The religious thriller is so surprisingly uncommon in the Cinema, that one is inclined to overlook many faults in a movie that has the virtue of novelty. Such a thriller is "The Singer Not the Song". The theme, expressed in the title, is an interesting, indeed a fascinating one. And certainly a very rare, if not unique experience. Odd, isn't it, that now the Cinema is "liberated" and free to discuss all aspects of human behavior, religious beliefs seldom get a hearing. Yet so much of our social and indeed anti- social behavior is the direct result of what we actually believe or don't believe — or choose to believe or not believe (there is a distinction).
"The Singer Not the Song" poses a genuine religious puzzle: Is it the message — the message of eternal life, the message of the Christ, what most Christians would call the good news of His death with its spiritual and physical re-birth — that is itself so convincing and over-riding in its claims that a man would be a fool to reject it? Or is it the emotion, the audience rapport with which the speaker invests the message that makes it so powerful the mind cannot muster serous doubt or caution? Is it the sincerity, the obvious sanctification of the messenger himself that makes the message itself so unassailable? Or, as the title expresses it, is it the singer, not the song?
Disappointingly, though perhaps inevitably, this question is not resolved. Indeed, the film's cop-out ending is one of its chief faults. Another of course is its cast. Not for one moment does Bogarde convince us, even on the superficial level, that he is a Mexican bandit, let alone on the deeper deception he is required to transmit. It's a use-all-the-old-tricks-and-mannerisms performance that never once comes to grips with Anacleto as written — the character constantly spoken about by the other players. This is not Anacleto, the bandit, but Bogarde, the actor.
John Bentley also seems incredibly out of place as the police chief. Oddly, it is none of the stellar players, but Leslie French (as Father Gomez) who gives the most convincing performance.
True, none of the actors were helped by Nigel Balchin's disappointingly talky script, with all its instant information dialogue. Nor was there much assistance from director Roy Ward Baker. His dull, close-ups, close-ups, close-ups direction (he made negligible use of the CinemaScope frame) doubtless flattered a few egos, but contributed little to credibility or excitement.
A further problem is that the story splits itself neatly into two halves. Unfortunately, despite obvious plot contrivances, it is the first half that is by far the more interesting.
"The Singer Not the Song" poses a genuine religious puzzle: Is it the message — the message of eternal life, the message of the Christ, what most Christians would call the good news of His death with its spiritual and physical re-birth — that is itself so convincing and over-riding in its claims that a man would be a fool to reject it? Or is it the emotion, the audience rapport with which the speaker invests the message that makes it so powerful the mind cannot muster serous doubt or caution? Is it the sincerity, the obvious sanctification of the messenger himself that makes the message itself so unassailable? Or, as the title expresses it, is it the singer, not the song?
Disappointingly, though perhaps inevitably, this question is not resolved. Indeed, the film's cop-out ending is one of its chief faults. Another of course is its cast. Not for one moment does Bogarde convince us, even on the superficial level, that he is a Mexican bandit, let alone on the deeper deception he is required to transmit. It's a use-all-the-old-tricks-and-mannerisms performance that never once comes to grips with Anacleto as written — the character constantly spoken about by the other players. This is not Anacleto, the bandit, but Bogarde, the actor.
John Bentley also seems incredibly out of place as the police chief. Oddly, it is none of the stellar players, but Leslie French (as Father Gomez) who gives the most convincing performance.
True, none of the actors were helped by Nigel Balchin's disappointingly talky script, with all its instant information dialogue. Nor was there much assistance from director Roy Ward Baker. His dull, close-ups, close-ups, close-ups direction (he made negligible use of the CinemaScope frame) doubtless flattered a few egos, but contributed little to credibility or excitement.
A further problem is that the story splits itself neatly into two halves. Unfortunately, despite obvious plot contrivances, it is the first half that is by far the more interesting.