Sitting Target (1972)

          Intense, minimalistic, and taut, the UK thriller Sitting Target showcases the singular British actor Oliver Reed at his most primal. Playing a man seething with rage and yet ultimately driven by deeper passions that don’t become evident until the very end of the story, Reed maintains an amazing level of ferocity from the first frame to the last. Make no mistake, Sitting Target is a violent revenge saga filled with chase scenes, explosions, and shootouts. Within those parameters, however, it’s credible and effective. Freddie Jones, Ian McShane, and Edward Woodward deliver excellent supporting performances while director Douglas Hickox and cinematographer Edward Scalfe employ consistently imaginative camera angles and film editor John Glen (a frequent participant in 007 movies) creates expert pacing. Best of all, the film seems quite straightforward until the aforementioned ending, which casts everything that came before in a new light. In sum, Sitting Target is more than just adrenalized escapism.

          Reed stars as Harry, a career criminal serving a long term in jail alongside fellow crook Birdy (McShane). The filmmakers introduce Harry perfectly, showing him performing a brutal exercise regimen in his dark cell—he’s perpetually ready for action. One day, Harry’s wife, Pat (Jill St. John), visits him in jail with terrible news. He’s lost his appeal, meaning he’ll be imprisoned for years. Making matters worse, Pat reveals that she’s leaving Harry for another man, whose baby she now carries. Harry responds by smashing his hand through the glass separating him from Pat and nearly strangling her to death. Determined to exact revenge for her betrayal, Harry arranges to break out of jail with Birdy and wealthy crook MacNeil (Jones). The escape sequence is terrific, generating real danger and tension while illustrating fundamental differences between the escapees. Once news of Harry’s jailbreak spreads, policeman Milton (Woodward) assumes responsibility for Pat’s safety. A cat-and-mouse game ensues, because for Harry, it’s not enough to destroy Pat. He wants her to know what’s coming.

          Sitting Target is far from perfect. A subplot of Birdy and Harry harassing a former colleague for money chews up screen time, and one scene hinges on Harry shooting a target from an enormous distance with a pistol, which seems iffy. That said, the pros outweigh the cons, no pun intended. The action scenes are strong, the overall atmosphere is believably grim, and the sheer level of testosterone surging through the movie’s veins is incredible. St. John is the weak link, giving a decorative performance and rendering a questionable British accent, though she doesn’t diminish the overall impact. FYI, UK actor Frank Finlay shares a few scenes with Reed. Not long afterward, the players joined forces for Richard Lester’s superlative adventure films The Three Musketeers (1973) and The Four Musketeers (1974).

Sitting Target: GROOVY

1980 Week: Breaker Morant

          Beautifully filmed, expertly acted, meticulously directed, and thoughtfully written, Breaker Morant is not only one of the best Australian films ever made, but also one of the finest dramas of its era. Presenting a complex story about courage, cowardice, politics, violence, and war, the picture dramatizes an infamous real-life incident that took place during the early 20th century in what later became South Africa. Amid the storms of the Second Boer War, fought between forces of the British Empire and those resisting British rule, three officers in an Australian regiment serving the UK were accused of killing unarmed combatants, including a German priest, as reprisal for the murder of their commanding officer. Partisans of the accused characterized the legal action that was brought against the Australians as craven political expediency, a maneuver designed by the British to appease German interests and facilitate a peace settlement. Despite strong evidence proving that the Australians were following orders, the officers were executed, and many people perceived the event as a classic miscarriage of justice.

          Cowritten and directed by Bruce Beresford, using Kenneth J. Ross’ play Breaker Morant as a foundation, this elegantly constructed film follows the trial of the Australians and includes flashbacks to key events on the battlefield. A picture emerges of a conflict in which the rules of engagement were murky at best. The leader of the Australians is the sophisticated Harry “Breaker” Morant (Edward Woodward), a horseman and poet who was born in England and therefore understands the duplicities of the British aristocracy better than his Australian-born comrades. In fact, Morant realizes his fate is sealed the minute he meets the attorney assigned to represent the Australians, an inexperienced Aussie named Major J.F. Thomas (Jack Thompson). The lawyer is given only a day to prepare, and all of his motions to buy time are overruled. Yet as the absurdly one-sided military trial commences, Thomas proves more formidable than either the defendants or the jurists expected, sparking hope among the Australians that truth may out. In sad and tragic ways, it does—with little effect on the foregone conclusion.

           Through evidence and testimony, Thomas demonstrates that a no-prisoners policy was in place before the death of the Australians’ commanding officer, thereby demolishing the prosecution’s argument that Morant and the others acted savagely. “The tragedy of war,” Thomas opines, “is that these horrors are committed by normal men, in abnormal circumstances.”

          Beresford shows exquisite restraint in every aspect of filmmaking. The performances are almost perfectly modulated, with anger breaking through decorum at just the right moments, and the camera angles and lighting that Beresford contrives with cinematographer Donald McAlpine heighten tension while also infusing scenes with the immersive texture of remote locales. Woodward is extraordinary in the title role, blending cynicism and romanticism to incarnate a unique individual. Bryan Brown, in his breakout performance, lends roguish charm while playing one of Morant’s co-defendants. And Australian-cinema stalwart Thompson does some of the best work of his career. Best of all, the movie can be watched in close detail by viewers curious about the internecine historical details, and it can also be absorbed viscerally as the story of ordinary men thrown into battle against forces beyond their ken.

          Either way, it’s a masterpiece of dramatic storytelling.

Breaker Morant: RIGHT ON

The Wicker Man (1973)

          Easily one of the best horror movies of the ’70s, if only because its literary texture and offbeat subject matter differentiate it from more conventional shockers, The Wicker Man is a disturbing story about the murderous aspects of religion. Set on a remote island off the Scottish coast, the picture begins as a standard mystery, because a mainland policeman follows up on reports of a missing young girl. Then The Wicker Man escalates into something perverse. On first viewing, the picture seems completely bizarre, but after prolonged exposure the classicism of the film’s structure becomes more evident. This is horror cinema of the most elegant sort, in which an emotionally relatable protagonist encounters a situation beyond his understanding. The Wicker Man also contains some of the most disquieting images of the ’70s, so even though it doesn’t generate many jolts—the filmmakers’ methodology is far too subtle for that—The Wicker Man leaves an indelible impression. However, it’s no surprise that the film’s content was far too weird for mainstream acceptance during The Wicker Man’s original release; shown as a B-movie in England and the US, the picture eventually gained critical acclaim and cult-classic status. Even today, it remains something of an obscurity.

          Loosely based on a novel by David Pinner called Ritual, the picture was written by the clever Anthony Schaffer (best known for his play and screenplay Sleuth) and directed by impressive first-timer Robin Hardy. At the opening of the story, uptight policeman Sgt. Neil Howie (Edward Woodward) files by seaplane to remote Summerisle, where he’s greeted with suspicion. Howie had received a note stating that a young girl was missing, but the locals all claim no knowledge of the girl, with the local schoolteacher, Miss Rose (Diane Cilento), enigmatically claiming the girl doesn’t exist anymore. Meanwhile, Howie witnesses all sorts of odd behavior among the islanders, including nude outdoor rituals and the open display of such gruesome wares as a jar of foreskins at the drugstore. All of this tests Howie’s character, because he’s a devout Christian. In one of the film’s signature scenes, sexy barmaid Willow (Britt Ekland) does an intense nude dance in the hotel room next to Howie’s while singing a mesmerizing song, and the scene is intercut with Howie’s sweaty reactions as he responds to—but resists—her supernatural siren call. Eventually, Howie learns that the islanders are pagans who believe in regeneration and sacrifice, but revealing anything more of the plot would diminish the experience.

          Hardy and Shaffer fill The Wicker Man with evocative glimpses into the strange world of ancient religious practices, so the picture features elaborate costumes, hypnotic music, and masks in the form of animal heads. Tension is generated by watching Howie’s sanity challenged when he sees inexplicable visions, and by the question of whether an outsider can survive in an environment where human life has a different value than it possesses in the modern world. Complementing a supporting cast filled with colorful eccentrics, the movie features horror veteran Christopher Lee as Lord Summerisle, the leader of the island’s pagan sect; even when wearing outlandish wigs (and, in one scene, full drag!), Lee gives one of his career-best performances. Ekland is powerfully erotic, and Woodward’s intense portrayal of a man who wears Christianity like a shield against the mysteries of the world is forceful and haunting. Best of all is the movie’s unforgettable ending.

The Wicker Man: RIGHT ON