On his last night in West Germany, Bombardier Evans (David Warner) receives command of an artillery outpost. Despite ambitions of becoming an officer, Evans completely fails to control his squad, especially boorish, insubordinate Private O'Rourke (Nicol Williamson). Just when Evans starts getting the measure of O'Rourke, he's completely thrown when O'Rourke attempts suicide.
The Bofors Gun depicts flawed soldiers crumbling under pressure. Evans is shipping out for officer's training in England, yet can't even manage a corporal's guard. His men disrespect him from the start and Evans can't make his authority stick: when O'Rourke assaults a fellow soldier, Evans meekly stands by, as if wishing things to go away. The Bombardier's belated attempts at asserting authority only make things worse. Tough Private Flynn (Ian Holm) and their duty Sergeant (Peter Vaughan) offer to help but Evans (through pride or cowardice) declines, laying the groundwork for tragedy.
Private O'Rourke proves a tragic antagonist. Initially he's just a bully, brawling with his colleagues, flouting orders and boozing to oblivion. But each outrage reveals a deeply wounded man, his outer bellicosity sheltering a deeply scarred man. O'Rourke needs protection from himself, a service Evans can't hope to provide. Too scared to make the smart call, Evans allows O'Rourke to destroy him too.
David Warner (Straw Dogs) is suitably sniveling and inflexible; Evans can't comprehend that things won't go according to script. Nicol Williamson (Inadmissible Evidence) gets a role perfectly suited for his bearish intensity; his O'Rourke's simultaneously a monster and victim, hateful yet pathetic. Ian Holm gets a choice role as Evans' exasperated friend; Peter Vaughan gets some nice scenes as the friendly Sergeant.
When probing its protagonists, Bofors works fine. But McGrath's story never generates the expected momentum, offering intense confrontations without a compelling framework. He weaves a class motif into Evans and O'Rourke's conflict with deft subtlety, but other strands feel less convincing. O'Rourke gets a speech bemoaning the obsolescence of artillery in the Nuclear Age; without setup it's a verbose clunker. And with its limited focus, Bofors just feels too small to grip viewers, not helped by Gold's workmanlike direction.
Maybe The Bofors Gun worked better in its original stage incarnation. On film it makes a fine acting showpiece but an indifferent drama, without the depth or resonance of something like Tunes of Glory. That film engrosses viewers because its central ego clash has a broader impact; Bofors is just a damp squib tragedy with little resonance.