Frederic Forsyth's paranoiac plot deserves a special Fritz Lang Citation for sniffing out a vast network of ex-S.S. officers who are shielded now by new identities and are placed so strategically in the New Germany as to be able to squelch any investigation into their activities and also to be poised for a revivalist putsch. During the credits, Perry Como's "Christmas Dream" and the holiday lights of Hamburg provide just about the only vivacity in this gray-hued, quietly simmering suspense film, photographed by Oswald Morris and directed by Ronald Neame. Attention is held throughout, but is surest in hand through the opening stretches, during which a freelance reporter (Jon Voight) pursues a single strand of information deeper and deeper into the tangled conspiracy; some of this attention evaporates into ho-hums and head-shakes as the reporter, in order to infiltrate the secret Nazi society, takes on a new identity, with the usual mustache-and-eyeglasses disguise and the usual training program of pistol practice, jogging, and memorization drills. All this training is still not adequate to explain how and why he makes like Errol Flynn later on. Still, the surprise twist in the final scene is deft enough to offset even the lamely written rehash of Nazi philosophy that Maximilian Schell has to spout while carrying a pillow underneath his shirt. (1974) — Duncan Shepherd
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