What follows is not a war film. It is a locked-room mystery, a spy thriller, and a shoot-’em-up all fighting for dominance in a ski lodge. To understand Where Eagles Dare , you have to understand Richard Burton. By 1968, he was the highest-paid actor in Hollywood, largely thanks to his volcanic chemistry with Elizabeth Taylor. But he was also famously drinking himself through the late 1960s.
When the explosives come out and the German soldiers start falling, Eastwood turns into a grim reaper in a parka. One scene in particular has entered legend: Eastwood, standing in the middle of a courtyard, gunning down dozens of SS troops while Burton calls the cable car from a phone booth. It is violent, implausible, and absolutely glorious. It is the moment the movie stops pretending to be a thriller and admits it is a carnival ride. Modern CGI would have built the Schloss Adler on a green screen. Director Brian G. Hutton and cinematographer Arthur Ibbetson did something crazier: they went to the Hofburg in Fieberbrunn, Austria, and filmed on actual mountain peaks. where eagles dare 1968
On paper, Burton as an action hero is absurd. He looks like a Shakespearean scholar who wandered onto a battlefield. Yet, he is the film’s secret weapon. As Major Smith, Burton doesn’t run; he prowls. He doesn’t yell orders; he murmurs them with a smirk. He is the smartest man in the room, playing a game of 4D chess while everyone else is playing checkers. His climactic speech on the castle’s ramparts—where he unravels the film’s three (!) separate double-crosses—is a masterclass in exposition. He makes treachery sound like poetry. And then there is Clint Eastwood. Fresh off The Good, the Bad and the Ugly , Eastwood was already a star. But here, he plays the ultimate supporting role: the muscle. Schaffer doesn’t have a character arc. He has a machine gun. For the first hour, Eastwood has approximately twelve lines. Most of them are “Yes” or “No.” What follows is not a war film
In the pantheon of World War II action cinema, most films age into quaint artifacts—relics of dated special effects and jingoistic simplicity. But then there is Where Eagles Dare . Released in 1968, at the tail end of an era that worshipped the square-jawed hero, director Brian G. Hutton’s Alpine masterpiece did something remarkable: it refused to die. By 1968, he was the highest-paid actor in
The film’s title comes from a line in Shakespeare’s Richard III : “The world is grown so bad / That wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.” In 1968, Hollywood dared to perch on the highest, most ridiculous cliff. And we are all better for it.