The Train

 

As I mentioned in my last review, for Bad Day at Black Rock, I love it when you watch a movie not expecting much and find yourself watching something amazing.  And that feeling is even better when it happens twice in a row!  

In all honesty, I made a mistake when I recorded The Train.  I thought I was recording Von Ryan's Express with Frank Sinatra, another World War 2 railroad movie from the 1960s.  I realized my error pretty quickly and was about to turn the film off, but then decided I would stick around.  I like Burt Lancaster and I had never heard of this movie, so I figured I would give it a shot.  

Directed by John Frankenheimer (The Manchurian Candidate), The Train was a genuine surprise - a gritty and tense World War 2 thriller that was a lot more resonant than I was expecting.  In the closing days of World War 2, the German army is slowly retreating through France.  One the Nazi officers is Colonel Waldheim (Paul Scofield, A Man for All Seasons), who is trying to steal all of the great French masterpieces - paintings by Monet, Cezanne, Gauguin, etc., and bring them to Germany before the allies can take Paris.  The French resistance, horrified that their cultural and artistic heritage is being looted before their very eyes, devises a plan to rescue the art - much against the objections of one of their leaders, Labiche (Burt Lancaster, From Here to Eternity), who is rather blunt about the fact that he doesn't want to risk lives for a bunch of paintings.  

The film seems to have had a troubled production in the beginning.  The original director was Arthur Penn (Bonnie and Clyde) and he was interested in putting together a more intimate film about the value of art during war.  Lancaster, however, saw the film differently.  He was coming off of The Leopard, a huge production which was well reviewed but a bit of a financial bust at the U.S. box office.  He needed a hit, and he knew the audience liked him in action roles.  The two battled as filming begun and after three days, Lancaster put on his producer's hat and fired Penn.  He reached out desperately to John Frankenheimer, who had directed Lancaster years before to an Oscar nomination in The Birdman of Alcatraz.  Frankenheimer was hesitant to take over a film that had already started production, but he also sensed opportunity.  He was a young director without the credentials of the big-time directors, but he knew he had all the bargaining power and he pushed a number of demands: he was to be given total final cut, the French co-director (a role which was required by French tax laws if they wanted to film in Paris) was banned from the set, and he wanted his name added to the title so it would read John Frankenheimer's The Train.  Oh, and he wanted a Ferrari.  Lancaster, desperate to get the movie rolling again, agreed to the terms.  

And I personally don't think a better choice could have been made.  Frankenheimer may not be a perfect director, but he is very skilled at a number of things that elevate The Train.   He is excellent at stories that involve professionals cooly going about their mission, and he is confident in his abilities to visually tell a story that he doesn't need dialogue weighing the film down with exposition.  Ronin, Frankenheimer's 1998 thriller with Robert DeNiro, is another great example of his skill telling stories about professionals.  These characters don't really explain what they do for the audience's benefit because true professionals don't talk about what they do.  Instead, they just do it.  And this attitude feeds into another strength that Frankenheimer has as a filmmaker.  He is fascinated with process, and incorporating that process into the story.  He goes to great lengths to show details about locomotive engines, railroad switches and the layouts of different train stations.  It's not random or gratuitous because this information is crucial to understanding the French resistance's plan.  But it's also not expository or obvious, therefore tipping us off about what is about to happen. Instead, he's just skillfully laying the groundwork (or I guess I could say, "laying the track" if I want to stick with a railroad motif!).  All of this elevates The Train beyond what you would normally expect in a Hollywood action film.  And guess what, before you think that the action overwhelms the art, Frankenheimer and Lancaster are still able to effectively wrestle with the theme of the value of art.  What is art worth, or rather, how many lives is art worth?

I will admit that the film starts off a bit rough.  The pacing is a little too slow for the first 20 minutes, and I was distracted by Scofield's accent, which I don't think is particularly great.  But at least he tried, because I was also distracted by Lancaster's complete lack of accent!  You can't get much more American than Lancaster, and he is completely unbelievable as a Frenchman.  But then...the trains start moving, and for the next two hours, I was riveted.  And suddenly, it becomes clear why Lancaster is the perfect actor for this part.  No one could have driven that train like him.  He is so utterly perfect in the role that I can't see any other actor in the part.  The role is so physical, and Lancaster - a former circus performer - throws himself into the role, performing all of his own stunts.  He also has to walk a fine line between determination and grit and complete exasperation over whether this mission is even worth doing, and he walks that fine line with grace and tact.  Also on hand are a superb collection of French, Croatian, German and Swiss actors who make the most of their screen time - Jeanne Moreau, Michel Simon, Wolfgang Preiss, Albert Remy, Jacque Marin and Charles Millot.  It's a great ensemble, and I don't think there is a weak link among them.  

I also have to take a moment and talk about the Nazis.  I know this is sort of a "Captain Obvious" statement, but these guys are scary.  These guys aren't cartoon characters; they are realistic and they are intimidating and brutal.  And Frankenheimer gives them with the same level of professionalism that he grants the heroes.  There are no big "moments" of telegraphed villainy.  It's swift and harsh and just matter-of-fact.  In short, it really feels real.  Which is more terrifying than most Nazis you see in Hollywood films.  And it is important that Frankenheimer shows the Nazis to be such cool professionals because it raises the stakes.  The bad guys aren't dumb.  If you make one slight mistake, Colonel Waldheim will notice and then you're all dead.  The stakes are clear, and people are going to die.  

And again, as I mentioned before, should they?  Or how many?  How many people are you willing to risk to save artwork?  If one person dies, will it have been worth it?  What if it is ten people?  And what does this all say about your national identity?  Is this artwork truly the cultural heritage of France?   Or is it really just a canvases with paint on them?  The movie doesn't give any answers, but it forces us to wrestle with the question.  

That makes the movie resonate long after you've stopped watching it.  It makes you think and debate with yourself.  You can't say that about a lot of action movies.  I'm positive I wouldn't be thinking about Von Ryan's Express that way!  

MVP:

This is a tough decision actually.  On one hand, I want to go with John Frankenheimer, who gives the film its gritty authenticity.  But you could make a strong case for Burt Lancaster. First of all, as a producer, he recognized he needed someone with Frankenheimer's touch, so he should get some credit for that.  And as an actor - as not French as he is, I just can't imagine another performer slipping into this role as perfectly.  He is completely believable working the trains.  And he adds just the right level of determination and righteous anger.  Labiche doesn't want to do this mission and is very vocal about that fact right to the end, but he still grimly refuses to give up, no many how the cards stack up against him.  In life, contradictions like this happen all the time, but for some reason in movies, they're hard to pull off.  We think of contradictions as character inconsistencies.  But Lancaster nails the balance.  He's human.  And he is always utterly compelling to watch.  

But at the end of the day, I have to go with Frankenheimer.  The authenticity, the realism, everything Frankenheimer is bringing to the table is what sets this movie apart from other films of the time period.  I really do think the movie needs both Lancaster and Frankenheimer to be as good as it is.  But in the end, I think Frankenheimer's contribution just elevates it a bit more.  It's a hard choice, but he's my MVP.  

BEST LINE:

Didont: With any luck, no one will be hurt. 

Labiche: No one's ever hurt.  Just dead.  

TRIVIA: 

Frankenheimer is a big fan of realism whenever possible, and refused to use models.  So when there is a train crash at one point in the film, he insisted on having two trains really collide at 60 miles an hour.  Knowing that only one take was possible, he had seven cameras rolling.  The bombardment sequence was even more impressive, and included over a ton of TNT, 2000 gallons of gasoline, 140 life-size explosions - and over 20 cameras to film all of the explosive chaos.  Even though the sequence is only just over minute of screen-time, the results are undeniably impressive!