Sherwood Price | Through the Shattered Lens

Ice Station Zebra, directed by John Sturges in 1968, slides into guilty pleasure territory like a submarine slipping under polar ice—full of big Cold War ambitions, shadowy spy games, and submarine peril that tease something epic, but so loaded with pacing hiccups, studio shortcuts, and earnest overreach that it ends up a lopsided, lovably messy ride. Sturges had already cemented his rep with crowd-roaring hits like The Magnificent Seven, where a ragtag posse of gunslingers delivered razor-sharp tension and quotable showdowns, or The Great Escape, a WWII breakout yarn crackling with clever schemes, sweaty escapes, and Steve McQueen’s motorcycle glory. Those films moved like a well-oiled engine, every scene stacking stakes and character beats into unforgettable momentum. By contrast, Ice Station Zebra feels like Sturges chasing that same high-wire ensemble vibe—a U.S. nuclear sub, the USS Tigerfish, barreling toward a trashed Arctic outpost—but bloating into a 148-minute sprawl that swaps tight plotting for endless red-lit corridor glares and withheld mission secrets. It’s not in the same league as his earlier triumphs, lacking their propulsive drive and lived-in grit, yet that very shortfall turns it into quirky comfort viewing for fans who dig flawed ’60s spectacle.

The setup hooks you quick: Commander James Ferraday, Rock Hudson’s square-jawed everyman at the helm, gets tapped for a hush-hush run to Ice Station Zebra after a satellite supposedly carrying spy photos crashes nearby. No full briefing for him, just orders to play it cool while three mystery passengers board—Mr. Jones, a buttoned-up British agent with evasive smirks; Boris Vaslov, Ernest Borgnine’s barrel-chested Russian turncoat oozing fake bonhomie; and Captain Anders, Jim Brown’s steely Marine barking orders over a squad of jarheads. As the Tigerfish dives under thickening ice floes, the sub’s innards come alive with flickering sonar pings, steam-hissing valves, and crewmen hunched over gauges in perpetual sweat. It’s claustrophobic gold at first, the hull creaking like it’s got a bad case of frostbite, echoing the trapped dread Sturges nailed in his POW camp classic but without the same spark of rebellion. Then sabotage strikes—a flooded missile bay, a wild plunge toward crush depth—and fingers start pointing. Who tampered with the ballast? Jones with his locked trunk of gadgets? Vaslov’s too-friendly vodka toasts? The Marines itching for a fight? The scene builds real sweat, divers suiting up in the nick of time, but Sturges lets the fallout drag, turning interrogation into a tea party of suspicions rather than the cutthroat blame game his best films thrived on.

These early stumbles set the tone for a film that’s promising yet perpetually off-kilter, far from the seamless revenge rhythm of The Magnificent Seven‘s dusty trails. Production fingerprints show everywhere: rumors swirl of Navy brass forcing script tweaks to glorify their boats, last-minute casting shifts from bigger names to Hudson, and a roadshow rollout with overture, intermission, and 70mm pomp that screams overambition. The Arctic plunge delivers tense highlights—the sub ramming upward through ice chunks like a whale breaching, sparks flying from shorted panels, crew barking damage reports—but lulls follow with tech jargon dumps and characters circling motives without committing to conflict. Hudson anchors it all with unflappable poise, barking commands like a TV dad in a crisis, but he lacks McQueen’s sly charisma or Yul Brynner’s brooding fire. Borgnine hams it up as Vaslov, his accent flipping from gravelly growl to vaudeville schtick during mess-hall ribbing, while McGoohan brings the sharpest edge as Jones, his dry barbs hinting at deeper layers. Brown’s Anders gets muscle but little nuance, leading a Marine crew that feels like stock tough guys waiting for their cue.

Pushing topside, the flaws bloom into full charm. The ice cap arrival unfolds in sweeping widescreen vistas—endless white expanses, howling gales whipping snow devils—but close-quarters betray the soundstage: actors plodding through “blizzards” in lightweight jackets, no puffing breath in the deep freeze, sets that wobble if you squint. It’s the kind of earnest cheesiness that sinks modern blockbusters but endears this relic, especially when the station siege erupts. Soviets drop from the sky in parachutes like deadly snowflakes, scouring the charred ruins for a buried film capsule packed with NATO missile coords. Americans fan out in white camo, trading potshots amid smoke grenades and collapsing tunnels, loyalties cracking as Vaslov’s true colors flash. Ferraday’s cool bluff seals a three-way stalemate, denying everyone the prize in a nod to mutually assured secrets. Michel Legrand’s score surges here, horns blaring over the chaos like a war drum, giving Sturges’ action chops a late workout. Yet even this payoff sprawls, talky standoffs eating screen time where his peak films would’ve sprinted to the finish.

What seals Ice Station Zebra‘s guilty pleasure status is embracing its dated quirks as features, not bugs—hammy all-male bravado, Cold War jitters turned quaint, plot gaps you could park a destroyer in. Sturges conjures submerged panic and frosty fireworks that nod to his glory days, the sub’s practical effects holding up better than some CGI today, but without the narrative steel of The Great Escape‘s tunnel triumphs or The Magnificent Seven‘s mythic standoffs, it coasts on atmosphere over precision. Clocking 148 minutes, it tests patience with filler like extended sail sequences and coy reveals, yet rewards surrender: grin at Borgnine’s bear hugs masking menace, chuckle at the Navy polish glossing gritty potential, savor the sheer balls of staging Arctic Armageddon on a backlot. Howard Hughes reportedly looped it endlessly in his casino screening rooms, and you get why—it’s hypnotic in its wonkiness, a time capsule of late-’60s Hollywood flexing before New Wave grit crashed the party.

Pop this on a stormy night with cocoa and zero expectations, and Ice Station Zebra shines as cozy flawed fun. Sturges’ touch keeps the chills coming amid the clunkers, delivering submarine squeezes, betrayals under the aurora, and a finale with enough brinkmanship bang to forgive the bloat. It’s no peer to his earlier masterpieces, more a quirky footnote, but that’s the hook: imperfect promise wrapped in icy spectacle, begging a rewatch to spot every goofy grace note. For ’60s thriller buffs, submarine nuts, or anyone needing a break from slick reboots, it’s a frosty, flawed feast worth the dive.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

I don’t hear a lot about LAST OF THE DOGMEN, the 1995 modern day western starring Tom Berenger, Barbara Hershey and Kurtwood Smith. I love the movie, and I have for years. My buddy Chuck, his son Carter, and I recently drove up the hill to Fayetteville to watch the Arkansas Razorbacks play football. We had a great day! We ate at the Catfish Hole for lunch and then watched the Razorbacks beat Louisiana Tech 35-14. It was fun (See picture below for the happy crew). We had about a 3-hour drive home so we were talking about things we both love, like the Andy Griffith Show. Out of nowhere, Chuck said, “Do you want to know a movie I love? It’s called the LAST OF THE DOGMEN.” It was the last thing I was expecting to hear. I also love the movie. We talked about it and had a good time, but I made a mental note to watch it again soon. So here we are.

LAST OF THE DOGMEN opens with Sheriff Deegan (Kurtwood Smith) trying to find three escaped convicts in Northwest Montana. Deegan calls in the best tracker he knows, Lewis Gates (Tom Berenger), to go into the mountains to find the convicts. The two men have a history as Gates was married to the sheriff’s daughter, and the daughter died. The sheriff clearly doesn’t like Gates and blames him for his daughter’s death, but he knows he’s the man for the job. With Gates and his genius dog Zip right on their tails, the convicts are mysteriously killed by a group of men on horses who shoot them with arrows. Gates see the men riding off through a fog and is convinced they are Indians. He ends up seeking out the help of Native American historian Lillian Sloan (Barbara Hershey) to help him understand what he may have seen. He’s able to convince Lillian to ride into the mountains with him because he needs a translator if he actually finds anyone, and the two head off into the Oxbow. After a week of roughing it, they’re about to give up when they suddenly find themselves surrounded by the Indian dog soldiers. They’re taken as prisoners to the Indian camp, where the leader of the dog soldiers, Yellow Wolf, has a sick son. It seems he was shot by one of the escaped prisoners. Gates heads back to town to get penicillin for the son, which ultimately saves his life. Gates and Lillian spend some time getting to know and respect this isolated Cheyenne tribe. Meanwhile, Sheriff Deegan, unable to forgive Gates for the death of his daughter, gathers a group of men and they head into the Oxbow to find Gates. Will the Indians be able to have peace and live their lives like they did in the 19th century, or will they be discovered and forced to live out the fates of their ancestors? Well, if you haven’t seen it, just watch and enjoy!

As I said earlier, I’m a big fan of LAST OF THE DOGMEN. I was initially interested in the movie because I like Tom Berenger as a leading man. His SHOOT TO KILL with Sidney Poitier is a big time personal favorite. I also like him in PLATOON, SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME, BETRAYED, MAJOR LEAGUE, SHATTERED, SNIPER and THE SUBSTITUTE. He had been a big sex symbol earlier in his career. By the time of this film, he’s getting a little too old and heavy to be a sex symbol. In THE LAST OF THE DOGMEN, he’s actually very funny, and I really enjoy watching him have fun on screen. I’ll also go ahead and say that I’ve never been a huge fan of the actress Barbara Hershey, but she keeps showing up in movies I love. Outside of this, she’s also in HOOSIERS, and it’s one of my favorites. While there’s something about her I don’t really like, she is pretty good, and I do like her chemistry with Berenger. When they finally share a big smooch towards the end of the film, I liked it. And what can I say about Gates’ Australian cattle dog Zip? He’s an integral part of the story and saves Gates & Lillian’s asses on multiple occasions. At one point in the story, Lillian says “it’s disconcerting to know that the smartest member in our expedition is a dog!” It’s true!

I think the thing I like the most about the LAST OF THE DOGMEN is the idea that a group of Cheyenne Indians could be living out their lives the way they did a century ago. Something about that is romantic and magical to me, and it gave me an emotional interest in the film. Isn’t that why we really love movies? The best ones can reach into our souls and find something that’s valuable to us. I love the idea of Cheyenne Indians living out their heritage and protecting it at all costs. There’s something simple and meaningful about that. Director Tab Hunter really leans into this emotional truth. It’s the only film he would direct, and it seems to share the one message that meant the most to him. Most of us would give anything to have an opportunity to share with the world who we really are. Hunter got that opportunity and shared this movie. That’s pretty cool to me.