John Frankenheimer's drama of itinerant skydivers intersecting with small town doldrums is heavy on atmosphere but frustratingly ambiguous in its storytelling.
Not having read James Drought's source novel, it's hard to say just what went wrong here. Perhaps in an attempt to avoid conventional melodramatics, adapter William Hanley's script was kept as low-key and naturalistic as possible, to the extent that all of the silences and unspoken words end up conveying practically nothing of the characters' motivations beyond a kind of inchoate yearning. Usually I'm all for scripts that don't shout and scream, that rather rely on subtlety and restraint, but this one is so elliptical that its own best intentions are undermined. The ending seems flat and pointless. Yes, a death has occurred, but has anyone in the story really changed?
It's particularly frustrating given the talent involved. Stars Burt Lancaster and Deborah Kerr, with support from younger players like Scott Wilson, Gene Hackman, and Bonnie Bedelia, give strong and convincing portrayals. Add to that some remarkable aerial photography of skydiving derring-do -- plus a love scene which features the beautiful Ms. Kerr's bare breasts -- and you probably won't feel you've wasted 2 hours. But if only there were more.
Not a 'lost treasure' of Frankenheimer's, Lancaster's and Kerr's careers, but an intriguing, minor footnote.
