the them emerge as compelling leaders worth knowing. Then the crossing of the Buffalo River takes forever, with endless shots of men, horses, wagons and supplies sloshing through the mud from shore to shore.

Some indelible scenes do survive, including Lord Chelmsford out in the field, supposedly looking for the enemy, insisting on taking time out for a formal meal complete with servers, a white tablecloth and silver cutlery, and refusing to accept that his base camp is the target of a devastating imminent attack. Durnford's last stand is another well-executed memorable moment.

In addition to Peter O'Toole, Simon Ward and John Mills, the cast features a who's who of British acting royalty, including the likes of Bob Hoskins, Denholm Elliott, Christopher Cazenove, Peter Vaughan, Ronald Lacey, and Ronald Pickup. Burt Lancaster, doubtless in the film to attract larger American and international audiences, struggles with an on-again off-again Irish accent. The film was shot in South Africa, with a troubled production history featuring various accusations of unpaid bills.

An adequate recreation of an important battle, Zulu Dawn is otherwise a cinematic opportunity missed.

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Movie Review: Diamond Cartel (2017)

An action crime thriller and Peter O'Toole's final film, Diamond Cartel is notable for somehow collecting some famous actors who should know better and throwing them into a Grade Z Kazakh production.

The barely comprehensible plot involves two lovers caught up in a feud between numerous gangsters somewhere between Siberia and Kazakhstan. Gang boss Mussa (Armand Assante) attempts to negotiate a $30 million deal to purchase a massive diamond from a Mr. Liu. But the exchange, which includes a brief appearance by an undefined Mr. Mike (Michael Madsen), is violently disrupted by the crew of Mussa's disgruntled henchman (played by Nurlan Altaev).

The bloodbath triggers an unexpected reunion between Aliya (Karlygash Mukhamedzhanova) and her childhood friend and former lover (actor Aleksey Frandetti), a soft-spoken non-violent man. Aliya was forced into becoming an assassin by Mussa. Now in possession of both the diamond and the $30 million, Aliya and Frandetti traverse Kazakhstan from end to end, hotly pursued by a large group of heavily armed bad guys. At the end of the journey is none other than Peter O'Toole as a crusty boathouse keeper, waiting to deliver his final two minutes of screen time.

O'Toole passed away in 2013. His last role was in this film, initially called The Whole World At Our Feet and released in the local Kazakh market in 2015. Two years later the film was redubbed, re-edited and renamed as Diamond Cartel, and released more widely.

Directed by Salamat Mukhammed-Ali, Diamond Cartel is a throwback to low budget mindless 1980s action movies. Horrifically dubbed (even the English-speaking actors appear victimized) with stupefyingly plastic dialogue, and featuring acting talent that oscillates between non-existent to over-the-top, this is an impenetrable chase film, serving intermittently as a Kazakh tourist video and otherwise aiming for ultra violent set-pieces delivered with no wit and less context.

To be fair, as a viewing experience it's not a total loss. The production values are decent, director Mukhammed-Ali does demonstrate regular doses of in-your-face panache, and leading lady Mukhamedzhanova shows flashes of promise. The film is delivered with a vivid, almost over-exposed colour palette, and the combination of a stark aesthetic bolted onto a bizarrely disjointed plot manages to hold interest, if not always for the right reasons.

And then there is Armand Assante, the one recognizable import with substantive screen time. He spends the film establishing a new fashion trend of slick jackets with no shirt underneath, and bites into the Kazakh scenery with unrestrained venom.

A so-bad-it's-bad curiosity, Diamond Cartel has shiny star names but the glitter is all fake.

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Movie Review: The Bible: In The Beginning...(1966)

The Book of Genesis brought to life in an American-Italian co-production, The Bible: In The Beginning... is a ponderous adaptation of some of ancient history's most famous stories.

God creates Adam (Michael Parks) and then Eve (Ulla Bergryd) in the Garden of Eden. After they eat the forbidden fruit God condemns them to a life of toil. Their son Cain (Richard Harris) kills his brother Abel (Franco Nero). Generations later, God decides to reset humanity with a massive flood and asks Noah (John Huston) to build the Ark to help restart all forms of life. Hundreds of years later the Tower of Babel is built under the leadership of the overly-arrogant King Nimrod (Stephen Boyd); God punishes his conceit by giving each man a different language and scattering humanity.

Abraham (George C. Scott), a descendant of Noah, follows God's command and leads his followers towards a promised land. His wife Sarah (Ava Gardner) cannot conceive, but she offers her Egyptian handmaiden Hagar (Zoe Sallis) to Abraham and she provides him with a son Ishmail. In the meantime the Cities of Sodom and Gomorrah become havens of corruption. God sends his Angel (Peter O'Toole) to oversee their destruction, but Abraham's nephew Lot (Gabriele Ferzetti) is spared. Sarah finally does conceive the child Isaac, but the elderly Abraham still has to face God's most difficult test.

Produced by Dino De Laurentiis and directed by John Huston, The Bible: In The Beginning arrived at the tail end of Hollywood's obsession with religious historical epics, and captures all that was bad with the bloated genre. Overly serious, with plastic characters and a complete absence of nuance, the film is unequivocal, overly reverential and way too long. It's The Bible set to slow moving albeit sometimes pretty images, with every episode prolonged well past what is needed, inflating the running time to a tiresome 174 minutes.

In addition to directing, Huston narrates, provides the voice of God, and has fun in the role of Noah. And it is the Ark episode, while still overextended, that is peppiest. Huston's twinkle in the eye introduces an element of human levity sorely missing from the rest of the film.

The Adam and Eve and Abraham stories get the bulk of the rest of the film. The Creation is a narration-dominated 30 minute opening interlude awash in the hazy colours of an imagined Eden, kicking off the film on a dull note. Despite a dedicated George C. Scott performance channeling his inner Charlton Heston, Abraham's story is rather botched. The Christopher Fry script shortchanges the man and his mission and devolves into a sordid drama about who will provide him with an offspring and when. The rivalry between Sarah and Hagar sets the precedent for catty television soap operas just a few thousand years later.

Surrendering too easily to earnest intentions, The Bible: In The Beginning never finds the flint needed to spark inspiration and creativity.

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Movie Review: Caligula (1979)

One of the more insane cinematic experiences to ever make it onto the screen, Caligula is a stylized historical epic with a stellar cast and a furtive sideline of hardcore pornography.

In the first century AD, Caligula (Malcolm McDowell) is a prince awaiting his destiny. He frolics with his sister Drusilla (Teresa Ann Savoy) and is aware that the head of the Praetorian Guard Macro (Guido Mannari) may be a rival for power. Caligula's great uncle, the half-crazed Emperor Tiberius (Peter O'Toole), is left without an ally when his closest confidant Nerva (John Gielgud) commits suicide. Macro soon helps Caligula dispose of the ailing Tiberius and the Prince ascends to Emperor.

Caligula moves quickly to eliminate perceived threats from Macro and his younger step brother Gemellus (Bruno Brive), elevating Chaerea (Paolo Bonacelli ) to the leadership of the Guard and installing Longinus (John Steiner) as his chief of staff. Prevented from marrying his true love Drusilla, Caligula instead selects Caesonia (Helen Mirren) as his bride-to-be provided she can provide him with an heir. Increasingly erratic in his behavior and then wracked by illness and personal loss, Caligula descends into a fog of madness fuelled by violence and debauchery.

An American-Italian co-production independently backed with a huge budget by Bob Guccione and his adult Penthouse magazine empire, Caligula is a grand-scale oddity. Undeniably compelling and gaudily artistic, the film presents a contorted tale of a young man's lust for power and subsequent implosion. Some of the narrative is inspired by history and most of it is imagination, and certainly the skimpy costumes and lavish sets are what a porn czar would want a godless empire to look like. Guccione's sheer audacity in going ahead and creating his vision is laudable.

The film went through a chaotic production cycle featuring multiple dueling visions, and was finally released without a recognized screenwriter, director or editor. It started life with celebrated writer Gore Vidal penning the script, but he clashed with director Tinto Brass and eventually disavowed the project. Brass himself then locked horns with Guccione, with Brass finally reduced to a Principal Photographer credit but only after delivering an initial partial cut. Guccione took control of the rest of the editing, a process credited to "the production".

Most controversially Guccione secretly recruited a few Penthouse pets and smuggled them onto the sets after hours. Along with Giancarlo Lui they filmed several scenes of explicit hardcore sex, and Guccione inserted that footage into the final cut (a hefty 156 minutes). He then proceeded to independently release the film by renting theatres and self-promoting the film, fanning the marketing machine by fighting high profile censorship battles wherever they materialized.

Given the background it is remarkable that the film works at any level. But while the barbaric violence, in-your-face nudity and unsimulated sex will offend many if not most, Caligula holds together enough to register as a controversial art piece. The themes of absolute power corrupting absolutely and the ruling elite of a pagan empire convulsing with conspiracies and corruption are hammered home with manic intensity.

Some of the scenes and visuals are unforgettable. The public wall of death machine is nightmare inducing, as is Caligula interfering in the post-wedding ceremony of an innocent couple. The full-scale indoor Roman vessel at over 50 metres long, 10 metres high and complete with 120 oars adds to the sense of lunacy, especially as a backdrop to a full fledged orgy.

Arriving as it did at the peak of the porno chic era, Caligula perhaps unsurprisingly attracted a cast of top talent. McDowell, O'Toole, Gielgud and Mirren were not aware that Guccione had plans to insert hardcore clips into his epic; they nevertheless signed up for a film produced by Penthouse and featuring full frontal nudity in almost every other scene. McDowell lets loose with a fearless performance that perfectly fits the psychosis milieu. O'Toole has just two early scenes, but they are substantive and pivotal in setting the context.

Sir John Gielgud infuses a sense of resignation to the inevitable before his character Nerva chooses his own departure time. Mirren, already a respected Shakespearean stage actress, manages to bring a quiet civility to the role of Caesonia while also participating in a softcore threesome with McDowell and Savoy.

A demented landmark, Caligula matches its subject matter in its abject insanity.

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Movie Review: High Spirits (1988)

An inane comedy, High Spirits wastes an impressive cast on a juvenile story smothered by a glut of special effects.

In Ireland, the dilapidated Plunkett Castle is facing foreclosure. In desperation, owner Peter Plunkett (Peter O'Toole) decides to leverage the castle's reputation for ghosts and sell a phoney experience to unsuspecting tourists. He trains his staff to play-act the roles of goblins and witches. The first batch of American tourists arrive, including bickering couple Jack and Sharon (Steve Guttenberg and Beverly D'Angelo), as well as a wannabe priest (Peter Gallagher), a nymph (Jennifer Tilly) and a ghost skeptic.

After the fake ghost theatrics prove disastrous, Jack encounters the real ghost of Mary Plunkett (Daryl Hannah), who was murdered on her wedding night by jealous husband Martin Brogan (Liam Neeson) 200 years ago. Jack and Mary fall in love, but have to find a way to be together.

Written and directed by Irishman Neil Jordan, who was fresh off the success of the acclaimed Mona Lisa, High Spirits is what happens when Hollywood throws too much money and influence too soon at an up-and-coming director. Jordan is allowed free reign to inject a lot of Irish and an overdose of special effects into the project, and High Spirits is an unmitigated disaster. Jordan claims the film was butchered by the studio during editing, but it's difficult to imagine any salvageable version emerging from this mess.

The level of overacting is difficult to believe, High Spirits coming across as an ill-conceived macabre play directed at children. All the actors scream their lines, over-emote to distraction, run around as if their hair is on fire, fall down the stairs in antics that stopped being funny in the 1930s, and generally act stupid. They are surrounded by a non-stop stream of cheesy and excessive special effects overused in a manner to suggest grown men were given new technology toys and lacked the basic maturity to apply them in considered doses.

Loud, boring, devoid of laughs and fundamentally lacking any redeeming moments, High Spirits is a colossal fiasco.

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Movie Review: For Greater Glory (2012)

A well-produced historical war epic, For Greater Glory (also known as Cristiada) shines a welcome light on a little-known but ugly conflict. The film is old-fashioned in scale and scope, but leans too far towards sanctifying pro-Catholic sentiment to be taken seriously.

It's 1926 in Mexico, and secular President Calles (Rubén Blades) insists that anti-Catholic provisions in the 1917 Constitution be enforced. Protestors demanding religious freedoms take to the streets, and the subsequent government crackdown includes the deportation of priests and the killing of others, including Father Christopher (Peter O'Toole). The violence triggers a rebellion, with ragtag militias known as the Cristeros squaring off against federal soldiers. The rebel leaders include the militant Father Vega (Santiago Cabrera), ostensibly responsible for a civilian massacre, and legendary peasant commander Victoriano "El Catorce" Ramírez (Oscar Isaac), known for single-handedly killing fourteen federalist soldiers.

Needing better organization, the Cristeros approach retired General Enrique Gorostieta (Andy Garcia) and offer him the opportunity to forge the disparate anti-government troops into a cohesive fighting force. Over the protests of his wife Tulita (Eva Longoria), he agrees to leave his comfortable life as a soap magnate and heads to the hills to lead the rebellion. A young boy José (Mauricio Kuri) joins the rebels and becomes Gorostieta's surrogate son. The war drags on for years, until the American government through Ambassador Morrow (Bruce Greenwood) decides to intervene while keeping an eye on American interests in the Mexican oil fields.

A lavish Mexican production directed by Dean Wright, For Greater Glory recalls Hollywood's epics of the 1950s and 1960s, with a grand scope, multiple storylines, serious characterizations, armies of extras and grand battles. For Greater Glory is also unfortunately encumbered by a lack of subtlety that may have been acceptable in a different era, but now borders on propaganda. The film treats the conflict as an almost straightforward battle between good (the Catholic church) and evil (President Calles), and there is no attempt to introduce shades of grey or nuanced context.

The obtuse tone is unfortunate, because there is a lot to enjoy in the movie. Wright, the visual effects producer for Titanic, two Lord of the Rings movies and two Narnia movies, knows how to make a scene look good, and despite the long 145 minutes of running time the film never lacks for visual splendor or energy. The action scenes are particularly well handled, Wright navigating the chaos of battle with fluid expertise.

Less impressive is an overemphasis on the story of young José, a fable that creeps into consecration territory, impressive for the devout but otherwise overcooked into a chewy mess of miraculous manipulation.

Andy Garcia leads a large cast and delivers a distinguished performance as General Enrique Gorostieta, a man who believes in freedom, family and finances, and therefore triangulates his way into leading the Cristeros despite being a confirmed atheist. Peter O'Toole, at 80 years old, is much more theatrically divine as Father Christopher.

Unabashedly one-sided, For Greater Glory preaches to the converted and allows its tone-deaf stance to compromise an otherwise worthwhile retelling of a largely forgotten civil war.

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The Movies Of Peter O'Toole

All movies starring Peter O'Toole and reviewed on the Ace Black Movie Blog are linked below:

Lawrence Of Arabia (1962)

The Sandpiper (1965, voice cameo, uncredited)

How To Steal A Million (1966)

The Bible: In The Beginning... (1966)

The Lion In Winter (1968)

Zulu Dawn (1979)

Caligula (1979)

My Favorite Year (1982)

The Last Emperor (1987)

High Spirits (1988)

Troy (2004)

For Greater Glory (2012)

Diamond Cartel (2017)

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The Movie Star Index is here.

Movie Review: Troy (2004)

An epic adaptation of Homer's Iliad, Troy is a wildly enjoyable romp through ancient Greek mythology.  The mammoth scope of the Trojan War and the intriguing mix of characters involved in the siege, including kings, combatants, and their women, are brought to life with a lavish treatment enhanced by stunning cinematography and sweeping special effects.

It's the 8th century BC, and after years of warfare, king Agamemnon (Brian Cox) has almost succeeded in unifying all the Greek kings and armies under his command. The demi-god Achilles (Brad Pitt), the most fearsome warrior in the land, holds no respect for Agamemnon but does help in battles, as his destiny is to engage in constant war. King Odysseus (Sean Bean) is loyal to Agamemnon and one of the few men that Achilles respects, and acts as intermediary between the two.

Odysseus: Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity. And so we ask ourselves: will our actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear our names long after we are gone and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved?

While the coastal city of Troy remains independent behind its imposing defensive walls, Agamemnon's brother king Menelaus (Brendan Gleeson) negotiates a peace treaty with Troy's two princes, Hector (Eric Bana) and Paris (Orlando Bloom). Hector is older and more mature, but the younger Paris is less experienced, more impetuous, and foolishly falls in love with Helen (Diane Kruger), Menelaus' wife. When Helen decides to join Paris on his return journey to Troy, Menelaus is personally outraged, but Agamemnon recognizes the opportunity to use the illicit love affair as an excuse to launch an all-out assault to subjugate Troy.

Agamemnon: Peace is for the women, and the weak. Empires are forged by war.

Assembling a massive army of 1,000 ships and 50,000 soldiers, including Achilles and his young cousin Patroclus (Garrett Hedlund), Agamemnon wages a vicious war against a stubborn Troy and its king Priam (Peter O'Toole). The campaign is full of bloody battles, unexpected triumphs, and setbacks for both sides, in the midst of which Achilles nurtures a romantic relationship with Hector's cousin the priestess Brisies (Rose Byrne), before the most famous ruse in warfare history is conceived by Odysseus to turn the tide of battle.

Thetis, Achilles' mother, to her son: If you stay in Larissa, you will find peace. You will find a wonderful woman, and you will have sons and daughters, who will have children. And they'll all love you and remember your name. But when your children are dead, and their children after them, your name will be lost. If you go to Troy, glory will be yours. They will write stories about your victories for thousands of years and the world will honor your name. But if you go to Troy, you will never come back, for your glory walks hand-in-hand with your doom. And I shall never see you again.

The Troy script by David Benioff is a modern-day masterpiece of cinematic literature. Deriving an elegant and relatively compact narrative out of Homer's sprawling story, and adopting a historical rather than mythological approach, Benioff successfully achieves the difficult task of introducing a large number of essential characters and events, and ensuring that they remain distinct and memorable. He also conjures up an impressive number of epic dialogue lines, which, while undoubtedly self-consciously pompous, help to capture the cross-millennial significance of ancient history's most intriguing war.

Odysseus: This war will never be forgotten, nor will the heroes who fight in it. 

With a solid screenplay to work from, director Wolfgang Petersen can focus on breaking out of his typical love of confined spaces, and he simply soars into the wide expanse of mythology. Working with cinematographer Roger Pratt, Petersen fills Troy with a succession of stunning images, including the thousand Greek ships approaching Troy's shoreline, and directs the combat scenes with brilliantly choreographed zest.

Petersen's fluid aerial cameras capture armies marching and then crashing into each other with dreadful force, the horrors of war elevated to meet the merciless standards of mythological legend. The computer-generated enhancements are seamlessly integrated, and Petersen keeps the humans at the centre of Troy, using the microchips to full advantage but never allowing them to seize control.

Odysseus, to Achilles: War is young men dying and old men talking. You know this. Ignore the politics.

It would have been easy for the actors to be swallowed up by the spectacle, but Brad Pitt delivers a surprisingly nuanced performance as Achilles, a man born for war but finding nothing worth fighting for.

Achilles: Imagine a king who fights his own battles. Wouldn't that be a sight?

A killing machine, a keen observer of the world, and a magnetic lover, Pitt creates an Achilles worthy of his exalted place in legendary history. Eric Bana almost matches Pitt, sword swing for sword swing, Hector emerging as by far the most noble character in Troy, protective of his younger brother, defender of Troy, caring for his family, respectful of his father, and an expert combat warrior.

Hector: All my life I've lived by a code and the code is simple: honour the gods, love your woman and defend your country. Troy is mother to us all. Fight for her!

The good performances continue, with Peter O'Toole a distinguished Priam, Rose Byrne feisty as Brisies in the face of prolonged physical threat, Sean Bean thoughtfully effective as Odysseus in his relatively few minutes of screen time, and Vincent Regan memorable as Achilles' faithful lieutenant Eudoros. Julie Christie gets one scene, but delivers one of the best lines in the movie (quoted above), as Thetis, Achilles' mother. Slightly less convincing are a couple of the younger actors, both Orlando Bloom and Garrett Hedlund lacking the necessary presence to hold their own amidst the overwhelming grandeur.

The James Horner music score is appropriately exalted, and employing a less-is-more philosophy, at times makes use of minimal sounds to brilliant effect, as in the drums that provide the backdrop for the battle between Achilles and Hector. Vocalist Tanja Carovska adds a few anguished passages to lament the mass slaughter of men in meat grinder battles, and to the credit of Horner and Petersen, the soundtrack is never repetitive despite the film's 162 minute running length.

Troy is an ambitious and immersive experience, a magnificent cinematic achievement worthy of representing the monumental legends that inspired it.

Odysseus: If they ever tell my story, let them say... I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat... but these names will never die. Let them say I lived in the time of Hector, tamer of horses. Let them say... I lived in the time of Achilles.

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Movie Review: Lawrence Of Arabia (1962)

One of the most majestic achievements in the history of cinema, Lawrence Of Arabia is a captivating historical epic. David Lean creates a multi-sensory feast in the desert and brings to life with artistic grandeur the story of T.E. Lawrence uniting Arab tribes to open a new Great War front.

In Egypt during the First World War, Lawrence (Peter O'Toole) is a nonconformist British Army Lieutenant with an uncanny understanding of the local culture. With Arabian tribes loyal to Prince Faisal (Alec Guinness) conducting low-level raids against Turkish outposts, Lawrence is reassigned to explore opportunities to coordinate and further exploit the rear flank of the Ottoman Empire. Quickly learning the ways of the desert, Lawrence teams up with Sherif Ali (Omar Sharif), a trusted Faisal ally, and after an arduous trek across the desert, unites Faisal's faction with the tribe of grizzled warrior Auda Abu Tayi (Anthony Quinn). In addition to his leadership qualities, Lawrence discovers with some anguish the uncontrollable euphoric rush triggered when he kills a man. 

Lawrence plots an audacious attack on the town of Aqaba, leading the united tribes as they rout the Turkish defenders, providing the Arabs with a resupply port and the British an incentive to pour more resources into the emerging militaristic wave of Arab nationalism. Lawrence is tasked with leading a campaign of supply route disruption against the Ottomans, consisting of punishing raids against rail infrastructure. With his growing reputation beginning to attract international attention thanks to American reporter Jackson Bentley (Arthur Kennedy), Lawrence's worrisome tendency to believe in his own invincibility is punctured by a vicious encounter with a Turkish prison master (Jose Ferrer). But blood lust will overcome self-doubt, and Lawrence will go on to discover the divides between tribalism, governance and political realities.

Lawrence Of Arabia is 3 hours and 40 minutes long, and Lean's exquisite pacing ensures an immersive experience. The film is remarkably engaging, and incredibly, creates a thirst for more. As Lawrence's adventure in Arabia draws to a close, Lean evokes a sadness that an episode of remarkable military adventurism is coming to an end, the eloquent story of one man who made a lasting dent in the tide of history earning epic status.

The film's visual texture is breathtaking. Cinematographer Freddy Young transforms the vast desert into a startling canvass and sets the standard for beauty and brutality baking under the omnipresent sun. Lean and Young painstakingly stage grand tableaux to maximize the impact of light and shadows, and human forms dwarfed by an immense hostile environment. Lawrence Of Arabia is also an ode to the camel, many scenes making use of hundreds of them, the animal remarkably graceful in its natural environment and an essential means of travel, survival and warfare.

Maurice Jarre contributes an evocative music score combining spine tingling individuality with ceremonial magnificence, the music carrying the echoes of wide open spaces hosting defiant human spirits.

In his breakthrough role at 30 years old, O'Toole gives a performance as searing as the incessant desert heat, bringing Lawrence to life with a combination of British haughtiness and clever deference to Arab culture. Making full use of the sharp screenplay by Robert Bolt and Michael Wilson, O'Toole keeps Lawrence intriguingly human by emphasizing his ever shifting focus, an uneasy mix of loyalty to Britain, infatuation with the desert and its people, and a self-serving quest for glory.

Omar Sharif, Alec Guinness and Anthony Quinn create a ring of sturdy desert wisdom around O'Toole. Sharif is the most textured, his Sherif Ali never yielding pride to Lawrence but allowing friendship and mutual respect to flourish after the roughest of initial introductions. Guinness and Quinn are more unidimensional at opposite ends of the scale. Guinness allows Faisal to lead from the back while waiting for the messy business of war to give way to the avaricious game of politics, while Quinn portrays Auda as blood thirsty and treasure hungry, an old fashioned war leader charging from the front with sword held high.

Other war movie stalwarts round out the cast. Jack Hawkins is an animated General Allenby, leading the British forces in the Middle East and recognizing the need to channel and unleash Lawrence's erratic passion in the right direction. Anthony Quayle portrays Colonel Harry Brighton and represents the more traditional, less unpredictable elements of the British military, assisting Lawrence when he can but generally busy with the fussiness of regulations. And Claude Rains is Mr. Dryden, the shadowy political manipulator, directing events without getting directly involved, forecasting the endgame and planning accordingly while all around him are busy with the minutia of a still raging military conflict.

Celebrating a beguiling man carving his destiny in extraordinary circumstances, Lawrence Of Arabia casts a giant shadow.

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