HANNIBAL BROOKS (1969) *** Fine film in which Oliver Reed stars with an elephant. No, not a pink one, that would have been too predictable and appropriate. No, this film is defined somewhere else, perhaps in the sixth or seventh dimension, in relation to Michael Winner's absolute insistence on blunt cuts that aren't even between incongruent scenes, and the '68 schmaltz soundtrack. Not in a bad way. It veers in a straight line, consistently between quirky and bizarre. Ollie's been better, but never looked more comfortable, or more like he belonged. The affection between him and the elephant is apparent, perhaps the elephant enjoyed the smell of grain alcohol. Some of his facials are absolutely perfect, and no amount of liquor could cover that serpentine-eyed amoral thing. My guess is that Michael J. Pollard engaged in a shoot-long drinking contest with Reed (which he had as much chance of winning as wrestling the elephant), one that left him in a suitably strange space straddling comatose and bemused. The effect is that he goes from irritating to indispensable as effectively as any character I can think of, entirely philosophically and without going out of (or developing a) character. Again, I'm not criticizing, it's just that all these oddly shaped bits come together in a very unique manner that doesn't particularly lend itself to individualized praise or glorification. The counterpoint between the Nazi art in the abandoned hotel and the religious paintings in the farmhouse goes a long way towards explaining what a lot of Germans no doubt hoped was going on, and what really was. If the dialogue is occasionally unrealistic-and I'm not sure that it is-it's at least as sensible as what must have really been going on, as improbable and more clever. Psychology grad student alert!
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