Le désert de la gloire

The battle of El Alamein has been object of numerous movies. Guido Malatesta's version is one of the strangest and most unknown that I have seen.

Like in so many other movies, the war separates a few lovers. In this case, he, Italian, must join immediately the army and her, Englishwoman, flees of Italy and shelters in Cairo.

Soon he will have to be going to fight to the desert in the north of Africa under horrible conditions. He will have to take difficult decisions under the belief of which he has lost his dear one.

Undoubtedly the central object of the movie is the battle between the Italian command against the Africa German Korps. The love story remains relegated to the background and it's showed in a telegraphic form preventing any empathy from the spectator with the main characters, one wonders if this love story was necessary. While, the combats of the courageous Italian ones against the German tanks appear in a vehement and spectacular way.

For a moment it seems that this could be a movie with realistic connotations that would had favored the final result; but it isn't like that, a made in Hollywood ending waits for us, a forced ending without any visual and/or emotional impact.

There is nothing technically prominent. The photography probably is the aspect most distinguished from the movie. The music passes unnoticed.

Finally I will say that the unknown actors (for me) do it discreetly well.

6 out of 10.

At summer, some not so known movies are appearing on television:this is one of them. Actors were not so well-known either, with 3 or 4 exceptions. This movie is about a decisive battle in the northern Africa campaign during World War II.

A group of Italians, from all walks of life and from different parts of Italy, are dispatched to Africa to fight against the British army. They are not well equipped and many of them would prefer to be elsewhere all the time. Conditions on the battlefield are awful, but none the less they keep on fighting, until the overwhelming British forces invite them to surrender. But they had been ordered to resist and, willingly or unwillingly, less than 50 soldiers defend their stronghold, until no one of them can fight any longer; from the very beginning they knew they had very few chances of surviving the attack, but they complied with the orders given to them. Their bravery gained to themselves the respect of the enemy not only because of their military valor, but also because of their human attitude towards a bunch of British prisoners. One of the few survivors, now a wounded POW, is the soldier whose fiancée was an English singer. It is true that this love story sounds a bit awkward in this movie, but it is possible that the authors had a message to convey about war and love.

The film approaches its subject with the familiar mid-century cinematic blend of war spectacle and accessible drama, shaped less by a drive for historical fidelity than by the cinematic habits and industrial realities common in war films of that decade across the Western world-not exclusively Hollywood productions. Produced in an era when World War II films were still riding the postwar wave of audience appetite and Cold War anxieties, it inherits both the strengths and weaknesses of that moment. Its staging is broad and clear, intended for mass audiences who may have lived through the conflict, but its visual world is unmistakably that of the late 1950s. In the Italian-set opening, the streets, vehicles, and even hairstyles betray the aesthetic and material culture of the postwar economic boom rather than the shortages and political tension of 1942. This anachronistic texture is not a mere oversight; it reflects the film industry's reliance on contemporary props, costumes, and extras, often from studio stock, and the widespread tendency of mid-century war cinema-whether European, American, or otherwise-to prioritize accessibility and a heroic narrative over strict historical authenticity.

The desert warfare sequences show a more concerted effort at scope, but material limitations remain visible. Sand dunes and rocky outcrops are arranged to evoke North Africa, yet they carry a distinctly Californian or studio-lot flavor, lacking the stark expanse one sees in productions like The Desert Rats (1953), which managed a more convincing illusion of vastness despite similar constraints. The battle choreography, while energetic, is orchestrated with a theatrical precision: explosions punctuate dialogue cues, and enemy forces appear in conveniently staged clusters, a style that feels closer to a war pageant than to chaotic battlefield reality. This suits the 1950s taste for clarity of action, but at the cost of immersion for viewers attuned to the unpredictability of actual combat.

Technically, the cinematography is straightforward, relying on clean, high-contrast images that favor star visibility over atmospheric depth. This is not the moody, dust-hazed imagery of something like The Cruel Sea (1953), but a brighter, cleaner look that signals optimism and heroism even in the midst of hardship. Camera movement is sparing, often defaulting to locked-down shots or gentle tracking, and while this gives the action a readable rhythm, it also flattens moments that might have benefitted from a more dynamic visual language. The sound design follows suit: small arms fire, artillery, and vehicle engines are presented with an almost staged clarity, avoiding the overwhelming auditory chaos that could unsettle an audience seeking a palatable form of wartime drama.

Performance style adheres closely to mid-1950s screen acting conventions. Characters are played with a certain polished assurance, even in moments meant to convey exhaustion or fear. There is little of the dirt-under-the-fingernails realism that later war films would embrace; instead, we see soldiers whose uniforms remain neatly tailored, whose haircuts seem fresh, and whose emotional arcs are clear and linear. Compared to the more naturalistic camaraderie and frictions depicted in The Hill (1965)-admittedly from a later decade but still grounded in similar military group dynamics-this film's portrayals feel more archetypal, intended to embody ideals rather than to expose contradictions.

Understanding the year of production is essential to understanding these choices. In the mid-1950s, war films across Western cinema-not only Hollywood-served as part entertainment, part cultural reinforcement, speaking to audiences who had lived through both the conflict and the Cold War's first tense decade. The messaging is less overtly propagandistic than wartime productions but still infused with a moral framework: courage, unity, and sacrifice are celebrated without the ambiguity or critique that would become more common in the Vietnam era. The portrayal of the Italian front and the desert campaign reflects a postwar Western perspective that emphasizes Allied ingenuity and resolve, while smoothing over the complex, often brutal realities of coalition warfare in North Africa. In this sense, the film participates in the 1950s cinematic project of shaping World War II as a foundational narrative for contemporary Western identity-tidier, cleaner, and more morally certain than the messy truth.

One striking omission is the total absence of any reference to the fascist regime in Italy during the period depicted. Unlike other films that incorporate fascist iconography-such as portraits of the Duce, Roman salutes, or propaganda posters and graffiti typical of fascist rule-this film completely elides such elements. The lack of any visual or narrative markers of fascism sanitizes the Italian context, removing ideological tension and the political realities of life under Mussolini's regime. This omission dilutes the historical complexity and reduces the setting to a generic wartime backdrop, reflecting both production choices and perhaps a reluctance to confront politically sensitive material that might complicate the straightforward heroic narrative the film pursues.

Furthermore, the film's title arguably proves too ambitious relative to its narrative scope. The Battle of El Alamein was a major, multifaceted campaign with significant strategic, political, and human dimensions, unfolding over months and shaping the course of the North African theater. This film, however, focuses primarily on a single episode, treating it more as a symbolic capstone than a comprehensive depiction. This narrowed focus limits the ability to convey the full scope and gravity of the El Alamein campaign, making the title somewhat disproportionate to the story told. Such condensation aligns with mid-century war cinema's tendency to distill sprawling historical events into manageable, dramatic sequences, often privileging narrative coherence and emotional impact over exhaustive historical detail.

The film thus remains an artifact of its time-a product shaped by the conventions, cultural attitudes, and production realities of 1950s war cinema across the Western world. Its clear narrative, polished performances, and bright visuals offer nostalgic appeal, while its anachronisms, omissions, and theatrical combat scenes remind viewers of the compromises made in translating complex historical realities into accessible mass entertainment.