Amazon.com video review:
The most interesting--and entertaining--aspect of this long, episodic
World War II drama is that it marked the debut of one Justus E. McQueen, who
subsequently took the name of the good ol' Arkansas boy he played in the
movie: L.Q. Jones. He's only one of eight or nine Marine recruits who
divide the screen time with commanding officer Van Heflin and James Whitmore
as a lifer sergeant named Mac, "just Mac," who ramrods their squad and also
delivers the movie's overbearing narration. Unfortunately, the narration
is necessary to maintain continuity as the CinemaScope production galumphs
its way from rounding up the melting-pot cast, to seeing them through basic
training and sundry, mostly amatory misadventures in San Diego, to further
training in New Zealand, and finally to baptism of fire on Guadalcanal.
Trouble is, among the recruits only McQueen/Jones (whose job is mostly
comic relief) and Aldo Ray (as a brawling lumberjack who's never known
family life) have any charisma or acting chops--and that's not forgetting
Tab Hunter, whose matinee-idol status at the time does not speak well for
the '50s. Battle Cry is also a cardinal example of Hollywood's
penchant for buying big, lusty, profane bestsellers (by Leon Uris, in this
case) and then euphemizing all the lustiness and profanity to appease the
censors. Raoul Walsh, the poet laureate of lowdown gusto, does what he can
in the circumstances, and as one of the first guys ever to direct a
widescreen movie (1930's The Big Trail), he makes the battle scenes
roar. --Richard T. Jameson
