This is yet another of those hastily-cobbled-together botched jobs that appeared between the mid 1970's and mid 1980's. A new generation of action guys had still to establish themselves at this time, so the old brigade must soldier on - literally in this case.
Basically, the philosophy seemed to be; don't worry about a plot, don't bother with a script, and there's no need for direction. Just put a bunch of popular actors in the lead roles and the movie will run itself.
The formula doesn't work.
There's Richard Burton, Hardy Kruger, Roger Moore, Richard Harris, Stewart Grainger; any one of whom would have single-handedly carried a movie a decade before. Here, they bumble about, puffing and panting like a geriatric jamboree. Burton looks particularly woebegone. What with his bloated features and ill-fitting helmet, he doesn't look as though he will even survive the parachute jump. It's so sad; most of these players have a catalogue of excellent roles to their credit.
The team's mission is to rescue some honest African politician or other (anybody ever seen one of those?) being held hostage. We see them blundering through a series of set-piece situations that might have been penned by children. They attack a compound, knocking out the watch-tower guards using a highly dubious crossbow, despite having silenced firearms. They neutralise the sleeping guards with Cyanide gas, which apparently kills with a single whiff (don't you believe it!) when they could as easily shoot them, too. The canisters have 'cyanide!' stamped on their sides, like a Jerry Anderson prop. Later, one of their trucks conks-out on a highly exposed bridge. Wouldn't you just know it? And what does the rest of the convoy do? Why; they immediately stop as well. Obviously. There they are, all lined up like skittles. So that when an aeroplane arrives to strafe and bomb them, it's spoilt for choice (actually, that's the cunning plan; confuse the pilot). Even as the attack is taking place, some of the trucks still haven't been evacuated. The plane also carries a torpedo-bomb thing. And the pilot, who is apparently a former 617 Squadron ace, releases it down the river-bed where it bounces along in a fashion that would have brought tearful eyes to Messrs Barnes, Wallis and Gromit. The thing detonates just at the right moment, engulfing the bridge and trucks in fire, and flooding th Ruhr valley (that bit was edited).
The fire on the bridge has split the team. So the leaders drive on to their rendezvous and the tail-enders must catch-up on foot. This exposes us to a tedious morality act, as Hardly Kruger plays an embittered racist Afrikaaner who must piggy-back this honest black bloke through the bush. We endure a soppy debate about races and land, culminating in assertions that both blacks and whites need each other, for the sake of the country. Yeah, man, right-on. It's sphincter-punckeringly banal, like the outpourings of some particularly dumb socialist under-graduate who thinks he knows all about the world because he's glanced through 'Das Kapital' in between drunken campus orgies.
The whole thing just grinds along to its inevitable and predictable denouement.
There's absolutely nothing to commend it. Acting, choreography, script, story, lighting, camera-work, sound, music; every aspect is lifted straight out of the 'Beginners Guide To Drama'. All those old lags must have been desperate to top-up their pension funds. Chuck it into the same sin-bin as 'Shout At The Devil', 'Cassandra Crossing', 'Ashanti' and one or two other big-name cringe-worthies of the period.
It always strikes me as strange that some adventure movies can be so good - 'The Guns Of Navarone', 'Where Eagles Dare', and so on, whilst others - like this - are beyond redemption. The people are there, the money's there, yet one grips your attention whilst the other sends you to sleep. Can a competent director be the only difference?
Somewhere amongst the commentaries there is one from EUAN LLOYD, the producer, thanking viewers for watching 'his' movie. I suppose it's big of him to take the blame.
Basically, the philosophy seemed to be; don't worry about a plot, don't bother with a script, and there's no need for direction. Just put a bunch of popular actors in the lead roles and the movie will run itself.
The formula doesn't work.
There's Richard Burton, Hardy Kruger, Roger Moore, Richard Harris, Stewart Grainger; any one of whom would have single-handedly carried a movie a decade before. Here, they bumble about, puffing and panting like a geriatric jamboree. Burton looks particularly woebegone. What with his bloated features and ill-fitting helmet, he doesn't look as though he will even survive the parachute jump. It's so sad; most of these players have a catalogue of excellent roles to their credit.
The team's mission is to rescue some honest African politician or other (anybody ever seen one of those?) being held hostage. We see them blundering through a series of set-piece situations that might have been penned by children. They attack a compound, knocking out the watch-tower guards using a highly dubious crossbow, despite having silenced firearms. They neutralise the sleeping guards with Cyanide gas, which apparently kills with a single whiff (don't you believe it!) when they could as easily shoot them, too. The canisters have 'cyanide!' stamped on their sides, like a Jerry Anderson prop. Later, one of their trucks conks-out on a highly exposed bridge. Wouldn't you just know it? And what does the rest of the convoy do? Why; they immediately stop as well. Obviously. There they are, all lined up like skittles. So that when an aeroplane arrives to strafe and bomb them, it's spoilt for choice (actually, that's the cunning plan; confuse the pilot). Even as the attack is taking place, some of the trucks still haven't been evacuated. The plane also carries a torpedo-bomb thing. And the pilot, who is apparently a former 617 Squadron ace, releases it down the river-bed where it bounces along in a fashion that would have brought tearful eyes to Messrs Barnes, Wallis and Gromit. The thing detonates just at the right moment, engulfing the bridge and trucks in fire, and flooding th Ruhr valley (that bit was edited).
The fire on the bridge has split the team. So the leaders drive on to their rendezvous and the tail-enders must catch-up on foot. This exposes us to a tedious morality act, as Hardly Kruger plays an embittered racist Afrikaaner who must piggy-back this honest black bloke through the bush. We endure a soppy debate about races and land, culminating in assertions that both blacks and whites need each other, for the sake of the country. Yeah, man, right-on. It's sphincter-punckeringly banal, like the outpourings of some particularly dumb socialist under-graduate who thinks he knows all about the world because he's glanced through 'Das Kapital' in between drunken campus orgies.
The whole thing just grinds along to its inevitable and predictable denouement.
There's absolutely nothing to commend it. Acting, choreography, script, story, lighting, camera-work, sound, music; every aspect is lifted straight out of the 'Beginners Guide To Drama'. All those old lags must have been desperate to top-up their pension funds. Chuck it into the same sin-bin as 'Shout At The Devil', 'Cassandra Crossing', 'Ashanti' and one or two other big-name cringe-worthies of the period.
It always strikes me as strange that some adventure movies can be so good - 'The Guns Of Navarone', 'Where Eagles Dare', and so on, whilst others - like this - are beyond redemption. The people are there, the money's there, yet one grips your attention whilst the other sends you to sleep. Can a competent director be the only difference?
Somewhere amongst the commentaries there is one from EUAN LLOYD, the producer, thanking viewers for watching 'his' movie. I suppose it's big of him to take the blame.