The Flame and the Arrow (Jacques Tourneur / U.S., 1950):

The clandestine meeting in occupied territory is lit by torches, it might be Vichy France or the Russia of Days of Glory except that it's medieval Lombardy under Hessian rule. "No noble purpose" for the mountain archer (Burt Lancaster), who strolls into the village with a carefree philosophy: "People get you into things, things get you into trouble, trouble gets you mixed up with people." His wife (Lynn Baggett) has run off with the Teutonic ruler (Frank Allenby), but he doesn't get involved with the peasant resistance until his son (Gordon Gebert) is forcibly taken to the court. The warlord's niece (Virginia Mayo) is to be married to the supercilious blue-blood (Robert Douglas), both are captured by the cheery guerrillas. "You are the sultan of these tartar brigands?" "Outlaws, marchese. Outlaws." A nimble swashbuckler with war and Western traces, Lancaster's personal gym in the woods, Jacques Tourneur bringing shadows to the Technicolor Robin Hood template. Ancient Roman ruins provide the rebels with a proper hideout, "I think the roof leaks." Nick Cravat's acrobatic pantomime as the silent sidekick contrasts with Norman Lloyd's prolix acerbicity as the droll troubadour, "a useful fellow to have around when you're moody." (His repertoire includes "a ballad to exaggerate your manhood for the sake of your friends.") The most Tourneur role is the aristocratic swordsman—by turns chivalrous, selfish, romantic and perfidious, he meets his end in the most Tourneur scene, a duel in the dark when the chandelier comes crashing down. The hanged martyr is resurrected with a wink, carnival tumblers and bear costumes and vaulting poles and tightropes figure in the climactic melee. "Respect the technique of a fellow artist, then." Siodmak happily absorbs it all in The Crimson Pirate. With Aline MacMahon, Robin Hughes, Victor Kilian, and Francis Pierlot.

--- Fernando F. Croce

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