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It promptly settles matters with Gunga Din, "Kali embraces her sons." The structure is a mirror of opposite forces, the cult of thugs wraps destruction in religion, the East India Company promises "order and stability" while worrying more about cargo than people from missing caravans. One British officer (Guy Rolfe) conducts a private investigation, official duties fall to a supercilious captain (Allan Cuthbertson) who won't take matters seriously until he's surrounded by garroted corpses in a jungle encampment. The Company's colonel (Andrew Cruickshank) is a ponderous bureaucrat but the High Priest (George Pastell) believes every word of his own bloodthirsty cant, the hero's pallid wife (Jan Holden) contrasts with the ample devotee (Marie Devereux) savoring the cruel activities. The man between is the former patel (Marne Maitland), who practices the fine art of obsequiousness and understands that "whoever rules decides the truth." A system of shocks to paint the portrait of colonial rule, starkly arranged by Terence Fisher with the writer of Straw Dogs. Brandings, blindings, burnings. "Kali shows no mercy to the jackals who sin against her." (One condemned fanatic is so eager to reap his rewards in the hereafter that he grabs the noose himself and leaps ecstatically off the gallows.) The officer is tied for sacrifice as a king cobra pokes its head into the frame, his trusty mongoose comes to the rescue for a miniature duel. An atmosphere of tangible political-visceral madness, fueled by "the greatest gift of all, human flesh" and pushed into overdrive by Coppola (Apocalypse Now) and Spielberg (Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom). With Paul Stassino, Tutte Lemkow, Roger Delgado, and David Spenser. In black and white.
--- Fernando F. Croce |