Despite some banal dialogue and one's initial difficulty in reconciling the wide variety of accents used by the cast, this is a film that will delight all classes of picturegoers. Few will quibble at the great liberties the script takes with history as the plot is a stirring and exciting one with hairbreadth escapes and an enormous amount of action and fast movement that will have all audiences sitting on the edges of their seats with excitement. Not only are the situations absorbing, but the characters are interesting and the players give performances that are both extremely competent and surprisingly ingratiating. Robert Cummings gives one of his most pleasing portrayals. Although he was usually cast as a likable stumblebum in light romantic comedies, Cummings actually excelled in dramatic costume parts (as this film and "The Lost Moment" so amply demonstrate) which rarely was he given the opportunity to play. Arlene Dahl is delightfully picturesque as the heroine and it is pleasing to note she doesn't hog the camera (a great deal of the time she is on screen you can hardly see her). She has not been introduced into the script as an afterthought of box office necessity, but has a role that is vital to the whole proceedings to play — and she plays it well! Basehart gives a riveting performance as Robespierre whom he portrays as a towering incarnation of monstrous brutality and evil, abetted by his henchmen, Saint Just (played with force and subtlety by Jess Barker) and the crafty, sly, satanic, self-confessed self-seeker Fouche (Arnold Moss in one of his most memorably malevolent portrayals). Norman Lloyd has a small part (on the right side for once) which he acts out in his usual slippery fashion. Despite his prominence in the billing, Richard Hart has only a small role as Barras. Other parts are very competently enacted and it is a nice surprise to find some of our favorite cameo players in unaccustomed costume roles — Victor Kilian as the turnkey, George Lloyd a member of the Convention, Beulah Bondi as Grand-ma. Charles McGraw figures prominently in the final climax.
It was a violent era and there is a great deal of violence on the screen. The film could be frightening for children — doubly so because it is filmed throughout most atmospherically in very low key. Many scenes have very little light, the gloom and eerie shadows adding to the suspense. Mann's superlative choice of camera angles (Robespierre seems a towering figure because he is often viewed from a low angle — even in close-up) drives every emotive point home. Costumes and sets are dazzling and make an important contribution also to characterization (Robespierre in gleaming white, Moss in black, Cummings in gray) and even the plot (Cummings' adroit business with the wig). The whole film is handled with an inventiveness and a brilliance that is all the more enthralling for being so unexpected. It is absolutely jammed with the sort of shots that lesser directors congratulate themselves on using once or twice in their otherwise steadfastly banal and mercilessly dull picturizations. The use of mirrors, one of the key devices in Mann's earlier films, appears here in several ingenious and highly effective contexts. Mann can control crowd scenes with as great a dexterity as the most subtle and insinuating of dialogue exchanges and exhibits throughout his customary skillful use of natural locations. The whole film is crowded with shots (a knife from an unseen assailant at Cummings' throat as he steps inside a windmill; Robespierre placing a grotesque mask in front of his face reflected in a mirror as his wig is powdered and brushed; Fouche and Robespierre face to face in the torture chamber; the Prosecutor of Strasbourg preening himself in a mirror as a hand reaches from behind to clutch at his throat; the visitor lifting her veil in the candle-light) and scenes (Lloyd parrying banter with Cummings at a café while sitting in front of him idly eating olives; Robespierre raising his hands in a dramatic gesture to arrest the mob as they storm into his chambers; the eerie opening with faces like ghosts wrathing in the mists; the attempted escape from prison with the aged turnkey fumbling with the keys) that stay long in the memory.
The script has some wonderful ideas — Robespierre's office in a bakery; Fouche asking Cummings if his name is in the book and his sudden and unexpected and unexplained attack — and it respects the intelligence of the audience by not explaining everything away or talking down or putting little patriotic speeches about the dangers of dictatorship into the mouths of its heroes. Certainly, it is implied, but, commendably, any parallels with present-day dictatorships are not overtly stated.
Credits are first-class. Producer William Cameron Menzies has doubtless influenced the enormous, brooding sets with their atmospheric trappings and appointments, as well as Alton's impressive low-key photography (particularly shots like that of the silhouetted riders outlined on the rim of a twilighted hill). Editing is both sharp and smooth, the music score apt and deft. Production values are first-class.
It was a violent era and there is a great deal of violence on the screen. The film could be frightening for children — doubly so because it is filmed throughout most atmospherically in very low key. Many scenes have very little light, the gloom and eerie shadows adding to the suspense. Mann's superlative choice of camera angles (Robespierre seems a towering figure because he is often viewed from a low angle — even in close-up) drives every emotive point home. Costumes and sets are dazzling and make an important contribution also to characterization (Robespierre in gleaming white, Moss in black, Cummings in gray) and even the plot (Cummings' adroit business with the wig). The whole film is handled with an inventiveness and a brilliance that is all the more enthralling for being so unexpected. It is absolutely jammed with the sort of shots that lesser directors congratulate themselves on using once or twice in their otherwise steadfastly banal and mercilessly dull picturizations. The use of mirrors, one of the key devices in Mann's earlier films, appears here in several ingenious and highly effective contexts. Mann can control crowd scenes with as great a dexterity as the most subtle and insinuating of dialogue exchanges and exhibits throughout his customary skillful use of natural locations. The whole film is crowded with shots (a knife from an unseen assailant at Cummings' throat as he steps inside a windmill; Robespierre placing a grotesque mask in front of his face reflected in a mirror as his wig is powdered and brushed; Fouche and Robespierre face to face in the torture chamber; the Prosecutor of Strasbourg preening himself in a mirror as a hand reaches from behind to clutch at his throat; the visitor lifting her veil in the candle-light) and scenes (Lloyd parrying banter with Cummings at a café while sitting in front of him idly eating olives; Robespierre raising his hands in a dramatic gesture to arrest the mob as they storm into his chambers; the eerie opening with faces like ghosts wrathing in the mists; the attempted escape from prison with the aged turnkey fumbling with the keys) that stay long in the memory.
The script has some wonderful ideas — Robespierre's office in a bakery; Fouche asking Cummings if his name is in the book and his sudden and unexpected and unexplained attack — and it respects the intelligence of the audience by not explaining everything away or talking down or putting little patriotic speeches about the dangers of dictatorship into the mouths of its heroes. Certainly, it is implied, but, commendably, any parallels with present-day dictatorships are not overtly stated.
Credits are first-class. Producer William Cameron Menzies has doubtless influenced the enormous, brooding sets with their atmospheric trappings and appointments, as well as Alton's impressive low-key photography (particularly shots like that of the silhouetted riders outlined on the rim of a twilighted hill). Editing is both sharp and smooth, the music score apt and deft. Production values are first-class.