John Frankenheimer’s The Train opens with a heist of masterpieces of modern art from a Parisian museum. The operation, supervised by Wehrmacht colonel and aristocratic aesthete Franz Von Waldheim (Paul Scofield), is a desperate assertion of the Nazis’ supremacist ideologies during the final days of the German occupation of France. As such, it’s easy to perceive the museum curator’s (Suzanne Flon) appeals to the sense of national pride felt by the Résistance-Fer—a group of rail workers who were part of the French Resistance—as an attempt to fight fire with fire, specifically when she requests help from railway manager Labiche (Burt Lancaster). Which makes it all the more fitting that it’s not Labiche who jumpstarts the workers’ efforts to stop the train that’s moving the stolen paintings from leaving France, but tenacious train conductor Papa Boule, who’s played with curmudgeonly brio by one of the patron saints of French cinema, Michel Simon.
The fact that Labiche and his men have neither an emotional connection to nor an aesthetic appreciation for the artworks only makes the drastic measures they take to protect them all the more awe-inspiring. And, indeed, it’s this sacrifice that ultimately arises as the central force and focus of Frankenheimer’s WWII thriller. What drives Labiche and his men is left relatively ambiguous, as the signs of their patriotic fervor are only brief and muted throughout the film. And despite all the ideas about the value of art and culture and the nature of heroism that are wired into it, The Train is never ponderous. Its philosophical profundity isn’t given expression through lengthy, thoughtful diatribes, but through depictions of the Résistance-Fer’s grime-covered workers going about their work through blood, sweat, and tears.
Throughout the film, Frankenheimer’s direction captures the physicality of the rail workers’ labor and the psychological toll it takes on them in exacting detail, lending moral weight and credence to everything from the shoveling of coal into the train’s engine boiler to the incredible arsenal of physical maneuvers that Labiche deploys as he seeks to delay and, finally, derail the train. Whether detailing organizationally elaborate tactics, such as the changing of station signs to make the Nazis believe that they’re crossing into Germany, or more action-oriented strategies, Frankenheimer imbues the film with a relentless, white-knuckle tension.
With the aid of cinematographers Jean Tournier and Walter Wottitz, Frankenheimer bolsters The Train’s sense of realism, sustaining an impressive level of verisimilitude through frequent use of wide, deep-focus shots and a handful of elaborate, though never showy, dolly and tracking shots. In toto, these shots, often featuring dozens of people in the frame busily going about their tasks, from non-resistance railway men to Nazi soldiers, strikingly convey that a fully active reality is unfolding alongside the heroic efforts of the Résistance-Fer.
Though the film builds to an obligatory mano a mano between Von Waldheim and Labiche, even this scene plays out in a thoughtful and unexpected manner. The subtextual conflict between the upper and working classes becomes text here, with a vexed Von Waldheim quipping to Labiche that “a painting means as much to you as a string of pearls to an ape,” before continuing to hurl insults at him. But if the Nazi may never know what exactly fuels Labiche’s fight to save works of art that he’s never particularly valued, this beautifully mounted and intelligent film makes unmistakably clear to us that heroism isn’t always black and white—that sometimes it’s simply about doing what’s right even if you don’t understand why.
Image/Sound
Grain levels were a shade light on Kino Lorber’s 2021 Blu-ray, and on this new 4K UHD release, that issue is slightly more prominent in a few close-ups that appear slightly waxy. Aside from that, this new transfer, taken from a 4K scan of the 35mm original camera negative, looks fantastic. Details are richer, especially in the numerous exterior wide shots, while the contrast receives a nice boost thanks to the even deeper blacks. On the audio front, this edition comes with two new audio tracks, DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 surround and 2.0 lossless stereo. Both tracks are stronger than the original mono audio, which is also included, but the film’s action sequences make clear that the robust and immersive 5.1 track is the one to roll with.
Extras
For their 4K UHD release of the film, Kino has added an isolated track with Maurice Jarre’s score and a six-minute making-of featurette from 1964 that primarily shows behind-the-scenes footage from several explosions and the big train crash in the film. The remaining extras have all been ported over from the studio’s previous Blu-ray, including two commentary tracks.
The first of those two tracks, featuring John Frankenheimer and recorded sometime in the 1990s, isn’t terribly engaging, as the filmmaker is prone to pausing and speaking in a fairly soft, monotone voice. Still, his love for the film is apparent, and when he does delve into the challenges of finding shooting locations and filming at night for nearly a month straight, it becomes clear how much blood, sweat, and tears he poured into his work. The second track, by filmmaker and historian Steve Mitchell and Combat Films: American Realism author Steven Jay Rubin, is livelier. While the men inevitably discuss other war films of the era, they pay a good deal of attention to the film’s aesthetic qualities, making note of the more elaborate choreography on screen and some of Frankenheimer’s more impressive camera moves.
The two-disc set is rounded out with several trailers, a five-minute Trailers from Hell video featuring Brian Trenchard-Smith, which effectively serves as an introduction to the film, and a booklet with a predictably astute essay by film historian Julie Kirgo.
Overall
Kino’s 4K UHD release offers mostly the same extras as their earlier Blu-ray of The Train, but the boost in A/V quality makes it worth the upgrade for fans of the film.
Since 2001, we've brought you uncompromising, candid takes on the world of film, music, television, video games, theater, and more. Independently owned and operated publications like Slant have been hit hard in recent years, but we’re committed to keeping our content free and accessible—meaning no paywalls or fees.
If you like what we do, please consider subscribing to our Patreon or making a donation.
