If you're going to enjoy this, you'd better clear your mind of any knowledge you might hold of the assassination of Heydrich in occupied Czechoslovakia. Treat this as a fictional tale about a fictional hunt for a fictional assassin in Prague.
The historical facts are too depressing anyway. Heydrich was murdered by two guys. The Nazis tortured Czechs until one of them squealed. Then they tracked the assassins to a church and the two killers committed suicide. The Nazis then destroyed a village that had nothing to do with political events. See "Operation: Daybreak."
Here, we have Brian Donlevy as a doctor in Prague who shoots Heydrich. He then has to seek immediate shelter in the house of strangers, in this case, the home of Professor Walter Brennan and his family, including daughter Anna Lee.
The Gestapo are understandably upset and they organize a manhunt for the killer, which centers around Donlevy and around the family that sheltered him. The Nazis round up and execute Czechs at random but nobody talks. And, in the end, the underground frames a Nazi agent for the crime.
The Nazis aren't shown as stupid brutes. Alexander Granach, the Gestapo Inspector, is positively clever in a swinish, almost comic way. Fritz Lang has him with a haircut that the punk rockers of the 80s would have envied. His military mustache curls up at the ends, as in a morale-boosting poster left over from World War I and his plump neck hangs over his collar. His gestures are operatic, his perceptions acute, his consumption of beer heroic.
Not far behind, if in fact he's behind at all, is Reinhold Schünzel as the uniformed Gestapo officer. He smiles pleasantly, leaning back and tripling his chin, while describing the torture that a suspect is about to undergo, but in an avuncular way, as if about to buy a child an ice cream cone. While the victim stands shivering, Schünzel grins, swivels in his office chair, and cracks his knuckles one by one.
Less of an actor but more of a straight figure is Tonio Selwart as the Chief of the Gestapo. Less of a caricature, more of a character. He doesn't smile or squint. He speaks quietly and with sweet reason. And he wears those great uniforms with riding breeches and boots, and he wears a monocle, and Fritz Lang shows us Selwart peering into a mirror and squeezing a zit on his cheek.
The good guys are much less interesting. Brian Donlevy is referred to as a young man but he's a little old for that. I mean, the guy was in Mexico with General Pershing in pursuit of Panch Villa, wasn't he? And anyway, he's practically ligneous. If his expression ever changed, I missed it, and he walks with his chest thrown out like a pigeon's. Dennis O'Keefe, in a minor part, is harmless as always. Walter Brennan, toothless old Walter Brennan, comic sidekick, does rather well by the role of a professor of history, and Anna Lee as his daughter is cute as hell. Slender, wide-eyed, shivering with fright. I love her. The problem is that all the good guys stand around spraying patriotic clichés just as a lawn sprinkler sprays water.
No, it's not Fritz Lang's best picture but neither is it is worst. The script credit goes to Berthold Brecht but I understand he didn't contribute much. Still, I'm glad he was in Hollywood instead of (gulp) elsewhere. His songs for the comedy "Where Do We Go From Here?" are memorable. Lang was a popular director in Germany and was asked by Goebbels to head the movie propaganda program of the Third Reich. As he describes it, he replied, "I'm tickled pink," and was on the next airplane out of Berlin. He brings some of his expressionism and originality with him. The dark, deep, dramatic shadows of films like "Ministry of Fear" are already adumbrated, so to speak.
And he does something that should earn him a medal. Lang was fond of using mirrors in his films for some reason. (Check out "Woman in the Window.") Here, he has Granach run to a mirror to inspect some smeared lipstick on his cheeks. And -- guess what -- Granach looks AT HIS OWN REFLECTION and not at the camera lens. When the actor looks at the audience instead of himself, it's a jarring estrangement for the viewer, who is hit over the head with the realization that this is not just a movie, but a clumsily directed one, an insulting one, at that.
You know, considering that so many of the cast were born in Germany, you have to wonder just how often directions were given in English. Lang was quite an authoritarian. I can see him now, strutting about with his boots, riding breeches, and monocle, bellowing orders through a bullhorn.
The historical facts are too depressing anyway. Heydrich was murdered by two guys. The Nazis tortured Czechs until one of them squealed. Then they tracked the assassins to a church and the two killers committed suicide. The Nazis then destroyed a village that had nothing to do with political events. See "Operation: Daybreak."
Here, we have Brian Donlevy as a doctor in Prague who shoots Heydrich. He then has to seek immediate shelter in the house of strangers, in this case, the home of Professor Walter Brennan and his family, including daughter Anna Lee.
The Gestapo are understandably upset and they organize a manhunt for the killer, which centers around Donlevy and around the family that sheltered him. The Nazis round up and execute Czechs at random but nobody talks. And, in the end, the underground frames a Nazi agent for the crime.
The Nazis aren't shown as stupid brutes. Alexander Granach, the Gestapo Inspector, is positively clever in a swinish, almost comic way. Fritz Lang has him with a haircut that the punk rockers of the 80s would have envied. His military mustache curls up at the ends, as in a morale-boosting poster left over from World War I and his plump neck hangs over his collar. His gestures are operatic, his perceptions acute, his consumption of beer heroic.
Not far behind, if in fact he's behind at all, is Reinhold Schünzel as the uniformed Gestapo officer. He smiles pleasantly, leaning back and tripling his chin, while describing the torture that a suspect is about to undergo, but in an avuncular way, as if about to buy a child an ice cream cone. While the victim stands shivering, Schünzel grins, swivels in his office chair, and cracks his knuckles one by one.
Less of an actor but more of a straight figure is Tonio Selwart as the Chief of the Gestapo. Less of a caricature, more of a character. He doesn't smile or squint. He speaks quietly and with sweet reason. And he wears those great uniforms with riding breeches and boots, and he wears a monocle, and Fritz Lang shows us Selwart peering into a mirror and squeezing a zit on his cheek.
The good guys are much less interesting. Brian Donlevy is referred to as a young man but he's a little old for that. I mean, the guy was in Mexico with General Pershing in pursuit of Panch Villa, wasn't he? And anyway, he's practically ligneous. If his expression ever changed, I missed it, and he walks with his chest thrown out like a pigeon's. Dennis O'Keefe, in a minor part, is harmless as always. Walter Brennan, toothless old Walter Brennan, comic sidekick, does rather well by the role of a professor of history, and Anna Lee as his daughter is cute as hell. Slender, wide-eyed, shivering with fright. I love her. The problem is that all the good guys stand around spraying patriotic clichés just as a lawn sprinkler sprays water.
No, it's not Fritz Lang's best picture but neither is it is worst. The script credit goes to Berthold Brecht but I understand he didn't contribute much. Still, I'm glad he was in Hollywood instead of (gulp) elsewhere. His songs for the comedy "Where Do We Go From Here?" are memorable. Lang was a popular director in Germany and was asked by Goebbels to head the movie propaganda program of the Third Reich. As he describes it, he replied, "I'm tickled pink," and was on the next airplane out of Berlin. He brings some of his expressionism and originality with him. The dark, deep, dramatic shadows of films like "Ministry of Fear" are already adumbrated, so to speak.
And he does something that should earn him a medal. Lang was fond of using mirrors in his films for some reason. (Check out "Woman in the Window.") Here, he has Granach run to a mirror to inspect some smeared lipstick on his cheeks. And -- guess what -- Granach looks AT HIS OWN REFLECTION and not at the camera lens. When the actor looks at the audience instead of himself, it's a jarring estrangement for the viewer, who is hit over the head with the realization that this is not just a movie, but a clumsily directed one, an insulting one, at that.
You know, considering that so many of the cast were born in Germany, you have to wonder just how often directions were given in English. Lang was quite an authoritarian. I can see him now, strutting about with his boots, riding breeches, and monocle, bellowing orders through a bullhorn.