Ice Station Zebra

Ice Station Zebra (John Sturges, 1968) The movie that was (supposedly) the favorite movie of billionaire-aviation pioneer Howard Hughes—one that he would watch obsessively.

One can only wonder why. It is not exactly inspired entertainment, although somewhat competently directed by John Sturges (who was at his best with genuine location work, rather than with effects-heavy set-bound shows, such as this and Marooned).

It was also one of the last of the prestigious "roadshow" presentations, shot in "Super-Panavison-70" and featuring "Overture" music and an Intermission at the theater. After this one, the "roadshow" concept was abandoned, in order to squeeze in extra showings per night, sounding the death-knell-by-chopping-block for such ambitious projects as Billy Wilder's The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes and Richard Lester's originally conceived three-hour version of The Three Musketeers. But, beyond that, the film may be one of the dullest thrillers ever filmed. 

Ice Station Zebra has the same stolid air of other adaptations of Alistair MacLean adventure yarns (The Guns of Navarone, Where Eagles Dare). It's just not as adventurous, and the locations—studio-created—are claustrophobic and closed-in, as opposed to having any dramatic vistas or the intriguing foreign locales of other MacLean stories. Here, it's meeting rooms, a submarine and a burned out polar station on a floating ice flow. People don't get out much, and the whole film feels close and boxed-in (quite a trick in "Super-Panavision-70). 

Oh, there are intrigues—it wouldn't be a MacLean story if there wasn't one or two double-crosses thrown in—but they're fairly typical. The sub' has to have a debilitating leak, and as befitting a Cold War drama (the coldest!), there are dueling loyalties and the to-be-expected double-agent (but who?). It never rises from the slightly edgy to the exciting and is mostly cliché-ridden, especially when it comes to the "whodunnit" aspects.

It's a fairly good cast with not much to do except glower at each other, and top-liner Rock Hudson isn't at his best at that, and is ham-strung by the script (by MacLean, Douglas Hayes—he wrote Kitten with a Whip, after all—Harry Julian Fink, and W.R. Burnett, no slouches, any of them) from doing anything interesting, like humor. Patrick McGoohan has one interesting scene where he loses it, but mostly he's clipped and acerbic in hyper-"Danger-Man" mode.  Jim Brown matches him frown for frown—twin performances by actors playing characters hating each other—and Ernest Borgnine does a risible Russian accent. A lot of testosterone, mostly going to waste, in material which is stretched to the ice-breaking point.

Patrick McGoohan recreates my expression watching this movie.

Supposedly there's going to be a remake, so there's a lot of room for improvement.

Given that it's a submarine movie, shouldn't it be called an "Underture?"