George C. Scott tried directing with Rage (1972), a conspiracy thriller reedited, then buried by the studio. Whether due to Warner Bros. meddling or Scott's inexperience, the resultant film is a murky mess. Wyoming rancher Dan Logan (George C. Scott) watches his son Chris (Nicholas Beauvy) become mysteriously ill during a camping trip. Dan is separated from Chris, who dies while Dan is kept for observation. Dan eventually learns that an Army plane accidentally released nerve gas over Wyoming, and hope to cover it up. Dan escapes from the hospital and seeks revenge.
Fittingly, Rage radiates an all-purpose anger. Philip Friedman and Dan Kleinman's script draws on a real incident where the Army accidentally gassed several hundred sheep; certainly its anger about military and corporate collusion is very early '70s. Scott jerks at our heartstrings showing Chris's painful death throes, dogs and sheep falling victim alongside humans. It's unsubtle; so are the villains, amoral scientists who treat the Logans as unwitting guinea pigs.
In the second half, Rage turns into a revenge movie. Dan escapes the hospital, stocks up on rifles and bombs, and launches a one-man vendetta against the military-industrial complex. Unlike The China Syndrome, where Jack Lemmon's rampage is limited and justified, Dan becomes a terrorist murdering cops, soldiers and animals alike. As he kills while racing against his own terminal illness, Rage less resembles Death Wish than hokey sci-fi flicks like The Incredible Melting Man.
Scott's direction bares the mark of freshmen sloppiness. Scenes run several beats too long, there are jarring edits and an overreliance on zooms and close-ups. Slow-motion shots of Dan spilling his coffee or a cat bounding over furniture don't help. At least there's beautiful photography by Fred J. Koenekamp, who worked with Scott on Patton, and an emotional score by Lalo Schiffrin.
Scott's performance, sadly, isn't much better than his direction. He's fine in early scenes as the concerned father and confused victim; his transition to murderous avenger isn't convincing. Richard Basehart's wounded dignity makes an impression; Martin Sheen makes a quietly monstrous scientist. Other players (Kenneth Tobey's grim general, Barnard Hughes' bumbling health expert) aren't so lucky.
Rage isn't focused or disciplined enough to work. It's not expressly political: Weathermen and Oregon militia folk alike can appreciate Dan's outrage. All that's left is senseless violence and an angry cry against an unfeeling system.
