” All Men Are Created Evil!” Publicity department not bothered by possible lack of box office response in Syria.

SIROCCO is a 1951 thriller with Humphrey Bogart. Set during ‘The Great Syrian Revolt of 1925’ it’s based on Joseph Kessel’s 1931 novel “Le coup de grâce” (“stroke of grace” or “blow of mercy”), and was the the fifth of seven movies Bogart’s production company—Santana, named after his yacht—made between 1949 and 1953, releasing them thru Columbia Pictures. The first, Knock On Any Door, did well, the others less so, including this murky meller, the gross of $3,700,000 ranking 97th in ’51. The under-exciting screenplay was done by A. I. Bezzerides and Hans Jacoby (although eight other writers had their mitts on it, sans credit), and apart from yet another chip off the Casablanca block (dangerous wartime setting, reluctant anti-hero, exotic dame, furtive underlings) the scribblers managed to fudge from the title on, as a ‘Sirocco’ is a wild desert wind that sweeps up from North Africa across the Mediterranean into southern Europe. Its counterpart, 2,200 miles east in Syria and its neighbors is the less-catchy ‘Simoom’, which wouldn’t look as adventure-cool on marquees or advertising posters, with geography & climate challenged moviegoers perhaps thinking Simoom was about a killer gorilla. Or maybe one that just talked. *

Damascus, Syria, 1925. Thanks to the far-seeing World War WeWon’ish wisdom of England and France, the French are ‘in control’ of Syria. For some bizarre reason the occupied country carries a degree of resentment! This rises to rebellion. That makes headaches for peace-hopeful French intelligence officers like ‘Col. Feroud’ (Lee J. Cobb) and a sure bet money shot for American black marketeer & gun runner ‘Harry Smith’ (Bogart, trusty trench coat and smokes on hand). Both have a staked interest in sultry mystery dish ‘Violetta’ (Märta Torén), but who gets whom is confounded by the continual casbah-rocking fighting in the streets, alleys, restaurants, nightclubs and catacombs. Do the promises made by great civilized powers mean so little? Would you trust someone who insists on meeting you in a catacomb? Would you throw battle-earned caution to the wind (oops, the sirocco) just to play hide the passport with a come-hither bombshell in a low-cut dress? One who likes to drink? Please, gentlemen, this is the war room!

Directed by Curtis Bernhardt (A Stolen Life, Possessed, Beau Brummell), the production does well enough creating a decent degree of atmosphere, helped by George Antheil’s scoring, Burnett Guffey’s camerawork and a solid supporting cast. The sound crew adds their expertise to all the gunfire and explosions in the background. The story is as much about dour Col. Feroud as sardonic Harry and Cobb delivers a thoughtful performance: he hadn’t yet entered what would be a decade long period of monumental over-acting. Twenty-five year-old Swedish import Märta Torén doesn’t come across as more than adequate. Not only is this one of Bogart’s not to well-sketched characters, Harry’s also one of the less likable. By the halfway point, it’s hard to care what will happen to any of them: the rattle and boom of the sound effects are more compelling.

So you’ll buy guns from Alan Ladd but not me? Who do you have to cliche to get a drink around here?

98 minutes, with sweaty intrigue and dubious intent well-registered via Everett Sloane, Nick Dennis, Zero Mostel, Gerald Mohr, Onslow Stevens, Ludwig Donath, Jeff Corey, Jay Novello, Peter Brocco, Dan Seymour and Harry Guardino (25, 2nd part, uncredited).

A century later everything will be just swell.

* Renowned French journalist and author Joseph Kessel (1898-1979) wrote 27 books, 11 of them made into movies, the most famous being Belle de Jour. Others include Army Of Shadows, The Lion and The Horsemen.  He also wrote a dozen screenplays, including Mayerling (the 1936 version) and The Night Of The Generals. What he thought of Sirocco and how it handled the 250 pages of his “Le coup de grâce” we can only speculate. How modern Syria has been handled, from without and within, speaks depressing volumes that are hard to digest.

True, I don’t run guns, just my mouth, but take it from me, when “destiny in a low-cut gown beckons” geopolitics tends to take a hike.