Cinema: Man-Made Myth

• Share

The Flight of the Phoenix crashes a shuddery old two-engine transport into the Sahara, follows its crew's effort to construct from the wreckage a spit-and-bailing-wire one-engine plane to escape in, and reaches a peak of excitement when this kite struggles to take off with five men sprawled on its wings. Measured against the ordinary run of adventure epics, Phoenix is a bonanza.

En route to Bengazi, an oil-company air bus comes down in a sandstorm with 14 men aboard. Two are dead on impact. More will die during the bitter struggle for survival that celebrates, once again, the indomitability of the human spirit. But Phoenix regards its heroes with refreshing cynicism. In his best role of recent years, James Stewart plays the stubborn, not-very-bright bush pilot, a "back number" who demonstrates leadership by guarding the water rations. "Little men with slide rules and computers are going to inherit the earth," he grumbles. His adversary is a German, Hardy Kruger, a small humorless cipher whose knowledge of aerodynamics puts everyone's fate in his hands, and well he knows it. Richard Attenborough is flawless as a stuttering, alcoholic navigator, rivaled by Ian Bannen as a bore abristle with saving wit, and Peter Finch as an officer whose code of honor consists mostly of suicidal gestures.

Heat, thirst, mounting casualties and mutual distrust corrode the men's nerves, and the dialogue provided by Scenarist Lukas Heller is full of sting. Producer-Director Robert Aldrich, cool as a vulture, all but dawdles over these verbal wounds, as though choosing his victims for the violence to come. The shocks occur when least expected, notably in the delicate prologue and grisly aftermath of an encounter with a band of Arab cutthroats. An occasional wheeze of sentimentality, even a needless mirage sequence featuring Dancer Barrie Chase, are minor lapses. Most of the time, Phoenix flexes its muscles as the sort of virile, enthralling entertainment moviegoers too seldom see.