The World, the Flesh and the Devil (1959)
Country: US
Technical: bw/scope 95m
Director: Ranald MacDougall
Cast: Harry Belafonte, Inger Stevens, Mel Ferrer
Synopsis:
A negro in a deserted New York is the last man on earth and just adjusting to the fact that the last woman is white, when a white alpha male appears to complicate matters.
Review:
A film with a title and setup like this is almost fated to disappoint, and so it does, whether it is Belafonte's embarrassed supremo with a chip the size of a small tree on his shoulder, or the overly schematic plot. The point is that even when all the world has been depopulated by war, the last surviving men still fight over what remains to be won; the peaceful resolution is merely a salve: both are left alive and will be at each other's throats again in no time. The conciliatory power of woman is an illusion created by woman.
Country: US
Technical: bw/scope 95m
Director: Ranald MacDougall
Cast: Harry Belafonte, Inger Stevens, Mel Ferrer
Synopsis:
A negro in a deserted New York is the last man on earth and just adjusting to the fact that the last woman is white, when a white alpha male appears to complicate matters.
Review:
A film with a title and setup like this is almost fated to disappoint, and so it does, whether it is Belafonte's embarrassed supremo with a chip the size of a small tree on his shoulder, or the overly schematic plot. The point is that even when all the world has been depopulated by war, the last surviving men still fight over what remains to be won; the peaceful resolution is merely a salve: both are left alive and will be at each other's throats again in no time. The conciliatory power of woman is an illusion created by woman.
Country: US
Technical: bw/scope 95m
Director: Ranald MacDougall
Cast: Harry Belafonte, Inger Stevens, Mel Ferrer
Synopsis:
A negro in a deserted New York is the last man on earth and just adjusting to the fact that the last woman is white, when a white alpha male appears to complicate matters.
Review:
A film with a title and setup like this is almost fated to disappoint, and so it does, whether it is Belafonte's embarrassed supremo with a chip the size of a small tree on his shoulder, or the overly schematic plot. The point is that even when all the world has been depopulated by war, the last surviving men still fight over what remains to be won; the peaceful resolution is merely a salve: both are left alive and will be at each other's throats again in no time. The conciliatory power of woman is an illusion created by woman.