Even the best of directors, like thoroughbred racehorses, have only so many great races in them and this is alas one race too many for Alfred Hitchcock. In the three years that had elapsed since his uneven 'Torn Curtain', the 70 year old director had been desperately casting around for a suitable subject for his 51st film and eventually settled, grudgingly, upon Leon Uris' best seller based upon the events of the Cuban Missile Crisis.
Hitchcock recalled that this was 'a most unhappy film to make' and this is very much in evidence. The original material is dynamite but the result is, alas, a damp fuse. Apart from the sequence in the Cuban Embassy it is strangely devoid of both momentum and suspense and causes one to lament the earlier demise of Hitchcock's greatest editor, George Thomasini whilst the performances of most of its international cast verge on the lifeless. Philippe Noiret and Michel Piccoli of course never disappoint.
The shooting of Juanita by Parra with her purple dress opening like a flower is the one highlight.
One critic has compared watching this to 'listening to the concert of a great singer about a mile from the stadium. It is only a glimpse of greatness'.
When wooden Frederick Stafford, certainly no Cary Grant, utters the singularly appropriate 'That's the end of Topaz', this viewer at any rate could not help but heave a sigh of relief.
Hitchcock recalled that this was 'a most unhappy film to make' and this is very much in evidence. The original material is dynamite but the result is, alas, a damp fuse. Apart from the sequence in the Cuban Embassy it is strangely devoid of both momentum and suspense and causes one to lament the earlier demise of Hitchcock's greatest editor, George Thomasini whilst the performances of most of its international cast verge on the lifeless. Philippe Noiret and Michel Piccoli of course never disappoint.
The shooting of Juanita by Parra with her purple dress opening like a flower is the one highlight.
One critic has compared watching this to 'listening to the concert of a great singer about a mile from the stadium. It is only a glimpse of greatness'.
When wooden Frederick Stafford, certainly no Cary Grant, utters the singularly appropriate 'That's the end of Topaz', this viewer at any rate could not help but heave a sigh of relief.