Critics were brutal. The New York Times called it "a one-joke movie that forgets to be funny." Roger Ebert admitted it had "a few inspired moments" but concluded it was "too gentle for satire, too frantic for realism."
Director Jerry Paris, best known for directing The Dick Van Dyke Show , treats the material like a protracted sitcom. The film never quite decides if it wants to be a slapstick comedy, a satire of American jingoism, or a buddy movie between Max and his American captors. It’s that tonal wobble that likely killed it in 1969. Viva Max! was released on July 23, 1969 — four days after the moon landing. But the bigger problem was the cultural mood. The Tet Offensive was a recent memory. The nation was polarized over Vietnam. The last thing a war-weary, flag-pin public wanted to watch was a comedy that suggested the Alamo—a sacred site of Texan martyrdom—was actually a silly piece of real estate worth surrendering for a pair of boots.
What follows isn’t a war. It’s a farce. The local police, led by a bumbling chief (Harry Morgan, in full Dragnet mode), surround the mission. The Texas National Guard rolls in. A cynical reporter (Pamela Tiffin) turns it into a national obsession. And Max, utterly bewildered by his own success, tries to negotiate by demanding a new pair of boots and a pardon for his horse. The film’s secret weapon is Peter Ustinov, the Oscar-winning polymath who could play everything from Nero to Hercule Poirot. His General Max is no villain; he’s a romantic, a fool, and a surprisingly dignified man trapped in a clown’s scenario. Ustinov plays the role with a twinkle that suggests he alone understands the joke.
The answer, according to the film’s box office receipts: audiences would rather watch Neil Armstrong take one small step than watch Peter Ustinov take one very silly one.
In the summer of 1969, as America was nervously watching the Apollo 11 astronauts prepare to land on the moon, a much smaller, stranger landing was taking place in movie theaters. It was called Viva Max! , and it asked a question no one was ready for: What if a modern-day Mexican general, mounted on a horse and wielding a dress sword, tried to reclaim the Alamo?
Critics were brutal. The New York Times called it "a one-joke movie that forgets to be funny." Roger Ebert admitted it had "a few inspired moments" but concluded it was "too gentle for satire, too frantic for realism."
Director Jerry Paris, best known for directing The Dick Van Dyke Show , treats the material like a protracted sitcom. The film never quite decides if it wants to be a slapstick comedy, a satire of American jingoism, or a buddy movie between Max and his American captors. It’s that tonal wobble that likely killed it in 1969. Viva Max! was released on July 23, 1969 — four days after the moon landing. But the bigger problem was the cultural mood. The Tet Offensive was a recent memory. The nation was polarized over Vietnam. The last thing a war-weary, flag-pin public wanted to watch was a comedy that suggested the Alamo—a sacred site of Texan martyrdom—was actually a silly piece of real estate worth surrendering for a pair of boots. Viva Max
What follows isn’t a war. It’s a farce. The local police, led by a bumbling chief (Harry Morgan, in full Dragnet mode), surround the mission. The Texas National Guard rolls in. A cynical reporter (Pamela Tiffin) turns it into a national obsession. And Max, utterly bewildered by his own success, tries to negotiate by demanding a new pair of boots and a pardon for his horse. The film’s secret weapon is Peter Ustinov, the Oscar-winning polymath who could play everything from Nero to Hercule Poirot. His General Max is no villain; he’s a romantic, a fool, and a surprisingly dignified man trapped in a clown’s scenario. Ustinov plays the role with a twinkle that suggests he alone understands the joke. Critics were brutal
The answer, according to the film’s box office receipts: audiences would rather watch Neil Armstrong take one small step than watch Peter Ustinov take one very silly one. It’s that tonal wobble that likely killed it in 1969
In the summer of 1969, as America was nervously watching the Apollo 11 astronauts prepare to land on the moon, a much smaller, stranger landing was taking place in movie theaters. It was called Viva Max! , and it asked a question no one was ready for: What if a modern-day Mexican general, mounted on a horse and wielding a dress sword, tried to reclaim the Alamo?