They made some outstanding unpretentious swashbucklers in those days, rarely equaled since. -- "The Mark of Zorro," "The Adventures of Robin Hood," among others. They carried no message, just that good was better than evil, and that the audience should enjoy the arousal jag while watching the former humiliate and defeat the latter. They had the directors and actors to pull it all off too. And they had the chutzpah to invent whole kingdoms like Ruritania and, as here, Lichtenburg.
Eighteen sixty-five. Poor Lichetenburg. The jewel of the Balkans, rich in tradition, as the prologue tells us. It's ruled by the admirable Joan Bennet, more popular with her fans than Lady GaGa is with hers. Alas, there is a festering authoritarian sore just under the benign monarchy. The filthy General George Sanders, who's been given the haircut of a World War I aviator, the direction to unloose his sneer whenever he likes, and is given the name of Gurko Lanen. Now, think about it. Could anyone named Gurko Lanen ever have a kind thought? You bet he couldn't. Oh, how Sanders would love to rule Lichtenburg, grind his boot into the necks of the hoi polloi and smash babies' heads against the stone walls. He's the kind of guy who could clear a room without using a gun. He's decked out in a black uniform, riding breeches and boots, reminiscent of Hitler's SS. This is 1940 we're talking about. But his last name conjures up images of the spiritual leader of the Bolshevik revolution. The German-Russian Non-Aggression Pact lasted from 1939 to 1941, so both Nazi Germany and the USSR were seen as enemies of the good guys. The Soviet threat surfaces again later. If there were any doubts they're dispelled by the scene in which Sanders and the Russian representative stand side by side signing what amounts to an agreement of mutual support. Inimical to Sanders' ambitions is the Prime Minister, Montagu Love, loyal representative of the Grand Duchess. Sanders has him put away on a fake charge.
At any rate, Louis Hayward, the son of the Count of Monte Cristo, and the richest man in Europe, takes up the cause of the reformers and worms his way into the palace posing as a hoity toity fop. He does numerous good deeds and in this more daring, masked persona he gives himself the name of Zorro -- I mean The Torch. Both Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn were better at this game. Hayward comes across as a nice guy but a little daft. He never takes anything seriously, even while waiting in a dungeon to be hanged. Joan Bennet is pretty without bringing much to the party.
But George Sanders is outstanding. He dominates the screen no matter what the role is -- sardonic hero, sardonic brutal villain, or sardonic suave villain. The guy never lets you down. He looks somewhat like the novelist Vladimir Nabokov. They were both born in the same year in the same city, St. Petersburg. I've often wondered whether they were one and the same person. People claim all sorts of false identities. Look at Prince Michael Romanoff the late restaurateur. Look at Sebastian Melmoth. Look at Bernie Schwartz. As far as I know, no one has seen Sanders and Nabokov in the same room together. As far as I'm concerned, Q.E.D.
I don't think too many would argue that this is fresh material. The story of the skilled swordsman acting the pouf is from "The Mark of Zorro" and so is the scene in which a snarling soldier rips a treasonous paper from the public wall while surrounded by frightened peasants, and so is the hidden passageway in the basement and the wet footprints on the stone floor that lead to the secret panel in the wall.
As for the working out of the plot, I leave it to you to decide whether Hayward escapes from the dungeon, interrupts the marriage of Sanders to Bennet, engages in a climactic sword fight with Sanders, kills him after a suitable wisecrack, and sweeps the Grand Duchess up in his arms at the end.
That climactic sword fight is brief because neither actor is particularly graceful and neither knows anything about fencing. You want to see a match that thrills, see "The Mark of Zorro" or "Scaramouche."
Eighteen sixty-five. Poor Lichetenburg. The jewel of the Balkans, rich in tradition, as the prologue tells us. It's ruled by the admirable Joan Bennet, more popular with her fans than Lady GaGa is with hers. Alas, there is a festering authoritarian sore just under the benign monarchy. The filthy General George Sanders, who's been given the haircut of a World War I aviator, the direction to unloose his sneer whenever he likes, and is given the name of Gurko Lanen. Now, think about it. Could anyone named Gurko Lanen ever have a kind thought? You bet he couldn't. Oh, how Sanders would love to rule Lichtenburg, grind his boot into the necks of the hoi polloi and smash babies' heads against the stone walls. He's the kind of guy who could clear a room without using a gun. He's decked out in a black uniform, riding breeches and boots, reminiscent of Hitler's SS. This is 1940 we're talking about. But his last name conjures up images of the spiritual leader of the Bolshevik revolution. The German-Russian Non-Aggression Pact lasted from 1939 to 1941, so both Nazi Germany and the USSR were seen as enemies of the good guys. The Soviet threat surfaces again later. If there were any doubts they're dispelled by the scene in which Sanders and the Russian representative stand side by side signing what amounts to an agreement of mutual support. Inimical to Sanders' ambitions is the Prime Minister, Montagu Love, loyal representative of the Grand Duchess. Sanders has him put away on a fake charge.
At any rate, Louis Hayward, the son of the Count of Monte Cristo, and the richest man in Europe, takes up the cause of the reformers and worms his way into the palace posing as a hoity toity fop. He does numerous good deeds and in this more daring, masked persona he gives himself the name of Zorro -- I mean The Torch. Both Tyrone Power and Errol Flynn were better at this game. Hayward comes across as a nice guy but a little daft. He never takes anything seriously, even while waiting in a dungeon to be hanged. Joan Bennet is pretty without bringing much to the party.
But George Sanders is outstanding. He dominates the screen no matter what the role is -- sardonic hero, sardonic brutal villain, or sardonic suave villain. The guy never lets you down. He looks somewhat like the novelist Vladimir Nabokov. They were both born in the same year in the same city, St. Petersburg. I've often wondered whether they were one and the same person. People claim all sorts of false identities. Look at Prince Michael Romanoff the late restaurateur. Look at Sebastian Melmoth. Look at Bernie Schwartz. As far as I know, no one has seen Sanders and Nabokov in the same room together. As far as I'm concerned, Q.E.D.
I don't think too many would argue that this is fresh material. The story of the skilled swordsman acting the pouf is from "The Mark of Zorro" and so is the scene in which a snarling soldier rips a treasonous paper from the public wall while surrounded by frightened peasants, and so is the hidden passageway in the basement and the wet footprints on the stone floor that lead to the secret panel in the wall.
As for the working out of the plot, I leave it to you to decide whether Hayward escapes from the dungeon, interrupts the marriage of Sanders to Bennet, engages in a climactic sword fight with Sanders, kills him after a suitable wisecrack, and sweeps the Grand Duchess up in his arms at the end.
That climactic sword fight is brief because neither actor is particularly graceful and neither knows anything about fencing. You want to see a match that thrills, see "The Mark of Zorro" or "Scaramouche."