We don't get to see that many movies about Bomber Command, though there are a goodly number of Eighth Air Force movies around. I guess American studios poured out more war movies but in the 1950s the Brits produced some hum dingers as well, and this is one of them.
It bears some slight resemblance to "Twelve O'Clock High" in its structure. The men are convinced their squadron is jinxed and Bogarde must snap them out of it. Lots of tense ground scenes with the full story of a bombing raid over Germany saved until the end. And, like Gregory Peck, Dirk Bogarde is a pilot who has "done his share of flying" and is now a ground officer, enforcing discipline on the men. In an emergency, he climbs aboard a Lancaster for his final mission -- number ninety. When the Master Bomber, who acts as a kind of coach during the raid, is shot down, Bogarde takes over and saves the day. The appointment in London involves decorations for some of the men, to be awarded at Buckingham Palace. The role of Squadron Commander, though, really belongs to someone like Jack Hawkins, who can convey both empathy and necessity. Bogarde is stern enough but brings a slightly personal, bitchy quality to the role.
As usual, the officers and men are a mixed group of Brits, Australians, and whatever people from Sheffield are called. There is an American major who slouches around, hands in pockets, wearing a big smile, acting as liaison officer to the RAF. He risks court martial by sneaking aboard on some raids and acting as tail gunner. You're likely to recognize him as the guarded Dr. Floyd in Kubrick's "2001." There are a couple of women too: a widow who is the object of rival affections, and a widow who generates sympathy. There is also the usual grabass in the mess hall, a kind of riot in which officers mark the ceiling with the inky prints of their bare feet. It's all rather good natured fun.
The final raid is shown from its planning stages until the landing of the last overdue Lancaster. It's pretty tense. Bogarde is aboard one of the planes and the dramatic structure could go either way.
I suspect that there may be more movies about the Americans' daylight precision bombing than about the British night-time area bombing partly because more combat footage is available from daylight missions. Of course, until fighters with sufficient range became available, daylight bombing meant unsustainable losses and the program was suspended for a while. The British program didn't do much better. Their losses were appalling. And the metric doesn't exist that would allow us to measure the airmen's suffering against that of the Germans beneath them. All the combatants took a terrific pummeling. War is an awful thing. One wonders why some of us seem so anxious to rush into the next one.
It bears some slight resemblance to "Twelve O'Clock High" in its structure. The men are convinced their squadron is jinxed and Bogarde must snap them out of it. Lots of tense ground scenes with the full story of a bombing raid over Germany saved until the end. And, like Gregory Peck, Dirk Bogarde is a pilot who has "done his share of flying" and is now a ground officer, enforcing discipline on the men. In an emergency, he climbs aboard a Lancaster for his final mission -- number ninety. When the Master Bomber, who acts as a kind of coach during the raid, is shot down, Bogarde takes over and saves the day. The appointment in London involves decorations for some of the men, to be awarded at Buckingham Palace. The role of Squadron Commander, though, really belongs to someone like Jack Hawkins, who can convey both empathy and necessity. Bogarde is stern enough but brings a slightly personal, bitchy quality to the role.
As usual, the officers and men are a mixed group of Brits, Australians, and whatever people from Sheffield are called. There is an American major who slouches around, hands in pockets, wearing a big smile, acting as liaison officer to the RAF. He risks court martial by sneaking aboard on some raids and acting as tail gunner. You're likely to recognize him as the guarded Dr. Floyd in Kubrick's "2001." There are a couple of women too: a widow who is the object of rival affections, and a widow who generates sympathy. There is also the usual grabass in the mess hall, a kind of riot in which officers mark the ceiling with the inky prints of their bare feet. It's all rather good natured fun.
The final raid is shown from its planning stages until the landing of the last overdue Lancaster. It's pretty tense. Bogarde is aboard one of the planes and the dramatic structure could go either way.
I suspect that there may be more movies about the Americans' daylight precision bombing than about the British night-time area bombing partly because more combat footage is available from daylight missions. Of course, until fighters with sufficient range became available, daylight bombing meant unsustainable losses and the program was suspended for a while. The British program didn't do much better. Their losses were appalling. And the metric doesn't exist that would allow us to measure the airmen's suffering against that of the Germans beneath them. All the combatants took a terrific pummeling. War is an awful thing. One wonders why some of us seem so anxious to rush into the next one.