Von Ryan's Express (1965)

Von Ryan’s Express is the kind of old-school wartime thriller that grabs you by the collar and never loosens its grip, built around a terrific “escape-on-the-move” premise that turns a freight train into both weapon and lifeline. Mark Robson shoots on vivid Italian locations that give the film a lived-in grit, while Frank Sinatra surprises with a steely, pragmatic edge that plays beautifully against Trevor Howard’s wounded pride and stubborn honor. The vibe is lean, tense, and propulsive—more about nerve, momentum, and hard choices than speeches—so each new stretch of track feels like a fresh problem to outsmart. If you want a thoughtful, character-driven war drama, this may feel too much like a high-stakes adventure ride, but if you’re on the fence and crave a smart, muscular escape picture, it delivers the goods.

Von Ryan’s Express is aiming for old-school, crowd-pleasing WWII escapism: a clear mission, a ticking-clock train run, and a star vehicle for Frank Sinatra as a reluctant, hard-edged leader. The problem is it takes its time getting to the good stuff, with a setup that can feel sluggish and more functional than gripping, and it rarely digs deeper than “competent adventure” when you might be hoping for something more emotionally punishing or morally complex. If you want a top-tier war film with sharp character psychology and lasting weight, this may feel a bit limited and tidy. But if you’re in the mood for a straightforward, well-mounted escape thriller with solid tension once it clicks into gear, it’s an easy enough ride.