Hugh Hudson's feature directing career was comet like - Chariots of Fire, Greystoke then this. He made other films of course but none seemed to register. The account of the making of this is in the brilliant My Indecision is Final. It's a classic director-not-good-at-narrative film: stunning vistas, sweeping shots of extras, stunningly good period recreation. The costumes, sets and dirt all feel so real.
The dialogue is minimised as if worried about reaction to how characters talk. Pacino copped it but his accent is no weirder than others in the movie.
The plot involves Al Pacino and his son - the latter enlists in the Revolutionary army so Pacino joins up to keep him alive. That's not a bad idea for a movie. But Hudson can never put it together as a cohesive emotional story.
There are moments - arriving on a boat in the war torn town, enlisting, the British troops in a line marching to attack, English officers chasing captured American prisoners like hounds while wearing face paint, Natassa Kinski yelling at her family for wearing face paint.
Connective tissue seems to be missing - Kinski walks around looking at the injured, then she's in a field looking at the injured Pacino and his son, then she'd back in town and sees Pacino again. Kinski walks around a lot looking for Pacino. Pacino is captured basically by the American army then seems free then is captured by the British then seems to get free. He finds his son who was still captured then is free. Somehow he and Kinski fell in love.
Richard O'Brien is a mean Britisher. I think Donald Sutherland is rooting these drummer boys is that right? Kids die. There's bloody stumps. Corpses. Groaning. Nihilism.
I think at heart this should've been a gritty low budget film like The 317th Platoon. But Hudson can't resist big sweeping vistas either. This sunk him. Apparently the recut fixes some problems but it's impossible to imagine it improved it too much.
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