Compared to Lino Ventura's previous films this one practically went unnnoticed and died a death commercially. One can only assume the bush telegraph had spread the word that it was a stinker which indeed it was and still is.
Despite the strong presence of Ventura and great support by Jean Servais and Wolfgang Preiss this ineffably naff opus is devoid of imagination and momentum, has the pace of a catatonic snail, is cursed with a dreadfully repetitive score by Michel Magne and lumbered with a script by José Giovanni which is aimed at the dimmest-witted viewer. Even Jean Bofferty's images of Vienna fail to relieve the unutterable boredom.
Eleven years were to elapse before Ventura collaborated once again with Jacques Deray, by which time this director had become a master of his craft which resulted in the excellent 'Un papillon sur épaule.' Deray's earlier effort deserves to be consigned to cinematic oblivion.
Despite the strong presence of Ventura and great support by Jean Servais and Wolfgang Preiss this ineffably naff opus is devoid of imagination and momentum, has the pace of a catatonic snail, is cursed with a dreadfully repetitive score by Michel Magne and lumbered with a script by José Giovanni which is aimed at the dimmest-witted viewer. Even Jean Bofferty's images of Vienna fail to relieve the unutterable boredom.
Eleven years were to elapse before Ventura collaborated once again with Jacques Deray, by which time this director had become a master of his craft which resulted in the excellent 'Un papillon sur épaule.' Deray's earlier effort deserves to be consigned to cinematic oblivion.