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A mushroom cloud dissolves to the Arc de Triomphe, the flurry of international stock footage provides a glimpse of the Parisian offices of the New York Herald Tribune for the benefit of À bout de souffle. A taste of Foreign Correspondent in the intrigue of the vanishing researcher (Victor Francen), who turns up alive and well with the pacifist cabal concerned about atomic experiments in a Commie island. "Neutral waters between the free world and the iron curtain," a secret mission is in order, the Navy veteran (Richard Widmark) is hired. The submarine is a "pigboat" of masculine pressure, in steps the Gallic scientist (Bella Darvi) to rattle and inflame the crew. (Gruff chief Gene Evans complains that women "are all Jonahs" while randy sonar operator Cameron Mitchell can't wait to wow her with his tattooed torso.) Red nukes in a Yankee bomber, "the screwball plot of all time," Samuel Fuller wouldn't have it any other way. Tight rectangular arrangements primed for action, sweaty repose as torpedoes whoosh by. A mercenary's awakening, cf. Pickup on South Street, Widmark and the "flag-wavers" once again. Toujours a graphic approach, oceanic blues from the periscope's view alternating with the blazing crimson of emergency lights. (Fire follows water, the night lights up when fireballs consume an enemy compound.) Fun with languages, French unsubtitled alongside a Chinese sailor's slangy version of "Don't Fence Me In." Severed thumb in the hatch, machine-guns on deck, sacrificial explosion at the close: "Each man has his own reason for living and his own price for dying," declares the professor, but Fuller knows a bromide is just a bromide until it bursts through as visceral cinema. With David Wayne, Stephen Bekassy, Richard Loo, Robert Adler, and Wong Artarne.
--- Fernando F. Croce |