Occasionally effective, but mostly dull and disappointing, Young Cassidy suffers principally from the miscasting of Rod Taylor in the title role. He doesn't look right, he doesn't act right, and above all he lacks the charisma and personality needed to sustain audience interest over what seems an incredibly long 108 minutes. Nor – as often happens in these cases of main role mishaps – do the support players rally to the hero's rescue. Dame Edith Evans is impossibly mannered and theatrical as Lady Gregory (admittedly her lines are trite), while Sir Michael Redgrave makes of the romantic Yeats a drearily pompous stuffed shirt. Even the usually ultra-reliable Flora Robson plays her part –as one critic aptly commented – with an oddly absent-minded air. Indeed, aside from Julie Christie's exciting presence in a tiny role, and a gallery of highly credible Irish studies from many of the bit players, acting is hardly Young Cassidy's strong point. The screenplay must also take its fair share of blame. The plot is episodic and loosely constructed, the characters not only one dimensional but stereotyped, the dialogue dry. As for its philosophy, whilst O'Casey's anti-British sentiments are given a good innings, his equally virulent anti-clericalism is not mentioned at all. Not so much as a whisper. Yet, as said, the anti-British stuff is played up. In fact, the early scenes of police brutality when dispersing striking transport workers and of the army gunning down innocent bystanders during a siege of the rebel-held post-office, are by far the most effective in the movie. Taken as a whole, however, the writing lacks power. Nor must we exclude the director. When Ford fell ill after directing a few days' work with Rod Taylor and Julie Christie, Jack Cardiff took over. Aside from the two action scenes described above, Cardiff's direction rarely rises above the commonplace. It lacks soul. Heart. The ability to inspire.
Review of Young Cassidy
