Fred Zinnemann (1964)
The apocalyptic title[1] compels attention and the film begins strongly. Some startling archive footage from the Spanish Civil War precedes fictional reconstruction: for a few moments, Jean Badal’s black-and-white cinematography sustains the illusion of reality, as a procession of vanquished Spanish Republicans crosses the border into France as refugees. The illusion is shattered by the appearance and histrionics of Gregory Peck as Republican guerrilla Manuel Artiguez, who tries to turn back towards Spain until his comrades grab hold of him, insisting, ‘Manuel, the war is over!’ Twenty years later, an adolescent boy called Paco (Marietto Angeletti) journeys from Spain to France, to seek out Artiguez and ask him to kill Viñolas (Anthony Quinn), the Guardia Civil captain responsible for the death of Paco’s father and who is still on the hunt for the near-legendary Artiguez.
I wouldn’t have believed I could walk out of a Fred Zinnemann film but that’s what happened with Behold a Pale Horse. It wasn’t exactly the fault of the cast. Although Peck is effortfully unconvincing as a gruff-‘n’-grizzled ex-bandit, Anthony Quinn is easier to take as the vengeful Viñolas, Marietto Angeletti does well enough as Paco, and Omar Sharif, who might be thought comically miscast, brings surprising fervour to his role as a Catholic priest. It wasn’t exactly the fault of the dialogue, written by JP Miller (best known for Days of Wine and Roses), awkward as it often is. (The source material is a 1961 novel, with a differently intriguing title and by a notable author: Killing a Mouse on Sunday was the work of Emeric Pressburger.) But the post-recorded sound – all voices at the same volume regardless of the position in the frame of the character concerned – manages to make the actors and the lines they deliver consistently ridiculous. They’re speaking in their own voices – Peck, Quinn and Sharif are, at any rate – but the result is so artificial they might as well have been dubbed by someone else. I stayed with the film long enough to be consoled that Fred Zinnemann’s feel for locations was still intact but I couldn’t – because his work is usually so much better – bear this travesty for another hour or more. I walked more in sorrow than in anger.
22 November 2023
[1] Revelation, chapter 6, verse 8: ‘And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. …’
