Sept contre la mort

The Cavern is a wartime drama featuring an unlikely group of seven people who find themselves trapped in a cave in the Italian mountains. Those trapped include: a British general, an American officer and an American private, an Italian soldier, a German sergeant, a Canadian pilot, and a woman from a local village. Fortunately, the cave has been most recently used as an Italian supply dump. But can these people put their differences behind them and find a way to survive?

The Cavern isn't a great movie, but I found it a worthwhile watch. Most of the entertainment I got out of it came from the characters, their relationships, and their interactions. The cast is as eclectic as the characters they play, including genre fav John Saxon, Peter Marshall (it was more than a little weird seeing the long serving host of The Hollywood Squares in a WWII drama), the insanely beautiful Rosanna Schiaffino, Oscar nominee Brian Aherne, and Larry Hagman (yes, JR from Dallas is in The Cavern). The acting is about as good as you could hope for from a low-budget film American/Italian/German/Yugoslav(?) co-production like this. All do a reasonable job with what they're given to work with. For his last film, veteran director Edgar G. Ulmer created a claustrophobic, hopeless atmosphere. And, there are a few real gut-wrenching moments. The best has to be (and I won't spoil it) when one of the characters finally finds a way out of the giant cave system only to be met with the most ironic tragedy I think I could imagine. It's a very good, but heartbreaking moment.

But, as I said, it's not a perfect film. While I've credited Ulmer with creating atmosphere, there are far too many moments where the characters seem way more relaxed than they should given their circumstances. They play cards, they sing songs, they make jokes, they carry on like they don't have a care in the world. Even though they have food and water, I would expect more panic. It takes far too long for any of the characters to fully snap and have any sort of mental breakdown.

5/10

I was going to give this movie a 5 and say, "This is a solid 5!" Then I decided that if it's such a solid 5, why don't I give it a 6?

Why?, you may ask.

I watched it on FX cable last night, having missed the first 10 minutes or so. They were already trapped in the cavern. In a few minutes I was hooked. I happened across it again a few hours later just after the credits and caught the first few minutes until I was up with where I came in. Then I almost sat to watch it again. That alone says something.

Let's get some things out of the way about this film. This is in the public domain. It was shot in 1.85:1, but was broadcast in 4:3. It was broadcast on an HD channel, but still looked as if I was watching it through a silk screen. It may have been a 16mm transfer or a multigenerational copy.

Do not judge a book by its cover.

Many of the comments here about weakness in the script, character motivations and low budget production values are reasonable, but with a caveat. Many of those bad character decisions or odd motivations take place after being trapped in the cavern for weeks and months. When that is taken into account, some of the irrationality might be excused, or at least rationalized.

The cast is actually quite good, though half are likely unknown to most viewers.

The early exterior shots are not encouraging. The opening few minutes which set up the story look low budget. One German soldier stopped his motorcycle to give a report to an officer. After the report, he couldn't restart it, but they kept the "take".

Once the main characters are trapped in the cavern, however, the low budget matters less than the story.

Not everyone survives, and heroes and not-so-much heroes may not be who you expect. But that's a large part of what makes the film engaging.

It won't be the best ~80 minutes of your life, but it won't be a waste.

PS: One of these actors went on to a long-term gig as host of "Hollywood Squares". See if you can spot him. Another went on to be an iconic character on the TV series "Dallas". And this will be one of Brian Aherne's last roles, and not bad though certainly not his best.

This one starts out like a sub B flick but gradually improves to a B- as Larry Hagman and Peter Marshall are the familiar faces in the cavern. I almost turned this one off 10 minutes in but hung in there and it turned out to be not a 1 1/2 hour time suck I thought it might be.

There's a distinct spatial austerity in The Cavern (Sette contro la morte, 1964), one that doesn't merely result from budgetary limitations but arises organically from its narrative premise. The war is not externalized through battles or front lines, but internalized in a subterranean chamber where a disparate group of individuals is trapped-physically by a collapsed mountain, but morally and emotionally by the erosion of social order. This naturally imposes a kind of theatricality upon the mise-en-scène, one that is not stylized but imposed, like the walls of the cave itself. The camera's options are restricted, but this restriction becomes expressive. Characters are blocked in tight compositions, arranged often in tableau, where movement is minimal and meaning derives from gesture, silence, and spatial relation. It's a theatricality born of necessity, reminiscent of stagecraft in its constraint, but grounded by the rawness of the setting.

This kind of enclosed war cinema invites a very specific kind of performance: not the expansive, action-oriented mode of battlefield narratives, but the slow-burning, tension-fed presence typical of ensemble drama. The cast in The Cavern is composed almost like the setup to a joke-an Italian, a German, an Englishman, an American, and a Canadian walk into a cave-but that comic premise is dismantled almost immediately by the weight of circumstance. What begins as a symbolic gathering of nations becomes a crucible where ideology, trauma, guilt, and cultural friction collapse onto one another.

The performances reflect this shift. They are restrained, but not minimalistic-delivered with the awareness that every spoken line echoes in stone, that every silence hangs in air too thick with shared dread. The psychological decay is not performed in explosive breakdowns but in accumulated micro-fissures. The space itself dictates the tone, compressing behavior and limiting expression. Dialogue becomes the primary mode of interaction, but even dialogue is taut and reluctant, as if language itself is wearing thin.

There's a long-standing tradition in WWII cinema of stories built around forced cohabitation under pressure-films that could, structurally, be transplanted to the stage with little loss of effect. The Cavern belongs firmly in this tradition. While the camera occasionally finds expressive angles or moments of compositional interest, the essence of the film is closer to chamber drama than traditional war epic. The setting transforms the characters into involuntary performers in a stripped-down moral theatre, where each must negotiate personal trauma, cultural prejudice, and the slow collapse of etiquette and decency under survival stress.

This sensibility is closely shared with Ninety Minutes (Noventa minutos, 1949), a Spanish film that confines a group of civilians to a basement in London during a bombing raid, after which they discover they may have only a short time to live. As in The Cavern, the suspense is not driven by enemy presence or external escalation, but by internal unraveling. Both films construct a moral topography out of confined space, revealing how proximity under duress transforms class difference, national prejudice, and personal guilt into combustible elements. The theatricality in Ninety Minutes is slightly more formalized-its origin in Spanish postwar stage tradition is evident-but the emotional mechanics are uncannily similar: war reduces people to their barest ethical choices when the world above collapses.

Equally relevant is Lifeboat (1944), a film that, despite being set adrift at sea, constructs a microcosmic war within a lifeboat. The connection with The Cavern lies in the dramaturgy of entrapment and the way both films strip away the operational war to expose the psychological. In both cases, disparate individuals from different backgrounds are forced into intimate proximity, where the enemy is no longer a uniformed other, but each other's history, ideology, weakness, or resolve. Stylistically, Lifeboat is more polished and consciously composed, but the moral geometry it explores-between survival, manipulation, sacrifice, and suspicion-runs parallel to what The Cavern develops in its earthbound, darker register.

Direction in The Cavern wisely refuses to embellish the scenario. There's no overt stylization, no visual flourish. The lighting is stark and functional, enhancing the grain of the rock, the sweat on foreheads, the dirt accumulating on skin and conscience. Rather than manipulating emotion, the film positions the viewer as yet another occupant of the cave-unable to intervene, forced to watch the slow erosion of civility. Editing serves this strategy: transitions are unobtrusive, rhythm is slow but steady, reinforcing the sense of time as both meaningless and oppressive.

One could argue that the film's true realism is not visual, but psychological. It doesn't concern itself with historical accuracy in uniforms or procedures, but it does capture with uncomfortable fidelity the feeling of being cut off-from the world, from purpose, from clarity. In that sense, it avoids the heroic and leans into the tragic-not as spectacle but as stagnation. There's no redemptive arc, no cathartic climax. The war is not happening outside; the war is happening here, in the cave, among these few bodies, in the disintegration of trust, the quiet births of hatred, the fevers of guilt.

This sensibility is consistent with the broader cultural mood of 1964, particularly in European cinema. The memory of the war was by then shifting: no longer a fresh trauma, but not yet a sanitized memory. A film like The Cavern emerges from that liminal space. Its message isn't patriotic nor accusatory, but existential. It belongs to that specific strain of WWII cinema which does not seek to reconstruct history, but to examine what history did to the human interior. The fact that the film was shot in stark black-and-white, despite being made well into the color era, is telling. It isn't an aesthetic nostalgia-it's a philosophical position.

What the film ultimately reveals is a paradox: that claustrophobia, when rendered with honesty, can paradoxically open a vast emotional and ethical landscape. By removing the usual tools of war cinema-movement, scale, spectacle-it forces attention onto the smallest details: a glance withheld, a ration shared, a silence after a confession. That is where this film finds its power-not in grand narratives of conflict, but in the granular truth of endurance.

First of all I'm the biggest John Saxon fan in the whole world. I can't think of a time when this guy showed up and didn't do his job-wasn'' convincing in a role? Never!

Big budget!! US Givt war footage, which these guys could never afford, mixed in with like a cheap shot of bricks falling from a truck. (The cars they use are so old and decrepit, it's funny)

But I'm pretty sure the whole purpose of this movie is for someone to see as much nakediditty as Rosanna Schiaffino / censors will allow.

I walked away from the movie for a couple minutes, you know multitasking, this is the first movie I can think of that sounds like it's dubbed...and it's not.

Really wretched. Really wretched.