Korda, Zoltan

Sahara

Hollywood made few movies about the desert conflict during World War II--and curiously, two that they did (Five Graves to Cairo is the other) were remakes of films set elsewhere. John Howard Lawson based his script on a prewar Russian film (Lawson would later be blacklisted, incidentally) about a military patrol besieged by Asian bandits. The situation readily lent itself to a wartime parallel and became one of the most engrossing story lines of its era.

A U.S. tank crew and their commander (Humphrey Bogart), separated from the main force, make their way through the desert, accumulating a veritable United Nations of stragglers as they go: a few of Montgomery's tommies (including that old limey Lloyd Bridges) and a towering African (Rex Ingram) and his prisoner--a garrulous Italian (Oscar-nominated J. Carrol Naish) who can't wait to tell his new friends about his relatives in "Peets-a-bourg Pennsylvania." They come upon a ruin, the onetime site of an oasis, and almost immediately find themselves defending it against a small army of Germans who believe there's still water to be had there. Yes and no--there's a biblical wrinkle to this tale--and the standoff between the polyglot democrats and the Nazis who far outnumber them is a fine, sun-baked study in suspense.

For Bogart, this Columbia picture was a rare furlough from Warner Bros., where he always felt embattled. His pleasure must have seeped into his work, because Sgt. Joe Gunn is one of the most sympathetic and heartfelt characterizations the actor ever gave us. This is one good movie. --Richard T. Jameson

Thief of Bagdad (1940)

Often hailed as the greatest fantasy film ever made, The Thief of Bagdad (1940) was producer Alexander Korda's crowning achievement. Deservedly winning Academy Awards for art direction, color cinematography, and special effects, this Arabian Nights adventure appeals to all ages with its fantastical tale of Abu (Sabu), the little thief who befriends the prince of Bagdad (John Justin) and foils the nefarious plans of the evil grand vizier (Conrad Veidt), who seizes control of Bagdad and covets the princess of Basra (Joan Duprez). From its gorgeous, epic-scale sets to flying horses, magic carpets, and, best of all, Rex Ingram's towering jinni of the bottle, this Thief has all the magic of the tales that inspired it, and vibrant Technicolor brings it all to life in dazzling style. Six esteemed directors worked on this infamously troubled production, but the final result exceeded all expectations, becoming an instant classic that endures to this day. --Jeff Shannon

The Jungle Book

Disney has mined Rudyard Kipling's Mowgli stories twice, but it has never topped this elegant, lush classic by the British Korda brothers. Producer Alexander Korda brought director Zoltan and designer Vincent to California, where they used Hollywood's resources to create a storybook India of verdant jungles, beautiful lagoons, and modest peasant villages. Sabu plays Mowgli, the man-cub raised by wolves and schooled in the jungle who returns to civilization as a young man. When greedy villagers discover that he knows of a hidden treasure, they turn the town against him and follow him to the ruins of an ancient palace (a magnificent, crumbling temple of glowing blue stone overrun with vines and vegetation). Sabu gives a vital, energetic performance, leaping and climbing like he was born to the wild and innocent of corruption and fear that infects the village. As the treasure hunters turn on one another and resort to murder for the prize they all desire, the film gets darker and fiercer than Disney ever dared in its remakes. It's still the most glorious of all versions, a grandly realized epic vision with a sense of wonder and a magnificent fantasy landscape of deep, rich colors, like a painting come to life. Joseph Calleia plays the greedy villain with his usual conniving flair. Miklós Rósza wrote the gorgeous score. Be wary of inferior video copies: the film has fallen into the public domain and is available in a proliferation of substandard prints. --Sean Axmaker

Jungle Book

Disney has mined Rudyard Kipling's Mowgli stories twice, but it has never topped this elegant, lush classic by the British Korda brothers. Producer Alexander Korda brought director Zoltan and designer Vincent to California, where they used Hollywood's resources to create a storybook India of verdant jungles, beautiful lagoons, and modest peasant villages. Sabu plays Mowgli, the man-cub raised by wolves and schooled in the jungle who returns to civilization as a young man. When greedy villagers discover that he knows of a hidden treasure, they turn the town against him and follow him to the ruins of an ancient palace (a magnificent, crumbling temple of glowing blue stone overrun with vines and vegetation). Sabu gives a vital, energetic performance, leaping and climbing like he was born to the wild and innocent of corruption and fear that infects the village. As the treasure hunters turn on one another and resort to murder for the prize they all desire, the film gets darker and fiercer than Disney ever dared in its remakes. It's still the most glorious of all versions, a grandly realized epic vision with a sense of wonder and a magnificent fantasy landscape of deep, rich colors, like a painting come to life. Joseph Calleia plays the greedy villain with his usual conniving flair. Miklós Rósza wrote the gorgeous score. Be wary of inferior video copies: the film has fallen into the public domain and is available in a proliferation of substandard prints. --Sean Axmaker

When Mowgli, a boy raised by wolves, returns to the village of his birth, he faces the greed of the villagers who've learned that he has knowledge of a buried treasure.

The Four Feathers

Some movies you just have to love. Oh, they may be well, even beautifully, made; wonderfully cast and stirringly acted; uplifting in theme and noble in motive. That's fine. In fact, that's great. For that, you admire them. But you love them because they are perfect distillations of a mood, of a moment in the history of filmmaking, of a breed of imagination that, like the best of fairy tales, transcends the tides of taste and empire, and certainly of political correctness.

Consider The Four Feathers, produced in England in 1939, at Alexander Korda's London Films studios, where a family of Hungarian expatriates aspired to exalt their newly adopted country, its history and traditions, and also to out-Hollywood Hollywood. With this film, they realized both ambitions, in spades.

A.E.W. Mason's novel of stiff-upper-lip honor and valor had already been filmed three times (and at least that many remakes have followed, superfluously). This is the only version that matters. On the eve of the British army's departure to reconquer the Sudan, a young lieutenant descended from a long line of military heroes resigns his commission and is tendered a white feather--the symbol of cowardice--by each of three brother officers. From his fiancée's plume he plucks a fourth, then fades out of their lives... to embark, a year later, on a private quest that will carry him down continents and through unimaginable sacrifice to hard-won redemption.

John Clements (who never had much of a film career) is excellent as the tormented Harry Faversham. But it's Ralph Richardson, as Harry's romantic rival John Durrance (wonderful names!), you'll cherish--he and that spitting image of the Duke of Wellington, C. Aubrey Smith, whose blustery recollections of the Crimean War strike a satiric yet affectionate keynote. Directed by one Korda brother, Zoltan--who shot spectacular sequences in the Sudan--and exquisitely designed by another, Vincent, The Four Feathers is a Technicolor milestone, and its music score is an early triumph by one of the Kordas's legion of Hungarian-expatriate helpmates, Miklos Rosza. --Richard T. Jameson

The Jungle Book

Rudyard Kipling's classic story of Mowgli, the baby boy abandoned in the jungle, and found by a panther who takes the child to a family of wolves, who will keep him safe, well-cared for and loved. But when a vicious tiger comes around threatening the boy, it becomes clear that the child must leave the animal kingdom and find his place among a species he has never known: human beings.

Jungle Book

Disney has mined Rudyard Kipling's Mowgli stories twice, but it has never topped this elegant, lush classic by the British Korda brothers. Producer Alexander Korda brought director Zoltan and designer Vincent to California, where they used Hollywood's resources to create a storybook India of verdant jungles, beautiful lagoons, and modest peasant villages. Sabu plays Mowgli, the man-cub raised by wolves and schooled in the jungle who returns to civilization as a young man. When greedy villagers discover that he knows of a hidden treasure, they turn the town against him and follow him to the ruins of an ancient palace (a magnificent, crumbling temple of glowing blue stone overrun with vines and vegetation). Sabu gives a vital, energetic performance, leaping and climbing like he was born to the wild and innocent of corruption and fear that infects the village. As the treasure hunters turn on one another and resort to murder for the prize they all desire, the film gets darker and fiercer than Disney ever dared in its remakes. It's still the most glorious of all versions, a grandly realized epic vision with a sense of wonder and a magnificent fantasy landscape of deep, rich colors, like a painting come to life. Joseph Calleia plays the greedy villain with his usual conniving flair. Miklós Rósza wrote the gorgeous score. Be wary of inferior video copies: the film has fallen into the public domain and is available in a proliferation of substandard prints. --Sean Axmaker

Jungle Book

Disney has mined Rudyard Kipling's Mowgli stories twice, but it has never topped this elegant, lush classic by the British Korda brothers. Producer Alexander Korda brought director Zoltan and designer Vincent to California, where they used Hollywood's resources to create a storybook India of verdant jungles, beautiful lagoons, and modest peasant villages. Sabu plays Mowgli, the man-cub raised by wolves and schooled in the jungle who returns to civilization as a young man. When greedy villagers discover that he knows of a hidden treasure, they turn the town against him and follow him to the ruins of an ancient palace (a magnificent, crumbling temple of glowing blue stone overrun with vines and vegetation). Sabu gives a vital, energetic performance, leaping and climbing like he was born to the wild and innocent of corruption and fear that infects the village. As the treasure hunters turn on one another and resort to murder for the prize they all desire, the film gets darker and fiercer than Disney ever dared in its remakes. It's still the most glorious of all versions, a grandly realized epic vision with a sense of wonder and a magnificent fantasy landscape of deep, rich colors, like a painting come to life. Joseph Calleia plays the greedy villain with his usual conniving flair. Miklós Rósza wrote the gorgeous score. Be wary of inferior video copies: the film has fallen into the public domain and is available in a proliferation of substandard prints. --Sean Axmaker

Sahara [Region 2]

Hollywood made few movies about the desert conflict during World War II--and curiously, two that they did (Five Graves to Cairo is the other) were remakes of films set elsewhere. John Howard Lawson based his script on a prewar Russian film (Lawson would later be blacklisted, incidentally) about a military patrol besieged by Asian bandits. The situation readily lent itself to a wartime parallel and became one of the most engrossing story lines of its era.

A U.S. tank crew and their commander (Humphrey Bogart), separated from the main force, make their way through the desert, accumulating a veritable United Nations of stragglers as they go: a few of Montgomery's tommies (including that old limey Lloyd Bridges) and a towering African (Rex Ingram) and his prisoner--a garrulous Italian (Oscar-nominated J. Carrol Naish) who can't wait to tell his new friends about his relatives in "Peets-a-bourg Pennsylvania." They come upon a ruin, the onetime site of an oasis, and almost immediately find themselves defending it against a small army of Germans who believe there's still water to be had there. Yes and no--there's a biblical wrinkle to this tale--and the standoff between the polyglot democrats and the Nazis who far outnumber them is a fine, sun-baked study in suspense.

For Bogart, this Columbia picture was a rare furlough from Warner Bros., where he always felt embattled. His pleasure must have seeped into his work, because Sgt. Joe Gunn is one of the most sympathetic and heartfelt characterizations the actor ever gave us. This is one good movie. --Richard T. Jameson

The Four Feathers [Region 2]

Far too many film versions of the The Four Feathers have been made over the years, which is especially surprising considering that this 1939 Korda brothers production is surely definitive. The film simultaneously celebrates and pokes fun at British imperialism, showing the kind of dogged stiff-upper-lippery that forged an Empire, but also the blinkered attitudes and crass snobbishness of the ruling classes (and those accents--did people ever really talk like that?). Whatever political subtext may or may not be read into it, though, the film is best celebrated for its magnificent vistas: partially made on location in the Sudan, as well as at the famous Denham Studios, this is British cinema from the days when it thought to rival Hollywood for sheer spectacle. Vincent Korda's production design and the glorious early color cinematography are helped greatly by fellow Hungarian émigré Miklos Rozsa's epic score.

John Clements is the notional hero, the man who determines to show the world that he is not a coward after resigning his commission (even though it would surely have saved everyone a lot of bother if he had just stuck with it) but the film is stolen by Ralph Richardson, magnificent as an officer struck blind and led to safety by Clements' Harry Faversham. The later scenes when Richardson's Capt. Durrance realizes the truth and its implications are the most poignant and emotionally truthful in the film. C. Aubrey Smith is delightful as the old buffer who relives his battles on the dinner table; to a modern audience, however, the "blackface" casting of John Laurie as the Khalifa strikes a discordant note. But adjusting some expectations for its vintage, this is a triumph of derring-do and far and away the most gripping version of this oft-told story on film. --Mark Walker