Films generally speaking fall into one of two categories: grevious disappointments and jubilant surprises. This lamentable effort falls squarely into category 1.
It has to be one of the most inept, ludicrous and unintentionally comic films across which this viewer has had the misfortune to stumble.
Harold French would not be on anyone's list of top rank directors but this is the bottom of the barrel.
It is probably best to draw a discreet veil over Michael Wilding's 'Mockney' and the 'Frenchie' of James Mason. Hugh Williams and Roland Culver are both immaculate but totally miscast and saunter through proceedings like guests at a garden party. Mr. Culver's cravat is singularly incongruous in occupied France. The 'romantic' interest is supplied by Carla Lehmann who is about as appealing as a plate of cold chips. All of the Germans, with the exception of Herbert Lom's medical officer, are complete and utter buffoons.
One can only assume that the devilishly subtle propogandist message here is that if the Huns are this stupid, how can we possibly lose?!
Harold French would not be on anyone's list of top rank directors but this is the bottom of the barrel.
It is probably best to draw a discreet veil over Michael Wilding's 'Mockney' and the 'Frenchie' of James Mason. Hugh Williams and Roland Culver are both immaculate but totally miscast and saunter through proceedings like guests at a garden party. Mr. Culver's cravat is singularly incongruous in occupied France. The 'romantic' interest is supplied by Carla Lehmann who is about as appealing as a plate of cold chips. All of the Germans, with the exception of Herbert Lom's medical officer, are complete and utter buffoons.
One can only assume that the devilishly subtle propogandist message here is that if the Huns are this stupid, how can we possibly lose?!