Most people won't expect much of this film if they judge it by its opening credits -- psychedelic lettering, weird music, cheap and lurid colors. It looks like the beginning of a grindhouse movie or one of those Japanese entries in which human organs are flung around with abandon. It's not that bad though, even if it's dubbed. It's a World War I spy movie about a pulchritudinous agent.
The performances are solid and the script up to par. It begins with one of those phony military executions of the sort Tolstoy was subjected to. The priest blesses you, you're marched out, stood against a wall, offered a smoke and a blindfold, the firing squad lines up and addresses you -- and then the whole thing is called off.
This story is about a German spy, Suzy Kendall, a morphine addict who penetrates British intelligence in 1916. At Scapa Flow, her machinations lead to a channel being mined by a German submarine. The mines sink a cruiser with Lord Kitchener aboard, an incident based on a real historical event.
That initial fake execution, staged by Colonel Kenneth More, has convinced another spy, James Booth, that he'd better play cricket with the Brits, so he spills the beans about Kendall's appearance and activities. Kendall has done far more than simply assassinate Lord Kitchener. She's the one who gave the French poison gas formula to the Hun. Enough! The hunt for Kendall, dangerous spy and major doper, is on.
A flashback takes us to Paris, where Kendall is posing as a maid in the service of a French scientist, Capucine. Kendall is a very adroit spy. Perhaps suspecting something about the nature of Capucine's libido, she allows the scientist to catch her in the act of caressing herself. Capucine, not in the least put off, asks Kendall to relieve her of her hampering boots. Kendall then shyly fondles Capucine's shapely foot, which must have been easy to do. The seduction follows tout de suite but, lamentably, tragically, it's off screen.
Capucine demonstrates to Kendall how the gas works in a disturbing scene that has a dozen white rats apparently dying and then dogs spinning around as if impelled by an internal motor, before expiring in a spasm of shivers. I don't know if the animals went unharmed in the making of this movie. If not, they gave award-winning performances. Kendall makes off with the gas formula and returns to Germany, where she is decorated by a disapproving general.
Booth, now turned by the Brits, is allowed to escape and report to his superior in Berlin, played by a delightfully hammy Nigel Greene -- hammy even for him. Green informs Booth that Kendall, though once valuable, has now been spoiled by her morphine addiction and is no longer of any use. Booth is instructed to do what all villains are instructed to do about another villain who is "no longer of use". BUT -- Greene has been suspicious of Booth since his return, suspecting that he was turned. And the murder of Suzy Kendall is another fake. She's alive, even after Booth believes he's killed her. Now, being thought dead by the Brits, Kendall will no longer be looked for, so she can work more freely.
It gets complicated but ends up on the battlefield, with Kendall pretending to be a Spanish nurse. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of men die when the Germans use the mustard gas that Kendall supplied them with.
It's not often that some elements of the production are so poor that they draw attention to themselves, but in this case it has to be said that the sound stinks. The performers are all dubbed, even if by the same actors. The model work is astonishingly chintzy. The audio effects are so bad they're sometimes repellent, especially noticeably during a gas attack, when the sound track shrieks with some ungodly stritulation void of any sense. When the hooded German forces attack, the composer has imitated the dissonant strokes of Prokoviev's score for "Alexander Nevsky." A good deal of research has gone into wardrobe. The diverse French, German, British, and Belgian uniforms are convincing, but make up and grooming are echt-1968. The women have eyelashes like black window awnings and their hair styles were very fashionable in the age of pop.
It's a shame because the film shows evidence of a decent budget, the writing and direction are smooth enough, and the performances are all enjoyable. Except for Fräulein Doktor, whose expression hardly ever changes. Not that it needs to. She walks through the movie without ever manipulating her features, and her default expression is no expression at all. At the end, she is to break into hysterical tears because of guilt, but she's been knee-capped by the script, which has given no hint of any such emotion before. Fortunately, she's so comely that it's easy to miss her lack of passion. Her eyes -- her knowing, oblique, pale blue eyes -- bespeak heaven.
The performances are solid and the script up to par. It begins with one of those phony military executions of the sort Tolstoy was subjected to. The priest blesses you, you're marched out, stood against a wall, offered a smoke and a blindfold, the firing squad lines up and addresses you -- and then the whole thing is called off.
This story is about a German spy, Suzy Kendall, a morphine addict who penetrates British intelligence in 1916. At Scapa Flow, her machinations lead to a channel being mined by a German submarine. The mines sink a cruiser with Lord Kitchener aboard, an incident based on a real historical event.
That initial fake execution, staged by Colonel Kenneth More, has convinced another spy, James Booth, that he'd better play cricket with the Brits, so he spills the beans about Kendall's appearance and activities. Kendall has done far more than simply assassinate Lord Kitchener. She's the one who gave the French poison gas formula to the Hun. Enough! The hunt for Kendall, dangerous spy and major doper, is on.
A flashback takes us to Paris, where Kendall is posing as a maid in the service of a French scientist, Capucine. Kendall is a very adroit spy. Perhaps suspecting something about the nature of Capucine's libido, she allows the scientist to catch her in the act of caressing herself. Capucine, not in the least put off, asks Kendall to relieve her of her hampering boots. Kendall then shyly fondles Capucine's shapely foot, which must have been easy to do. The seduction follows tout de suite but, lamentably, tragically, it's off screen.
Capucine demonstrates to Kendall how the gas works in a disturbing scene that has a dozen white rats apparently dying and then dogs spinning around as if impelled by an internal motor, before expiring in a spasm of shivers. I don't know if the animals went unharmed in the making of this movie. If not, they gave award-winning performances. Kendall makes off with the gas formula and returns to Germany, where she is decorated by a disapproving general.
Booth, now turned by the Brits, is allowed to escape and report to his superior in Berlin, played by a delightfully hammy Nigel Greene -- hammy even for him. Green informs Booth that Kendall, though once valuable, has now been spoiled by her morphine addiction and is no longer of any use. Booth is instructed to do what all villains are instructed to do about another villain who is "no longer of use". BUT -- Greene has been suspicious of Booth since his return, suspecting that he was turned. And the murder of Suzy Kendall is another fake. She's alive, even after Booth believes he's killed her. Now, being thought dead by the Brits, Kendall will no longer be looked for, so she can work more freely.
It gets complicated but ends up on the battlefield, with Kendall pretending to be a Spanish nurse. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of men die when the Germans use the mustard gas that Kendall supplied them with.
It's not often that some elements of the production are so poor that they draw attention to themselves, but in this case it has to be said that the sound stinks. The performers are all dubbed, even if by the same actors. The model work is astonishingly chintzy. The audio effects are so bad they're sometimes repellent, especially noticeably during a gas attack, when the sound track shrieks with some ungodly stritulation void of any sense. When the hooded German forces attack, the composer has imitated the dissonant strokes of Prokoviev's score for "Alexander Nevsky." A good deal of research has gone into wardrobe. The diverse French, German, British, and Belgian uniforms are convincing, but make up and grooming are echt-1968. The women have eyelashes like black window awnings and their hair styles were very fashionable in the age of pop.
It's a shame because the film shows evidence of a decent budget, the writing and direction are smooth enough, and the performances are all enjoyable. Except for Fräulein Doktor, whose expression hardly ever changes. Not that it needs to. She walks through the movie without ever manipulating her features, and her default expression is no expression at all. At the end, she is to break into hysterical tears because of guilt, but she's been knee-capped by the script, which has given no hint of any such emotion before. Fortunately, she's so comely that it's easy to miss her lack of passion. Her eyes -- her knowing, oblique, pale blue eyes -- bespeak heaven.