The Long and the Short and the Tall (1961) - film review

Deep in the jungles of South-East Asia in 1942, Sergeant Mitchem leads a seven-man patrol on a mission to draw the Japanese troops away from the main Allied contingent by creating a sonic diversion.  Mitchem is struggling to exert his authority over his men, most of whom are woefully ill-equipped for their job.   His second-in-command Corporal Johnstone taunts him for having lost a previous patrol whilst Lance Corporal Macleish endlessly lectures him on doing things by the book.  Mitchem’s biggest headache is Private Bamforth, a loud-mouthed Londoner who divides his time between railing against authority and demoralising his fellow soldiers.   The patrol comes across a deserted hut and decides to stay there to shelter from the heavy rains.   Whilst attempting to contact the nearby British camp via radio, Private Whitaker picks up an ominous Japanese transmission.  Not long afterwards, a lone Japanese soldier appears and is immediately taken prisoner by the now jittery patrol.  Aware that Japanese soldiers are heading their way, Mitchum decides that it is time for his patrol to make a hasty return to their camp.  They must first decide whether to kill their Japanese prisoner or take him with them...

One of the most intelligent and atypical war films of its time, The Long and the Short and the Tall offers both a probing examination of the morality of war and a compelling study of the psychology of warfare.  The film shows how a poorly led group of British soldiers loses its cohesion and sense of purpose as a result of the moral conflict that arises when a Japanese man is taken prisoner.  Whereas some members of the group see a dangerous enemy (because he is wearing a different uniform), others see only another human being, reminding us that the objectives of war and the interests of humanity are mutually incompatible.  The anti-war message may be far from subtle but it is remarkably effective and prompts the audience to reflect on whether there can ever be a moral basis to any war.   As they ruminate on the fate of their prisoner, the British soliders’ moral undulations resemble a pendulum swinging between civilised behaviour and barbarity, and the outcome is all too predictable.  

The film is based on a hugely successful West End play of the same title written by Willis Hall (who is best known through his collaboration with Keith Waterhouse on the stage version of Billy Liar).  Hall’s first notable work, The Long and the Short and the Tall was originally performed at the Edinburgh Festival fringe in 1955, where film producer Michael Balcon saw it and resolved to acquire the film rights.  It was only after the play had triumphed on the London stage that Hall agreed to a film adaptation.  Wolf Mankowitz was hired to redraft Hall’s play and the task of directing it was given to Leslie Norman (father of the well-known UK film critic Barry Norman), who later directed some of the most popular TV series of the ’60s and ’70s - Gideon’s Way, The Saint, The Avengers, The Persuaders, amongst others.

For political and budgetary reasons, filming on location in the jungles of Asia was infeasible and so the entire film had to be shot in a studio mock-up.  Whilst it can be argued that this is what gives the film its stifling aura of oppression, the fact that the studio sets are more redolent of Kew Gardens than the Burmese jungle does diminish its realism somewhat.  Likewise, the impact of the sequences in the partially flooded mine is greatly undermined by the fact that the cast appear to have taken a wrong turning and wandered onto the set of Doctor Who.   As any film noir buff will tell you, poor set design can often be concealed by imaginative lighting and camerawork, but alas these are also lacking from this film, so that visually it resembles a mediocre TV drama from the 1950s.  It is hard to suspend your disbelief when so little effort has apparently been made to disguise the fact that the film was recorded in a studio.  Not surprisingly, the film’s most intense and credible scenes are those that take place within the cramped bamboo hut, the one and only realistic set offered by the film. 

Fortunately, the film’s dubious production values are compensated by Mankowitz’s taut screenplay and a plethora of juicy performances from the remarkable ensemble cast, which not only save the film but elevate it to the status of a minor classic.   Laurence Harvey has come in for considerable criticism for his scene-stealing turn as a lippy, authority-hating Cockney, the part that had been played to great acclaim in the stage version by Peter O’Toole.  Harvey was given the role of Private Bamforth only at the insistence of the film’s American backer, and whilst he may lack O’Toole’s subtlety, he gives a robust performance which provides the film with much of its energy and moral focus.  Harvey’s co-stars are no less impressive, each managing to establish his character within a few lines of dialogue.  Richard Todd is tragically convincing as the sergeant who, despite his best efforts, is worse than useless at leading a group of soldiers, his incompetence surpassed only by his moral confusion.  Meanwhile, as the brooding Corporal Johnson, Richard Harris offers the merest glimpse of his subsequent acting triumphs, in such films as This Sporting Life (1963) and Camelot (1967).  The other players - David McCallum, Ronald Fraser, John Meillon, John Rees and Kenji Takaki - are no less deserving of praise and give the film much of its humanity and psychological realism.   The end result may be more theatrical than cinematic, but it is nonetheless a powerful anti-war piece, one that compels its spectator to confront some problematic moral issues, to which of course there are no easy solutions.

© Alex Sullivan 2010

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