The Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union, as the only
super powers to emerge from the ashes of the Second World War, lasted
approximately 40 years. Tensions ebbed and flowed throughout the 1950s, until
four events in quick succession in the early 1960s raised world anxieties to
new levels: the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, construction of the Berlin Wall,
the Cuban Missile Crisis, and the Kennedy assassination. People had good reason
to feel that mankind teetered on the brink of nuclear annihilation.
The national angst, fueled by a high performance propaganda machine powered
out of Washington, helped President Kennedy launch the Space Race in a May,
1961 speech. The endeavor, drama at its most spine tingling, was restorative to
boot. It redirected the collective mind of a nervous American public from
Armageddon to an ambitious quest, one of discovery that would require heroic
courage, a goal that appealed to the young president. In the bargain, success
meant staying one step ahead of our arch enemy, the Communists.
Hollywood also took notice, understanding that the Cold War offered
commercial opportunities. In fact, it had been scratching the surface of the
genre for over a decade in films like
It Came From Outer Space and
The
Invasion of the Body Snatchers, thinly veiled references to the threat of
Soviet invasion or attack, or the more restrained and gloomy
On the Beach.
But in its constant search for bigger box office, America’s deteriorating
relations with the Soviet Union prompted Hollywood to capitalize on the
heightened fears of the American public.
It began producing topical films that seemed right out of the day’s
newspaper headlines. Many contained a doomsday message—mankind simply couldn’t
be trusted to control the terrible weapons it had created. In the process it
moved the Cold War genre from allegory to realism. Here are some of the best
from the period:
The Manchurian Candidate (1962),
Dr. Strangelove
(1964),
Seven Days in May (1964),
Fail-Safe (1964),
The
Spy Who Came in From the Cold (1965), and
The Bedford Incident
(1965). All are in stark black and white with fine production values to create
the right mood for suspense.
The
Manchurian Candidate - 1962
Captain Bennett Marco is a confused army intelligence officer. A recurring
nightmare haunts his sleep since his return from Korea. Inexplicably, it is of
a women’s garden party lecture on hydrangeas with Marco and the soldiers of his
patrol sitting on folding chairs on a stage appearing bored. That is the
viewer’s introduction to what is arguably the best political thriller of all
time.
Chinese Communists have concocted a devilish scheme to brainwash the
Americans, including Staff Sergeant Raymond Shaw, who back in the states is an
idolized hero and Medal of Honor winner. Shaw reportedly saved the captain and
his men while taking out an enemy machine gun nest. Marco, without emotion,
says of Shaw, “he is the kindest, bravest, warmest, and most wonderful human
being I’ve ever known in my life.” But something is amiss. Marco knows the
sergeant is insufferable, a man impossible to like. He can’t put his finger on
it but Shaw is not what he seems.
Based on the Richard Condon best seller, Director John Frankenheimer made a
film that ostensibly is about how an enemy turns a captured American soldier
into its trained assassin to commit an unspeakable crime for political gain. He
ejects the novel’s more lurid passages, strong hints of incest, and
concentrates on the darker story: how politicians and the media in this country
brainwash American citizens, and the disturbing ease with which people fall
prey to the unchecked ambition of those schooled in manipulation. He unfolds
the story with precision and purpose.
Frank Sinatra, as Marco, adequately captures his character’s confusion,
albeit at times he could be more subtle—he wonders if he’s going crazy.
Lawrence Harvey plays Shaw to perfection—his pent up disgust of just about
everything, including himself, simmers just below the surface. Watch the face
of both stars to remember that good acting doesn’t require dialog.
Angela Landsbury, in a well-deserved Oscar nominated performance as
supporting actress, plays the diabolical Eleanor Iselin, Shaw’s dominating and
image conscious mother. She’ll stop at nothing to get her husband into the
White House—even murder. James Gregory gives the best performance of his
career. McCarthy-like, he plays Landsbury’s red-baiting husband, Senator
Iselin.
When first released—coincidentally during the climatic week of the Cuban
Missile Crises—the film met with tepid reviews. New York Times reviewer, Bosley
Crowther, ridiculed its premise. Still he wrote of its “racy and sharp” dialog
and Frankenheimer’s direction, which Crowther found “exciting in the style of
Orson Wells.” It now enjoys cult status.
Dr.
Strangelove - 1964
Justly acclaimed as one of the greatest American films, let alone
Hollywood’s best Cold War effort,
Dr. Strangelove is arguably director
Stanley Kubrick’s best. It remains an unparalleled black comedy, and while it
excels in every aspect, it is the memorable characters and great performances
that bring the story to life. Two actors not known for comedy are particularly
funny: George C. Scott and Sterling Hayden.
Hayden is an insane general, Jack D. Ripper. Convinced that Communists are
conspiring to pollute America’s “precious bodily fluids” by contaminating the
water supply with fluoride, he dispatches his bomber wing to destroy Russia.
Scott plays the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, “Buck” Turgidson. Called
to the White House by the President, he barely conceals his delight—the planes
cannot be recalled. Turgidson grins broadly, emits a motor sound, and spreads
his arms to swoop like a kid to demonstrate for the President how the B-52
bombers will stay beneath the enemy radar. The character is modeled after
Curtis LeMay, the real life early 1960s Chairman of the JCS and rabid
anti-Communist.
Peter Sellers gives a tour de force in three separate roles: a British
officer out of his league with the crazed Ripper; American President Merkin
Muffley; and the bizarre Dr. Strangelove, a German scientist who has problems
controlling his Nazi salute. Much of the film takes place in the White House
war room, a set that critic Roger Ebert called “one of the most memorable of
movie interiors.” Here the president and his odd team of advisers assemble with
the Russian ambassador to discuss options. Strangelove discloses the existence
of a secret "Doomsday Device," a weapon the Russians will unleash in
retaliation. It will destroy all plant and animal life on Earth.
Slim Pickens, in another role originally written for Peter Sellers until he
broke an ankle, plays gun-ho Major “King” Kong. He commands the lone plane that
makes it to the target. An H-bomb becomes his personal bunking bronco in one of
the most unforgettable exits in all film.
The film is full of great lines. Among the best: “Dimitri, we have a little
problem ….”; “A fella could have a pretty good weekend in Vegas with all that stuff.";
and the most famous: "Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here! This is the War
Room!"
The film captured four Oscar nominations: for Best Picture, Best Director,
Best Actor (Sellers), and Best Screenplay, but came away empty-handed.
Seven Days in May - 1964
Director John Frankenheimer delves into the Cold War genre a second time and
puts a twist on the already traditional plot line, with the Russians merely an
off-screen presence.
Frederick March plays President Lyman, a liberal who fears that the nuclear
age has killed man’s faith in his ability to influence what happens to him.
About to introduce a disarmament treaty to the U.S. Senate, he is up against
Burt Lancaster as General James Mattoon Scott. The right-wing Chairman of the
Joint Chiefs of Staff, Scott plans a military takeover because he fears the
president is compromising the safety of the country. Kurt Douglas plays
Lancaster’s aide, Colonel Martin “Jiggs” Casey, who accidentally uncovers the
plot by stumbling onto the cover story—a supposed betting pool for the upcoming
Preakness. Each of the headliners infuses his character with authority and
conviction to give a convincing and textured performance. Jiggs admires General
Scott and is disheartened to take his suspicions to the president, while Scott
acts out of genuine fear that the president’s policy threatens the county he
loves.
The supporting cast is terrific. Martin Balsam plays Lyman’s friend and
right-hand man in the White House; Edmund O’Brien is a Senator with a drinking
problem; and Ava Gardner is a Washington socialite whose best days are behind
her. O’Brien earned an Oscar nomination. He pays a surprise visit to a
mysterious base in the middle of the Arizona desert where Lancaster is training
a special assault force. It is a wonderful set piece. When the Senator is
forcibly held incommunicado and tempted with booze, you can’t help but worry
about his safety.
Rod Serling wrote the screenplay, adapted from Fletcher Knebel and Charles
Bailey’s best-selling novel. Serling brings his
Twilight Zone magic
with crisp dialog that crackles as the protagonists go at one another. The
final confrontation between March and Lancaster is a highlight, with an
aggravated President Lyman dressing down the self-rightist officer: "Then,
by God, run for office! You have such a fervent, passionate, evangelical faith
in this country…why in the name of God don’t you have any faith in the system
of government you’re so hell-bent to protect?"
And like his film
The Manchurian Candidate two years earlier,
Frankenheimer presents a cautionary tale here. It is not only the military that
citizens need be wary of, but also two other American institutions that in the
early 60s were still generally held in high regard, the press and Congress.
Members of both have joined Scott’s cabal and put their personal agendas ahead
of the Constitution. Neither can be trusted.
The book and film were inspired by the disarmament debate raging in
Washington at the time. A temporary suspension of nuclear testing by both super
powers in 1958 failed to produce a lasting treaty and by 1962, each nation had
resumed the proliferation race.
Fail-Safe - 1964
It is the height of the Cold War. Strategic Air Command routinely flies
missions to the fail safe position—the line beyond which pilots are to cease
communications and ignore orders to return to base. A computer glitch sends a
squadron of six B-58 bombers off to obliterate Moscow. They carry a payload of
two-megaton hydrogen bombs. The U.S. President, played by an increasingly
frustrated Henry Fonda, soon is on the hotline to the Russian Premier trying to
explain the foul up.
Tensions mount and cold sweat starts to pour as efforts to recall the
bombers fail. American fighters ordered to intercept the bombers exhaust their
fuel and crash into the Arctic Sea, and Soviet MIGs dispatched to shoot down
the highly skilled bombers only manage to stop five. Eventually, the president
is left with a chilling option to avert a possible retaliatory strike and
nuclear Armageddon. He issues an order too incredible to contemplate.
This is a grim and pessimistic tale. Up against the incomparable
Dr.
Strangelove, released nine months earlier, this film was all but ignored
at the box office. It lacks any of the black humor embedded in Kubrick’s
masterpiece; instead, relying on straight dramatic performances in an
intentionally claustrophobic setting. With the feel of a documentary
throughout, it is a riveting film.
Nowhere is the contrast between
Dr. Strangelove and
Fail-Safe
more obvious than in the conversations between the American and Russian
leaders. Kubrick and Peter Sellers played it for camp, while here, director
Sidney Lumet and Fonda play it dead serious. Lumet is a master with the camera,
making exquisite use of shadows and tight angles to keep the mood tense and the
audience nervous.
The cast is top notch. Fonda is the headliner, a decent and morally grounded
man facing a Hobson’s choice. Walter Matthau, known best for his later comedic
roles, shines as a cynical professor and Pentagon advisor with some unusual
theories about nuclear warfare. He is coldly practical and believes the
Russians are “calculating machines,” who will “look at the balance sheet and
see they cannot win.” He’s convinced they will surrender rather than retaliate.
Dan O’Herlihy a brigadier general in the US Air Force and old classmate of the
president is troubled by a nightmare about a matador. Ed Binns is Jack Grady, a
by-the-book Air Force Colonel who leads the bomber squadron.
Given the jaw-dropping ending, it’s no wonder the Department of Defense
refused to cooperate with filming.
The Bedford Incident - 1965
This film shows that the Cold War did not just play out in the seats of
government in Washington, London, and Moscow; but also in isolated,
inhospitable locations. Richard Widmark plays Eric Finlander, an over-zealous
Navy captain of a guided missile destroyer, the
USS Bedford. His
harassment of a Soviet submarine that veers into Greenland territorial waters
borders on the obsessive. A modern day version of Ahab, he shadows the sub in a
dangerous game of cat and mouse in the frigid North Atlantic, hoping to force
it to the surface—against orders from NATO.
Finlander’s motives are questionable. A dubious past caused him to have been
recently passed over for the rank of Admiral, leading him to take out his
frustrations on the enemy and his own crew. The hunt is everything and he
drives his crew to exhaustion. Inevitably, the crew gets wound so tight they
are prone to mistakes, which here can lead to disaster.
Director James Harris builds tension throughout and maintains suspense by
never showing the inside of the enemy sub; events unfold only from the perspective
of the American vessel. Still, it is clear that the Soviet crew suffers from
increasingly foul air from the sub’s diesel engines as its oxygen is depleted.
As the sub commander naturally grows more desperate and Widmark more
determined, three men aboard the American vessel become increasingly nervous
that its captain will push the game too far.
Sidney Poitier is one, along for the ride as a noisy photojournalist doing a
story on the “provocative” captain. He tries to bait Finlander into saying
something he shouldn’t in one of the film’s best scenes, as Finlander, showing
little tolerance of reporters, struggles to maintain control. Widmark—always an
underrated actor—is excellent, rubbing his face nervously and seething with
bitterness.
Finlander also ignores reasoned advice from the ship’s doctor, Martin Balsam
in another solid character role performance, and from a U.N. observer, a former
U-Boat commander who knows something about the mentality and tendencies of
submarine commanders under duress.
Filmed in England at Shepperton Studios, director Harris does a nice job
with set design and sound. The sonar pings, howling wind and fog, giant
icebergs, and most of all the claustrophobic bridge, all converge to heighten
the realism. Harris previously worked as Kubrik’s partner on Dr. Strangelove.
Look for Donald Sutherland in an early role.
The
Spy Who Came in From the Cold - 1965
Directed by Martin Ritt from the John le Carré novel, which Graham Greene
called the “best spy story he ever read,” this is Richard Burton’s film. He
plays Alec Leamas, a tired, burnt out British agent stationed in Berlin.
Looking at his face, its sunken and dark eyes, and his vacant expression, one
can’t help but believe this guy has been through the ringer—been “out in the
cold”—for too long.
When an assignment ends in him losing an agent, Leamas is called home.
Disgraced, he is “retired” and sinks into depression and booze as he tries to
assimilate himself back into normal society as a lowly clerk in a used
bookstore. It is a ruse; the Home Office says there is a mole in its midst
blowing the cover of its agents. Leamas pretends to defect, and that’s where
Ritt and le Carré spin a web of intrigue that takes Burton and the viewer on an
emotional ride.
Eventually, Leamas realizes his mission is to sow misinformation and that he
is a pawn to save the life of a double agent. He is part of an ugly game, with
no winner—one where you can’t trust anyone, least of all your own government.
By the end, his disgust with the game, its deceit, and with himself, is
palpable.
You could never mistake Leamas’ world for James Bond or Tom Clancy’s Jack
Ryan. Ideologies are blurred, and there are no gimmicks or outlandish
technology here, just gritty human interplay that slowly beats down the
players. Revealing the real oppressive world of espionage, at one point Leamas
vents: “What the hell do you think spies are? Moral philosophers measuring
everything they do against the word of God or Karl Marx? They’re not! They’re
just a bunch of seedy, squalid bastards like me: drunkards, queers, hen-pecked
husbands, civil servants playing cowboys and Indians to brighten their rotten
little lives. Do you think they sit like monks in a cell, balancing right
against wrong?”
Ritt expertly transforms le Carré’s grey, depressing world from the page to
the screen. In a neat bit of symmetry the film begins and ends at the Berlin
Wall. The best scene takes place near the end. In an emotional monologue,
Leamas reveals the depth of his disillusionment. He releases all the hate, resentment,
and cynicism at the system that cares nothing of its agents. It takes place in
a cramped car in the rain, and you feel the claustrophobia present in the
place, and in his mind. His mission complete, he is about to escape back to the
West, but what has he to escape to? In the end he finds his way back to
humanity.
Burton received a Best Actor nomination. He should have won but lost to Lee
Marvin for
Cat Ballou.
Other notable Cold War films of the period worth viewing include:
On the
Beach (1959),
The Ipcress File (1965), and
Ice Station Zebra
(1968).
Holmes is a sorry officer, who relies on his efficient staff sergeant, Sergeant Warden (Burt Lancaster), to keep the company running smoothly while he focuses his efforts on securing an undeserved promotion. A classic case of the Peter Principle, Holmes has risen above his ability. We learn early that he cheats on his wife, neglecting her as he chases other women and drinks at the officers' club. 
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