It’s not heartburn, Spence.
The Devil at 4 O’Clock (1961) is a movie about redemption: of sick children, of felons, of priests.
Of civilizations.
The volcano on the island of Talua in the south Pacific is having indigestion once again, and the islanders, both native and European, already upset by a hospital for children with leprosy, are nervous. Into this flies a collection of criminals transferring to Tahiti, as well as a new Catholic priest to replace the old, sour priest. The latter is a bad old apple, even smelling of it – an alcoholic.
And then the volcano launches into a rant against humanity, and the islanders begin to evacuate, with the exception of the hospital, which was established at some remove from the islanders as they, in their ignorance and selfishness, feared the leprosy carried by the children.
With the hospital cut off by landslides, the old priest must make last ditch efforts to reach it, the hospital he literally built with his own hands, the staff he recruited himself, and the children, who he brought to the church when the islanders turned their faces from them. The felons, handed the opportunity to help out in exchange for a good word at sentencing, volunteer and soon the priest and his helpers find themselves flying into the mouth of hell.
The hospital is evacuated and now the race is on against the Nature-imposed deadline of the outgoing tide. But this is no easy slide down a hill, because between a fast pace and pursuing lava, casualties are inevitable and we suffer with those who lose companions, for the characters are sympathetic and believable.
In the end, though, the interpersonal relationships are not always completely believable. Convict Harry (Frank Sinatra) supposedly falls in love with a blind girl and marries her, yet I didn’t find it believable – there was a vague echo of the necessary change, the movement towards regret and redemption, but it didn’t come through strongly. As this was part of his redemption, it weakens the primary theme. I put the blame for this on Sinatra, as it seemed the story line was there to support it, but he didn’t quite have the chops to pull it off.
Similarly, the theme of redemption is not fully and believably explored. Not that I’m knocking the movie; I enjoyed it on several levels. The acting is generally fine, including Spencer Tracy as the sour, old, desperate priest; filmed in Hawaii, it looked and felt very authentic.
The special effects were more than adequate, between numerous quake scenes which were clearly more than a nervous camera operator, and a fully believable volcano – if I’d been there, I’d be nervous. Dialog, visuals, audio, story – all are good enough.
The movie climaxes and ends in a quite shocking manner, both visually and with regards to the story, and so while part of me mourns the unexpectedly lost characters, part of me celebrates the choice of the story-tellers. Perhaps the latter was inevitable, as a symbolic judgment upon the islanders who thrust the sick children away, even with such a curable disease.
It’s a good movie, but not a great movie. I can think of worse ways to while away a lazy afternoon.
