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A Story of a Flying Fortress. After the MGM sets of Mrs. Miniver, the real England swiftly sketched via glimpses of swaying verdure and barbed wire. (An overhead shot later sees the greenery pockmarked by the grays of hangars and airfields before disappearing beneath the clouds.) Final mission of the titular B-17 bomber, there to record it is Major William Wyler of the First Motion Picture Unit of the U.S. Army Air Forces. Between briefing with officers and blessing from chaplains, a crew member astride a bombshell playing the harmonica. "Passengers with one-way tickets," a Hawksian posture, "do your work as well as can be done." Aerial formations reflected on glass give away the documentarian's compositional eye, so does a view of the cobalt sky streaked by streams of jet smoke, all in jittery 16mm Technicolor. Swooping black specks against solar flares, "this is what a gunner sees." Bombing run over Germany, cargo dropped to the pilot's okey-dokey, a canvas of brownish fumes. (A photograph illustrates the many craters across the munition factory.) The English coast, "the most beautiful sight in the world" to returning survivors. Torn planes, torn men—one puffs weakly on a cigarette during a blood transfusion, others commiserate and turn away from the camera, "in no mood to have their picture taken." Medals on the field, a surprise royal visit. Plenty of material for subsequent films (Command Decision, Twelve O'Clock High), Wyler distills everything to the image of Dana Andrews in the metal graveyard in The Best Years of Our Lives.
--- Fernando F. Croce |