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Long dismissed as the last gasp of a great directing career, Fritz Lang's two-part saga of India needs to be rescued from cinema's dustbin. While it has clear limitations, notably the listless actors and shoddy special effects (hard to overlook the fake tiger), this opus is marked by an awesome sense of formal design, immaculate camera composition, and the creeping sense of fate messing up the characters' lives. In the first part, The Tiger of Eschnapur, we delve into the political and personal intrigue that results from a maharaja's infatuation with a temple dancer (sawed-off, sexy Debra Paget). Lang's pacing is deliberate; sometimes the movie resembles an Indiana Jones yarn slowed to a stroll. But as Lang brings the many threads together, the scheme emerges, and the crisp location shooting in India presents a storybook exoticism that, admittedly, has little to do with reality. In the second part, The Indian Tomb, a lovesick maharaja exacts his vengeance. Auteurists will recognize Lang's impeccable eye for screen space and his obsessive concern with the price of tempting fate. Even non-auteurists will appreciate the revolt of the underground leper colony and the cobra dance performed by Paget, who wears something less than a bikini. This is melodrama served up without apology by a director more interested in patterns than psychology. --Robert Horton
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