The Man from Morocco

To adapt the venerable football cliche, this might be described as a film of two halves. It starts as a sober anti-fascist story of a group of defeated International Brigade troops fleeing Spain only to end up in an internment camp in Vichy France, leavened with comic relief from jovial professional Scotsman, Peter Sinclair (billed on the Variety circuit as The Cock O' The North). In the latter stages it turns into a more familiar melodramatic thriller, losing in credibility while gaining in pace. Stars Anton Walbrook and Margaretta Scott are sympathetic and convincing, while veteran Reginald Tate is inclined to chew the scenery as a villain tending to pop up in the unlikeliest of places. A relatively high rating for period interest and entertainment value.

This was one of two wartime films directed by the great cinematographer Mutz Greenbaum.He came to the UK as a refugee from Nazi Germany and photographed many famous films.His stylistic flourishes are evident throughout the film. Alas the story is thoroughly undistinguished.The film is far too long.At the beginning it starts with the Spanish civil war.It subsequently moves to Morocco and then finally on to London.It goes at a snail's pace and is generally unexciting. Given that by the time this film was released the war was nearly over it is difficult to understand what would have attracted an audience to this film. What little action there is does not relieve the tedium.

An enjoyable romantic adventure set in the period between the defeat of the Spanish Republic and just before America entered the war. One or two idealistic speeches hold up action occasionally, but the film is refreshingly free of jingoism.

This film is worth watching only for its cinematography, which is sustained in enjoyable beauty all the way. The actors are good, Anton Walbrook is always worth watching, and Margaretta Scott is not bad either, but the script is a shambles. What could have been a good and great story, there are hopes for it through two thirds of the film, but then it gets all messed up, as Reginald Tate as the rotten scoundrel Ricardi is a total failure, and every time he comes back into the picture, it gets worse. The finale is a pitfall, an artifical end pasted on just to finish off the misery of a bad script, which makes the sum of the film a total disaster. Its marvellous cinematography saves it and makes it enjoyable, if you can put a blind eye to to the awkward spies. This was the last film that Mutz Greenbaum (Max Greene) directed, while he continued as a cinematographer in many films. Maybe he felt it himself, that in spite of his meticulous direction and splendid cinematograhy, saving his art and expertise from a bad script was not really what he was meant for.