A good ol' action adventure survival film that benefits from Robert Aldrich's clever subversive and quirky traits. Considering when this was made and contrary to Hollywood standard there are no women or children here to sentimentalise the narrative (the only woman in the film is a mirage) and the cast are all great character actors who play against type, for example George Kennedy and Dan Duryea, normally screen heavies, are surprisingly lightweight and pleasant. Some are killed off early and main star, James Stewart, plays a deeply flawed character who struggles with his self esteem and displays a psychological instability that was often seen in his 1950s westerns. Here he's the pilot of a small oil company owned cargo plane travelling across the Sahara desert with an assortment of oil workers, a couple of soldiers and others. A sudden sand storm causes them to crash land in the desert with little chance of survival until one of them, Dorfmann (Hardy Kruger), claims he knows how they can make a serviceable aircraft from the wreckage. With a terrific narrative twist towards the end this is a watchable, entertaining and riveting film that focuses as much on the characters as they struggle with dealing with the dire situation (they as much build the ramshackle aeroplane to keep busy than hope it will fly them safety). Whilst it appears to be one of Aldrich's most mainstream of films it's actually a much more neurotic and suspenseful one that warrants a detailed textual analysis. It's certainly a great film and a definite one to seek out if you've never seen it.
Stuck in the Sahara with a busted plane and a cast of men who clearly haven't showered since the crash, Flight of the Phoenix earns its sweat — everyone here looks properly, unglamorously sweaty, and it shows on every face. James Stewart plays Frank Towns so tired and wrung-out that I started worrying about him personally, not just the character. He isn't really a hero, just a man nursing a grudge against his own bad decisions, and Stewart lets every ounce of that show on his face.
Richard Attenborough does the quietest, most interesting work as Lew Moran — a drink problem that never gets announced, just leaks out at the edges. Hardy Krüger's Dorfmann is the one everyone remembers, insufferable in exactly the right way — you want to strangle him and also need him to be right. Ernest Borgnine gets the saddest arc going and plays it without begging for sympathy, which somehow earns him more sympathy, not less. Ian Bannen can't sit still, and it's clear the rest of the group would like him to, while Ronald Fraser sneaks in some quiet comic relief without derailing the tension.
Honestly, the plane rebuild is almost secondary. What gripped me was watching these thirsty, sunburnt, dripping men slowly turn on each other.
The middle stretch loses momentum before the tension claws its way back, and a couple of the supporting men blur together. Small gripes though.
This is a men-behaving-badly-in-extreme-heat movie more than a plane movie, and the cast sells every scorching, sweat-soaked minute of it.
This film seems to have grown in ratings over the years and was recently shown at the British Film Institute again. To be honest, I was disappointed. I found the characters a bit wooden and the humour and lines in general have not stood the test of time well. The overall plot is straightforward - a crash in the desert in an aeroplane- and unfortunately despite the efforts of James Stewart and Richard Attenborough it remains not much more interesting than that