Sumptuous and blockheaded, "The Four Feathers" practically cries out for the full-bore Hollywood treatment of its time, with Errol, Olivia, Basil, and Michael Curtiz. At least when they made historical hogs-wallop in the States, it came with a touch of class and a sense of humanity, not to mention an honest taste for British superiority leavened by New World egalitarianism.
Not that this British-made version plays it too straight, exactly. Harry Faversham (John Clements) isn't sold on the idea of selling his life down the Nile for the sake of king and country, not to mention a long, distinguished line of slaughtered ancestors. He doesn't see the sense of dying on some distant battlefield and would rather cuddle with fiancée Ethne Burroughs (June Duprez). But his decision to leave his regiment just before it sails to reclaim the Sudan is accepted neither by his comrades nor Ethne, nor ultimately by Harry, who sets out to redeem himself in the guise of a mute native.
Is it cowardice or courage to back away from a war you don't believe in? Is it heroism or folly to sneak back for the sake of a wounded ego? Is a woman's love more important than what you believe in? The problem of "Four Feathers" is not that it doesn't enlighten you as to what the filmmakers think of these questions (ambiguity can be a fine thing in a movie) so much as it doesn't seem to regard these questions as all that important when there are exotic scenes of the real-life Levant to shoot in glorious Technicolor. "Four Feathers" is a milestone of film-making, but not that interesting a film.
Clements seems lost in the central role, and not just in the second half when he is required to play a silent Arab with silly pantomime. He's very good at the stiff upper lip; even submitting his resignation to his superior with the utmost bearing and carriage. But he never lets you in the least bit to what is going on inside, likely because Clements himself doesn't know. After explaining his qualms about blind duty, he relents and tells a friend he is a coward, and that seems to seal it as far as the movie cares to say.
Duprez' cleavage offers the most impressive scenery in the film, but she doesn't otherwise inspire enough to overcome the fact she dumps Harry's love because of "a code which we must obey, even if we do not believe." Perhaps because it is so rooted in this code itself, the film unrealistically expects the viewer to turn a blind eye to her ensuing heartlessness. Ralph Richardson is the best-known actor in the production, here by turns effective and annoyingly stiff, while Harry's other two friends are faceless non-entities. These characters exist solely to serve their plot, and their thinness is a problem in every frame.
Fortunately, there's also C. Aubrey Smith, as Ethne's father and a stodgy old veteran who tells the same war stories over and over, using a dining table as his battlefield. Smith shines in every scene he's in, whether he's bragging about service his day, when "war was war;" shunning Harry; or tearing up as he waves his boy off at the pier. To the extent "The Four Feathers" retains any flavor today, it's because of C. Aubrey's clever way of subtly sending up the same traditions the rest of the movie accepts so blindly.
The other great thing about this movie is the cinematography. The sight of dhows sailing across the river is vividly real, however impossible it must have been to capture given the bulky nature of Technicolor technology. The camera is often an active player in the film, charging with the Dervish horde and searing upon you the oppressive heat of an endless desert as Harry in disguise leads Richardson's character through the desert.
I don't know what to feel about the action itself, though; however grandly shot a battle scene is, it's hard to get excited when you don't know what in blazes you're rooting for. "Four Feathers" is a pretty picture, but shallow as a snapshot all the same.
Not that this British-made version plays it too straight, exactly. Harry Faversham (John Clements) isn't sold on the idea of selling his life down the Nile for the sake of king and country, not to mention a long, distinguished line of slaughtered ancestors. He doesn't see the sense of dying on some distant battlefield and would rather cuddle with fiancée Ethne Burroughs (June Duprez). But his decision to leave his regiment just before it sails to reclaim the Sudan is accepted neither by his comrades nor Ethne, nor ultimately by Harry, who sets out to redeem himself in the guise of a mute native.
Is it cowardice or courage to back away from a war you don't believe in? Is it heroism or folly to sneak back for the sake of a wounded ego? Is a woman's love more important than what you believe in? The problem of "Four Feathers" is not that it doesn't enlighten you as to what the filmmakers think of these questions (ambiguity can be a fine thing in a movie) so much as it doesn't seem to regard these questions as all that important when there are exotic scenes of the real-life Levant to shoot in glorious Technicolor. "Four Feathers" is a milestone of film-making, but not that interesting a film.
Clements seems lost in the central role, and not just in the second half when he is required to play a silent Arab with silly pantomime. He's very good at the stiff upper lip; even submitting his resignation to his superior with the utmost bearing and carriage. But he never lets you in the least bit to what is going on inside, likely because Clements himself doesn't know. After explaining his qualms about blind duty, he relents and tells a friend he is a coward, and that seems to seal it as far as the movie cares to say.
Duprez' cleavage offers the most impressive scenery in the film, but she doesn't otherwise inspire enough to overcome the fact she dumps Harry's love because of "a code which we must obey, even if we do not believe." Perhaps because it is so rooted in this code itself, the film unrealistically expects the viewer to turn a blind eye to her ensuing heartlessness. Ralph Richardson is the best-known actor in the production, here by turns effective and annoyingly stiff, while Harry's other two friends are faceless non-entities. These characters exist solely to serve their plot, and their thinness is a problem in every frame.
Fortunately, there's also C. Aubrey Smith, as Ethne's father and a stodgy old veteran who tells the same war stories over and over, using a dining table as his battlefield. Smith shines in every scene he's in, whether he's bragging about service his day, when "war was war;" shunning Harry; or tearing up as he waves his boy off at the pier. To the extent "The Four Feathers" retains any flavor today, it's because of C. Aubrey's clever way of subtly sending up the same traditions the rest of the movie accepts so blindly.
The other great thing about this movie is the cinematography. The sight of dhows sailing across the river is vividly real, however impossible it must have been to capture given the bulky nature of Technicolor technology. The camera is often an active player in the film, charging with the Dervish horde and searing upon you the oppressive heat of an endless desert as Harry in disguise leads Richardson's character through the desert.
I don't know what to feel about the action itself, though; however grandly shot a battle scene is, it's hard to get excited when you don't know what in blazes you're rooting for. "Four Feathers" is a pretty picture, but shallow as a snapshot all the same.