We shall meet again...
1993-09-10
N/A
89 min
Nostalgic comic drama in which Cyril and Amos, two veterans of the Normandy landings, return to France to visit the grave of their wartime buddy. They encounter Waldo, an American on a similar mission, and the meeting sparks memories of an old girlfriend from the past. With the mysterious American lady Lisa in their wake, Cyril and Waldo decide to try and track her down.
I remember watching this when it first aired on the BBC and finding it a remarkably poignant drama stolen by the lively Jeanne Moreau. Watching it again forty years later, I still found it to be a simple yet still powerful story of wartime loyalties, friendships and necessities. “Cyril” (Leo McKern) is travelling to Normandy with his friend “Amos” (Sir Alec Guinness), upon whom he clearly depends. Their arrival sees him almost immediately immersed in a battle with visiting American veteran “Waldo” (John Randolph) who is there with his daughter “Beverly” (Geraldine Chaplin) and her henpecked husband “Ralph” (Edward Herrmann), and who shares his desire to reconnect with a lady they, unwittingly, both “knew” at the time. Both men have done well for themselves, and so with the Brit in his Rolls Royce and his antagonist renting a Cadillac, they arrive at a retirement home to meet up with “Angel” (Jeanne Moreau). Her instant impression on both men soon changes their strategy leading to a sort of luxury whacky races through the rustic French countryside. Meantime, their hotel is also hosting another visitor from across the pond, “Lisa” (Lauren Bacall), who is also there to mourn her dead, but from a slightly different perspective. Gradually the group begin to bond and their stories intertwine as the 50th anniversary of D-Day approaches. Sir Alec has virtually no dialogue and yet still manages to convey a combination of touching mischief and determination as “Amos” assumes the role of a man with a mission. There is a slightly unnecessary sub-plot with Chaplin and Herrmann, but it doesn’t impact too often on what is otherwise a characterful and often quite amiable story of reconciliation and affection. It’s nicely scored by Geoffrey Burgon and tugs, gently, at the heartstrings.
