Attentato ai tre grandi

Splendid plot idea, but a little more work on it might have made the difference: some scenes are just too simplistic; when they enter the house of the French officer's mistress, it doesn't ring "true". The desert scenes are nice but a little more camera and light work might have made them beautiful. WW II movie directors who use modern hardware are killing me: for obvious financial reasons, he probably rented the equipment on the site from the Moroccan army: the aircraft, a Max Holste Broussard, was designed in the fifties; there wasn't a single WWII vintage tank: they were either Creusot-Loire AMX-13 or Panhard armored vehicles, designed in the fifties. It's a pity.

I've recently become enamored with the Italian Euro War genre, a very obscure part of Italian cult cinema from 1967 to about 1970 when the financial success of films like THE DIRTY DOZEN, LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, THE GREAT ESCAPE and THE GUNS OF NAVARONE caught the attention of Italian producers who sensed that the glory years of the Spaghetti Western (1964 - 1968) were winding down. The cinema is an industry just like any other and there was a need to find new things to make movies about.

So between 1967 (right on the heels of THE DIRTY DOZEN) and 1971 about 50 - 75 of these war potboilers were made; A concise list of all candidates from the classic period would be helpful to see how the trend changed from experimental & rather daring efforts like DESERT COMMANDOS to jumbled garbage like Joe D'amato's HEROES IN HELL (1973). Upon closer inspection the best known examples (FIVE FOR HELL, BATTLE OF EL ALAMEIN, "Eagles Over London") emerge as Spaghetti Westerns re-defined to depict battle carnage rather than dusty shootouts between Pistoleros & Gringos. The majority of them are rather bland & un-involving (CHURCHILL'S LEOPARDS, THE RANGERS) some unexpectedly moving in a way that transcends their nature as B-grade genre films (SALT IN THE WOUND/THE LIBERATORS) and others are just plain weird enough to be remarkable (COMMANDOS, HELL IN NORMANDY) simply by having been made at all.

There are also sub-routines to plot structure and settings that became the formulas by which stories would be spun out of a vacuum -- none of them are really based on actual events (BATTLE OF EL ALAMEIN being the big exception, and perhaps the most satisfying on a traditional basis as a "war movie") and usually involved small unit military operations to keep budgets under control. The two main categories were Desert Epics such as this one, set in Northern Africa and making good use of the desert conditions as plot devices, and then the French Villa Commando Raid Missions, where elite special ops squads would be sent to infiltrate command facilities or weapons labs (usually housed in large French villas in the middle of the woods) to avert certain doom for their armies at Normandy -- universally depicted by edited-in newsreel footage of WW2 destruction, usually tastefully tinted in some sort of Robert Indiana like neon pop art method, and with the Spanish countryside subbing for France.

This is of course an example of the Desert Epic crossed with the Commando Raid genres and emerges as one of the more potent efforts, with convincing location photography filmed in Morocco, excellent performances by the ensemble cast of genre actors (Horst Frank from THE GRAND DUEL and good old Franco Fantasia from MURDER MANSION being the most recognizable faces), noble attention to period detail and a script that allows for some genuine conflict within the group to build as the obstacles against them mount. And true to form the Italians even work a gorgeous, exotic woman or five into the mix (including a Peplum-inspired Belly Dancing Scene), with a crackerjack twist ending that manages to tweak a good War Is Hell moment out of thin air.

The War Is Hell moment is of course always going to be the payoff when looking at these films, since because of their subject matter they cannot simply be entertainments -- something the Italians themselves seemed aware of even when stumbling around the issue at times. Usually these moments are imposed on the story by showing atrocities like German massacres of civilians (CHURCHILL'S LEOPARDS) or the execution of the movie's leading lady (FIVE FOR HELL). By contrast, DESERT COMMANDOS actually has two or three War Is Hell moments but they are so cleverly worked into the structure of the plot that you don't notice. The film is also rather daring in that it's "heroes" are clearly the German commandos -- who's leaders were trying to conquer the world, remember -- and if they accomplish their mission (assassinating Churchill, Roosevelt, and Stalin at a summit meeting in Casablanca) they will win the war. By getting us to sympathize with and root for the plucky, resourceful and seemingly rational & honorable German commandos, Umberto Lenzi sets up the viewer for a shock that would not have been nearly as potent as if these were allied commandos going after der Shickelgruber.

What is interesting is that the shock comes after the movie is over when you realize what you may have been hoping for, rather than it being spelled out by some heavy-handed revelation. The whole movie has a sort of existentialist agenda to it that examines what it might have been like to try and cross the desert for sure, but also what it must have been like to be a German officer & realize that not only was your side doomed to defeat, but would be judged to be on the wrong side of history when all of the bodies are counted. From that perspective the entire movie is a War Is Hell moment, or rather a series of them broken up by the formula scenes involving tanks, gunfights, narrow escapes, heroic sacrifices, bold speeches about the nature of humanity and a request for us to consider the German army like our own army -- as a collection of men, each with their own strengths & weaknesses. DESERT COMMANDOS was way ahead of it's time and there may be a lesson in here for those of us who have perhaps forgotten what war is really all about, which is breaking things and killing people. Being ruthless and unapologetic may seem cruel or barbaric, but it can often result in the only thing good about war, which is it's ending.

8/10: Look for this on cheapo box set called "50 ACTION CLASSICS" and on a double movie DVD you can sometime find at the dollar stores. You'll watch it more than once.

Umberto Lenzi's DIRTY DOZEN-style WW2 movie DESERT COMMANDOS follows a squad of Nazi soldiers who are tasked with being dropped behind enemy lines and assassinating the three Allied leaders Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin who are due to meet in secret. That sounds pretty interesting, and makes this seem like a precursor to the Jack Higgins adaptation THE EAGLE HAS LANDED, but in reality DESERT COMMANDOS is nothing more than a bog standard desert-trotting B-movie with references to better films like ICE COLD IN ALEX. The cast is headed by the unremarkable Ken Clark, and the only one who makes a mark is Horst Frank as the most fleshed out of the group. The film moves along with a mix of genre elements, but none of the action is outstanding and the only suspense is generated at the admittedly exciting climax.

Sometimes tense Euro-war movie in a similar vein to "The Guns of Navarone" has brawny Ken Clark (familiar from the Peplum genre) leading four of the Nazi's finest into North Africa where they attempt an audacious plan to assassinate not one, but three Allied Forces leaders, namely Churchill, Stalin and Roosevelt present in Casablanca for a summit. As it turns out, they'll have to settle for De Gaulle substituting for Stalin, nevertheless their epic hunt behind enemy lines is an expansive mission leading them to the brink, encountering cross and double cross around every corner.

Solid cast includes Horst Frank as an American-born Nazi commando, whose commitment to the Feuhrer wanes in the face of the desperate mission and 'immoral' sacrifices taken to improve its chance of success, future Italian leading man Howard Ross in a small role, and pleasantly, gender balance achieved with beauties Jeanne Valeri playing an Arab guide, and Fabienne Dali as a turncoat who may or may not be in cahoots with the Allies.

Italian horror master Umberto Lenzi is better known for his Cannibal capers, but demonstrates a universal talent in bringing together this B-Italian action film with moderate suspense, light humour and at least some semblance of depth in characterisations despite the clichés. Probably not for the average GI Joe, but if you're comfortable with Euro style then you should enjoy this mission to Morocco.

There's something distinctly raw and unvarnished about the film, a quality that in many ways typifies a swath of mid-to-late 1960s European war cinema-where the industrial polish of American studio war epics is eschewed in favor of more tactile, often unglamorous portrayals of conflict. The film finds its footing in that lineage, though not without missteps, and attempts to stake its claim within the crowded terrain of World War II microhistory storytelling. Set against the arid vastness of North Africa, it aims to meld espionage tension with the grit of small-unit sabotage missions, all while holding a candle to the sprawling chaos of global conflict.

Visually, the film works within the constraints of its budget, often relying on barren desert expanses and minimalist set pieces to suggest a broader theater of war. There's a parched desolation in the cinematography that occasionally captures the loneliness and fragility of men operating far behind enemy lines. But the framing is uneven: scenes that should evoke claustrophobic tension-encounters in enclosed spaces, stealth-driven infiltrations-are frequently shot with a flatness that dissipates suspense. The camera lacks the predatory patience found in works like The Train (1964), where each shot is meticulously designed to wring anxiety from space and silence. Instead, the film often feels like it's in a hurry, cutting too quickly or lingering too long, as if uncertain of its own rhythm.

Set dressing and costume choices unfortunately do little to compensate for these shortcomings. The props and vehicles, in particular, often betray the historical setting. Tanks clearly belong to a post-war era, with lines and features that break immersion for viewers attentive to period accuracy. The overall attention to military detail is inconsistent-sidearms, uniforms, even insignia appear at times to be generic or anachronistic. Female wardrobe choices and hairstyles, especially, reek of the 1960s more than the 1940s. It's as if the characters are actors who walked from the street into the desert without passing through a costuming department, and that incongruity disrupts the already fragile illusion of time and place the film struggles to maintain. Even in a genre where budget often constrains ambition, such lapses in historical authenticity can be especially jarring for viewers drawn to the specificities of World War II settings.

Where the visual language falters, the score steps in with a surprisingly dynamic energy. The musical cues are sometimes overwrought, particularly in quieter moments where a more restrained approach might have served the mood better. Still, in action sequences, the score does lend propulsion, even if it occasionally leans too heavily on genre clichés-martial snares, ominous brass swells-without the inventiveness that might have set it apart. One can't help but wish for the atmospheric menace of The Night of the Generals (1967), where the music was as psychologically probing as it was militarily evocative.

Performances across the board carry the burden of an uneven script. The cast is clearly committed, but character development is thin, and dialogue veers between serviceable and wooden. There's a palpable tension among the actors that sometimes reads as on-screen chemistry, particularly in moments of group planning or confrontation, but more often it highlights a lack of cohesive direction. Unlike Cross of Iron (1977), which wrung every ounce of existential anguish from its ensemble, this film treats its characters more as archetypes than individuals. It's less a matter of the acting itself and more of what the actors are given to work with-lines that state more than they suggest, motivations that seem to exist primarily to move the plot rather than enrich the psychological texture.

The action choreography is a mixed bag. There are glimpses of ingenuity-some gunfights are staged with a chaotic realism that recalls the jarring, un-romanticized violence of The Battle of Neretva (1969)-but these are undercut by moments of clumsy blocking and conspicuous reuse of footage. Explosions and practical effects are economical but not immersive; one often senses the artifice just beneath the surface. The sense of danger is rarely sustained. Even in sequences that should drip with peril, the staging fails to fully commit, leaving scenes that feel like rehearsals rather than realizations. Combined with the distractingly inauthentic props and costuming, these elements reinforce a sense of theatricality rather than lived-in wartime realism.

On the technical front, the editing shows signs of struggle. Transitions are sometimes abrupt, and narrative momentum suffers in the middle third of the film. There's a lack of visual grammar that makes certain sequences hard to follow-not due to complexity, but due to a fundamental looseness in how shots are ordered. This might have been mitigated by stronger production design or more aggressive pacing, but the film instead drifts into a sort of procedural detachment, where mission beats are hit dutifully but without verve.

That said, the film's ambitions should not be overlooked. It commits to a narrow focus-an assassination plot of strategic weight-and tries to render the machinery of resistance with a level of seriousness that's admirable. It doesn't pander with melodramatic flashbacks or forced romance, and this restraint, even when clumsily executed, marks a welcome tonal fidelity. The costume and props departments, while limited in scope, do succeed in grounding the setting with a sense of lived-in verisimilitude; uniforms are worn and dusty, weapons are handled with a matter-of-fact familiarity that suggests authenticity over spectacle.

Yet that commitment is undermined by the careless application of historical detail. In a film so rooted in a specific campaign, in an era where authenticity can elevate or sink a production, the presence of visibly anachronistic tanks, unmistakably modern grooming, and civilian clothes that read more as 'Mod' than 'military' becomes not just a flaw, but a structural weakness. It prevents the viewer from fully surrendering to the world onscreen, anchoring the experience in the limitations of its production rather than the urgency of its narrative.

Comparatively, the film operates in the shadows of more robust productions like The Desert Rats (1953) or Tobruk (1967), both of which capitalized more confidently on the tension and topography of the North African campaign. It lacks the narrative cohesion and directorial control of those works, but what it does offer is a window into the ambitions of smaller European studios attempting to claim their own stake in WWII storytelling-films not just about war, but made in dialogue with its memory and mythology.

Ultimately, this is a war film that seems most alive in its aspirations rather than its executions. It tries to touch the nerve of wartime desperation and sacrifice but does so with the blunt instruments of budget cinema. Still, in its best moments-when silence stretches before an ambush, or when a character's face betrays something unsaid-it brushes up against something genuine, something quietly reverent. And for enthusiasts of World War II cinema who seek out the overlooked and the imperfect, that brush may be just enough.