ABSTRACT
I saw The Bridge on the River Kwai (1957) after some delay, so I had plen ty of time to get preconceived notions, first from the massive publicity that preceded its commercial release, second from a careful reading of the reviews, and third from the reading of Pierre Boulle’s book. In short, I finally went to the Normandie Theater somewhat resigned, for I was convinced that I knew everything in advance about the film and its action. This review will first of all be an analysis and explanation of my relative surprise. Within the artistic limits that I shall try to define, David Lean’s film, all things considered, seemed to me to be far more worthy than I had been able to gather from the orgasmic praise of some and the guard ed reservations of others.
