Viva Maria!

VIVA MARIA, a French-Italian co-production, is set in the revolution-torn Mexico in the early 1900s. Maria (Brigitte Bardot) - the daughter of an IRA operative - journeys to Mexico and meets up with her namesake Jeanne Moreau. Under the guise of circus/vaudevillian entertainers, they pursue their revolutionary activities around the countryside. The illustrious pair are captured but escape to fight with an enthusiastic peasantry to free San Miguel from its Spanish oppressors. Thoroughly entertaining and rollicking fun with spectacular visual action. Most of the film was shot on location in Mexico and the railway scenes filmed authentically on the 3ft gauge Interoceanic division of National Railways of Mexico. The featured steam loco is G-023 class 2-8-0 No. 66 (Alco 5209).

Viva la revolucion! Fun movie, from the start to the end. Reminded me of other movies like Top Secret in some ways.

Some scenes are just hilarious: when the revolution starts, the pigeon's help, the torture chamber, the magician with the cigarettes, the curbed canon gun to shoot around the corner, and so, and so, and so...

Great laughs, but also great songs in this one. Great way to start the movie with the song about the little Irish girl and her love for dynamite. Interesting striptease scenes for the time.

So many movies about revolutionary action takes place in Mexico, seems like the perfect place to stage a revolution!

Brigitte Bardot and Jeanne Moreau are beautiful and they deliver an excellent performance.

Out of 100, I gave it 82. That's good for *** stars on a **** stars rating system.

Seen at home, in Welland, on February 12th, 2001.

This vastly enjoyable romp features Brigitte Bardot and Jeanne Moreau at their loveliest as two saloon entertainers who (inadvertently) not only find themselves in the middle of the Mexican Revolution, but also invent striptease in the process! VIVA MARIA! sees Louis Malle return to the "anything goes" territory of his earlier success, ZAZIE DANS LE METRO (1960); here he is aided immeasurably by an engaging cast (which also includes Luis Bunuel regular, Claudio Brook and an understandably daunted George Hamilton!) and an impeccable crew (co-screenwriter Jean-Claude Carriere, cinematographer Henri Decae, composer Georges Delerue, assistant directors Juan Bunuel and Volker Schlondorff)! While the film is uneven in spots, the last half hour is a succession of hilarious sight gags which border at times, perhaps unsurprisingly given its credentials, on the surreal and the anti-clerical.

I remember staying up late one night and watching this movie when I was about 13. Here was two stunning women that demanded attention. The movie was all about entertainment. Saw it 20 years later and still enjoyed it. This is a pleasant change from the regular diet of 100 lb anorexic female leads we get to 'drool' over.

I originally saw Viva Maria! at a Toronto cinema in the mid-1960s in the company of three college friends and, upon emerging, I think that each of us would have cheerfully enlisted in a revolutionary cause of the kind depicted in the film. The Moreau-Bardot magic was irresistible! As I recall, the North American release of this film ended with the cheers of the crowd of San Miguel as the circus troupe departed. On a recently acquired laserdisc pressing of the film, however, I note that there is an extra minute -- the European ending in which the troupe returns to the European stage.

Pay particular attention to the musical score -- composed by Georges Delerue (1925-1992), most of whose work was for the European cinema but he was, from time to time, commissioned to compose for American and British films. He had a particular talent for evoking the nostalgic longing inherent in mediæval and renaissance themes. In fact, in a radio interview, Delerue once indicated that, where most film composers would start to experiment with tunes on a battered piano, he would often wander into archives of ancient music to get his inspiration. In the opening credits to Viva Maria!, a French ballad of the young heroine is picked up by the orchestra in a delightful example of Delerue's skill. (By the way, the film's credits do not seem to name the singer, but whoever he is, the man's diction is so clear that even an anglophone "retard" ought to be able to follow the French lyrics. If anyone knows who he is, I would be pleased to learn his identity.)