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The Captive Heart (Rank; Universal) is a tribute to the war prisoners (in this case British) who, under grim and unglamorous circumstances, preserved their integrity as men. One prisoner is a major who forlornly misses each year's Derby. One is a blind Scottish boy who tries to break off with his girl. One is an ex-burglar who learns so much decency that he sacrifices repatriation for the sake of a fellow prisoner. One is a Welshman whose aging wife dies bearing their first child. A corporal, his close friend, embodies most of the sterling virtues of England's Common Man.

The film's star (Michael Redgrave) is something more special: a Czech who has escaped from a Nazi concentration camp, and is hiding under the identity of a dead English officer, whose wife (Rachel Kempson) he falls in love with by correspondence. The picture patiently tells the story of all these men--and a few others--from the time of their capture by the Germans in June 1940 to the hour of their release in May 1945.

The movie labors under two handicaps. First, there have been a good many war pictures in which The Group is the hero, and the face of the nation is portrayed through characters chosen from all walks of the nation's life. The curse of this narrative cliche can be dispelled only by unusually original and vivid characterizations. Unfortunately, most of the characters in this film, although well acted, are close to cliche themselves. (One up for the British: most of the wives are plain women and most of the marriages are convincingly beautiful.) The second difficulty: it is all but impossible to communicate the crucial source of a war prisoner's suffering--monotony--without making the movie itself too monotonous to sit through. The makers of this film have not quite solved this dilemma. There is some pretty good suspense, some drama of a routine sort and a fair amount of corn. But life around the camp sometimes seems rather busy and always seems comfortable and jolly.

On the whole, the film has an oddly split personality. As a story of individuals it is at best sincere, ordinary and likable, without exciting much interest. But whenever the individual actors are ignored and the camera watches the hard formations or the listless stragglings of masses of men--or, still better, examines the terrible bleakness of the camp itself under several kinds of weather--the screen comes alive. Some of the shots of the desolate Nazi camp (taken in a real one, Marlag, in the British zone near Hamburg) imply, within a few seconds, months on end of quiet, soul-dissolving misery.

The Barber of Seville (Tespi; Excelsior), made in Italy, is a full-length movie opera. It is a pretty good comedy--dressed up in Rossini's very good music--about a shrewd fixer who helps a love-struck count in his courtship of a girl whose guardian wants her for himself. The course of true love involves a full-throated serenade, a sneaked love letter, a couple of disguises, some comic policemen, and denouements in which the entire company tears around singing its head off. The Italian lyrics are occasionally paraphrased in English captions, and before each act, Deems Taylor explains what is going to happen next.

It has already been proved that Shakespeare (Henry V) can be transferred satisfactorily to the screen, but the sizable problems of transferring opera are hardly recognized in this unpretentious movie. This is merely a conventional stage production modified by equally conventional movie devices. It is good to see singers at close range when they are as engaging to look at as most of these Italian opera stars. All of them are more than adequate within their tradition, notably the Metropolitan's Ferruccio Tagliavini (the Count), handsome Tito Gobbi (the Barber), the smoothest actor, and Comedian Italo Tajo who, as the guardian's villainous henchman, suggests a demented Lionel Barrymore.

The Barber appears to have been made without enough money; the lighting and sets are a little drab, and the recording is not all it might be. Those who prefer a good, fast movie had better stay away. Those who like opera will have a good time at this picture. And even those who regard opera as silly may find that silliness can be enjoyable.

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