Sep 25th   
Patton** (12)   
(Pictureville Cinema, Bradford)                        

(US 1969)
Twentieth Century Fox. 171m. Dimension 150

Adventures of a gruff US general who fought heroic campaigns in North Africa and Europe, and whose reputation became as fearsome off the battlefield as on it. Solidly crafted WWII biopic with a powerhouse performance at its centre (whose star later refused the Oscar awarded him), as much of a study in male ego as conveying some of the brutalities of war, taking the usual American slant on WWII and like its main character not realising the bigger picture outside of his own theatre of war. Written by: Francis Ford Coppola, Edmund H. North. Producer Frank McCarthy. Director: Franklin Schaffner. Starring: George C. Scott, Karl Malden, Michael Bates (as Montgomery), Edward Binns, Paul Stevens, James Edwards, Frank Latimore, Morgan Paull, Siegfried Rauch, Richard Meunch, Karl Michael Vogler (as Rommel), Tim Considine (as the soldier who gets slapped). Music: Jerry Goldsmith. Photography: Fred J. Koenekamp.

+ This is the complete text of Scott's typically eloquent opening prologue speech (taken almost verbatim from Patton's own words to D-Day troops in 1944):

"Be seated... Now I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country! Men, all this stuff you've heard about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. Americans, traditionally, love to fight, all real Americans love the sting of battle. When you were kids, you all admired the champion marble shooter, the fastest runner, the big-league ball players, the toughest boxer. Americans love a winner, and will not tolerate a loser. Americans play to win all the time. I wouldn't give a hoot in hell for a man who lost, and laughed! That's why Americans have never lost, and will never lose a war, because the very thought of losing is hateful, to Americans.
Now, an army is a team. It lives, eats, sleeps, fights, as a team, this individuality stuff is a bunch of crap! The bilious bastards who wrote that stuff about individuality, for the Saturday Evening Post, don't know anything more about real battle, than they do about fornicating! Now we have the finest food and equipment, the best spirit, and the best men in the world. You know....my God actually pity those poor bastards we're going up against, by God I do! We're not just going to shoot the bastards, we're going to cut out their living guts, and use them to grease the treads of our tanks! We're going to MURDER those lousy Hun bastards, by the BUSHEL!

Now, some of you boys I know are wondering whether or not you will chicken-out under fire - don't worry about it. I can assure you that you will all do your duty. The Nazis are the enemy. WADE into them! Spill THEIR blood! Shoot THEM in the belly! WHEN YOU PUT YOUR HAND INTO A BUNCH OF GOO, THAT A MOMENT BEFORE WAS YOUR BEST FRIEND'S FACE…you'll know what to do.

Now there's another thing I want you to remember. I don't want to get any messages saying that we are holding our position. We're not holding anything Let the Hun that. We are advancing constantly and we’re not interested in holding on anything. except the ENEMY! WE'RE GOING TO HOLD ON TO HIM BY THE NOSE, AND WE'RE GONNA KICK HIM IN THE ASS! WE’RE GONNA KICK THE HELL OUT OF HIM ALL THE TIME, AND WE’RE GOING TO GO THROUGH HIM LIKE CRAP THROUGH A GOOSE!!

Now, there's one thing that you men will be able to say when you get back home, and you may thank God for it. Thirty years from now, when you're sitting round your fireside, with your grandson on your knee, and he asks you What did you do in the great World War Two?, you won't have to say…’Well, 1 shovelled shit in Louisiana’...!

Alright you sons of bitches, you know how I feel. Oh, and I would be proud to lead you wonderful guys into battle, any time, and anywhere. That's all."