The Flight of the Phoenix (1965)

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A cargo-passenger aeroplane crashes in the Libyan Sahara:  the Sixties iteration of a disaster movie, in all but name. The pilot is James Stewart, the navigator an alcoholic Richard Attenborough and there is among the cast list a man so ill he will die if they’re not rescued soon … Robert Aldrich’s tough movie is really a brilliant set of character studies that never bows to cliche.  Adapted from Elleston Trevor’s novel by Aldrich regular Lukas Heller, it’s a marvellous portrait of people reacting to both pressure and the emergence of a Superman in their midst – a Hitlerian model aeroplane designer (Hardy Kruger) whose plan to resurrect their wreck might just get them out of there as they battle fraying nerves, water depletion and sand storms. In the midst of this we have a military type who goes on a suicidal desert walk (Peter Finch) with Spaniard Carlos (Alex Montoya) who leaves his pet monkey behind, an oil company accountant (Dan Duryea), a quasi-hysterical oil foreman (Ernest Borgnine), a doctor (Christian Marquand), a mean Scot (Ian Bannen), and a nervous soldier (Ronald Fraser). There’s more! But that’s for you to find out in this race against time. That bird ain’t called Phoenix for nothing. How the men deal with each other and their increasing frustration is brilliantly managed by producer-director Aldrich and the performances are knockout. This wasn’t a hit at the time but has since become a major cult film.

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Sahara (1983)

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One of those films that never made it to my small town when I was a kid, I’ve finally seen the motor racing movie with Brooke Shields, the It Girl of the Eighties. From jeans to beauty, she had it made. Those eyes – those eyebrows – that mane of hair  … it didn’t really surprise to learn from Who Do You Think You Are? that the fabulous cover girl and controversial star of my childhood was descended through her paternal grandmother, an Italian aristocrat, from the Holy Roman Emperor, several Popes and Louis XVI. There seems to be a lot of cross dressing in my current viewing slate and this is no different. When Brooke arrives in the desert in 1927 for the international car race her late father dreamed of winning in his own design she needs to pass for male in this Arab world so she dresses in a linen suit, fedora and a moustache. It works, for a bit. Challenged by German driver Horst Buchholz,  she is conveniently abducted by John Rhys-Davies (back in the desert after Raiders of the Lost Ark) and falls in love with his nephew the sheik Lambert Wilson – and why not? Though it takes a while for the penny to drop with Brooke that his claim on her is physical in more ways than one. High jinks ensue as she wants to escape during a tribal war involving machine guns and cool improvised tanks and her team is being held hostage, while John Mills turns up as the sheik’s secretary, a university professor…  and there’s still a race to be won! I’m a petrol head and don’t care who knows it so I love the machines and all the high drama surrounding this landscape-driven piece and the photography by David Gurfinkel and Armando Nannuzzi is lovely. Nor do I object to this inadvertently being my third Perry Lang film in ten days! Brooke was too young to legally drive in Israel where this was shot by production team Golan-Globus (the Go Go Boys as they were known) so the Government had to give special permission. Written by the ultra-fascinating personage of James R.Silke, illustrator extraordinaire (including for Capitol Records), Grammy winner for best album cover (Judy at Carnegie Hall), novelist, the man who started up Cinema magazine in LA, producer and even a role on The Wild Bunch as an uncredited costume designer for friend Sam Peckinpah. Directed by Andrew V. McLaglen, son of Victor and all-round Hollywood action and western expert, who learned his trade with Johns Ford and Wayne starting as assistant director on The Quiet Man. There’s a jaunty score by Ennio Morricone to liven things up even more.  The tagline for this was: “She challenged the desert, its men, their passions and ignited a bold adventure.” I can confirm the veracity of this claim. However Shields’ performance earned her the record-breaking score of two Razzies for the same role – Worst Actress and Worst Supporting Actor – harsh! I thought she was pretty great as a Blue-Eyed Demon! Pretty baby indeed. Ironically Shields’ aristocrat grandmother died in a car crash in Italy travelling home from her nephew’s wedding to director Luchino Visconti’s niece. Royal in so many, many ways.