The cleverness of the film lies not only in the plot-line but also in the characterisation. Mills is becoming steadily more irrational as he desperately dreams of a beer
"so ruddy cold there's a sort of dew on the outside of the glass".
Meanwhile his well-meaning Sergeant is too careful to make decisive decisions and Sylvia Syms does a great job with that midriff towards the end. With the crafty Quayle in their midst and the enemy closing in around them it seems impossible to imagine how escape can be possible. And with all this set in the relentless baking heat of the desert you'll be left gasping for a beer too.
In a beautiful and famous ending the humanness of the conflict becomes apparent as the Brits pull the stops out for one who’s not there own. This film should have won Oscars on both sides of the Atlantic – why it didn’t was probably lost in the Sahara somewhere…
