Henry King, a long-time Hollywood craftsman, directed this tale of action, romance, intrigue, and racial prejudice among the British Army in India. The year is 1857, the one hundredth year of British occupation. The viewer may notice that in one scene, in the office of the commanding officer, Michael Rennie, two crossed flags are shown on the wall. One flag is the recognizable Union Jack.
The other flag is a curious one. The union jack is tucked away in the upper left hand corner and the rest of the flag is taken up with alternating red and white stripes. That's the flag of the Honorable British East India Company, the entity that actually governed the subcontinent. No messing about with excuses. Money was money and the company traded in dyes, indigo, tea, and opium. The stock was all owned by wealthy citizens.
Where was I? These historical peregrinations confuse even me. Tyrone Power is Captain King, a Moslem half caste, assigned to Rennie's post. Rennie has a cute daughter with an upturned nose, Terry Moore, who practically throws herself at Power's feet. Most of the officers seem to dislike him. And Rennie tries to play fair but he's naturally upset when his beautiful daughter takes a shine to a Wog, I mean a native gentleman. This entire theme, which runs through the film from beginning to end, struck me at times as an allegory, a conflict that paralleled that of racism in America, a subject the producers were unwilling to touch in 1953. "They are ready to die for you, but they can't be invited to the officer's club," someone remarks.
The direction is efficient enough. And Movie Flats, near Lone Pine, California, is a decent substitute for India. It always has been, since before "Gunga Din." Tyrone Power was fine in roles like this: stiff and distant and filled with principle. Only once or twice did he compromise this image, in "Nightmare Alley" for one. Terry Moore's role is similarly circumscribed. She was better in "Beneath the Twelve Mile Reef." Rennie is stalwart. The chief villain is Guy Rolfe, under ten pounds of black-face make up. He's a tall and commanding presence and when he's on the screen it's hard to look at anyone else. Bennie Herrmann's score is rather routine except for its hints at "Vertigo." The final action scene, shot as day-for-night, is slam bang but without any real distinction.
The forbidden romance between the outcast newcomer and the CO's daughter is lifted from John Ford's "Fort Apache", where it was handled with irony and skill. Power's pulling a girl into some desert ruins to escape a sandstorm is lifted from "Suez", where poor Power had to go through the same routine. The film smacks of the 1950s, when natives were supposed to say lines like, "We have many roads to travel. We'll cast our shadows upon them together."
I enjoyed it as a kid. It didn't seem so impressive now, except for the spiffy uniforms. You should see them. The band and some of the officers and men wear the kilt. Tightly tailored, and all colors -- red, blue, and a more serviceable tan, which the soldiers of the time called khaki, having borrowed the word from the native language into English. Two officers are seen in blouses of washed-out blue. It would be worth serving on the frontier just to appear in such sartorial splendor.
The other flag is a curious one. The union jack is tucked away in the upper left hand corner and the rest of the flag is taken up with alternating red and white stripes. That's the flag of the Honorable British East India Company, the entity that actually governed the subcontinent. No messing about with excuses. Money was money and the company traded in dyes, indigo, tea, and opium. The stock was all owned by wealthy citizens.
Where was I? These historical peregrinations confuse even me. Tyrone Power is Captain King, a Moslem half caste, assigned to Rennie's post. Rennie has a cute daughter with an upturned nose, Terry Moore, who practically throws herself at Power's feet. Most of the officers seem to dislike him. And Rennie tries to play fair but he's naturally upset when his beautiful daughter takes a shine to a Wog, I mean a native gentleman. This entire theme, which runs through the film from beginning to end, struck me at times as an allegory, a conflict that paralleled that of racism in America, a subject the producers were unwilling to touch in 1953. "They are ready to die for you, but they can't be invited to the officer's club," someone remarks.
The direction is efficient enough. And Movie Flats, near Lone Pine, California, is a decent substitute for India. It always has been, since before "Gunga Din." Tyrone Power was fine in roles like this: stiff and distant and filled with principle. Only once or twice did he compromise this image, in "Nightmare Alley" for one. Terry Moore's role is similarly circumscribed. She was better in "Beneath the Twelve Mile Reef." Rennie is stalwart. The chief villain is Guy Rolfe, under ten pounds of black-face make up. He's a tall and commanding presence and when he's on the screen it's hard to look at anyone else. Bennie Herrmann's score is rather routine except for its hints at "Vertigo." The final action scene, shot as day-for-night, is slam bang but without any real distinction.
The forbidden romance between the outcast newcomer and the CO's daughter is lifted from John Ford's "Fort Apache", where it was handled with irony and skill. Power's pulling a girl into some desert ruins to escape a sandstorm is lifted from "Suez", where poor Power had to go through the same routine. The film smacks of the 1950s, when natives were supposed to say lines like, "We have many roads to travel. We'll cast our shadows upon them together."
I enjoyed it as a kid. It didn't seem so impressive now, except for the spiffy uniforms. You should see them. The band and some of the officers and men wear the kilt. Tightly tailored, and all colors -- red, blue, and a more serviceable tan, which the soldiers of the time called khaki, having borrowed the word from the native language into English. Two officers are seen in blouses of washed-out blue. It would be worth serving on the frontier just to appear in such sartorial splendor.