At the end of The Captain's Paradise, one is left with a feeling of exaltation--not the limp kind of exaltation which follows the portrayal of great feats of daring and triumphs of the human spirit, but the cocky exaltation of one who can conquer all without ever rising above the commonplace. For Alec Guinness, here cast in the pose of Captain Henry St. James, was a commonplace man--of that you may be assured. He guided the packet Golden Fleece across the Straits of Gibraltar much in the manner of any ferry captain. Yet in a happy moment of inspiration he conceived a plan for deriving the fullest enjoyment out of his most ordinary work.

There is no doubt that St. James' was a clever scheme. The path he plied across the straits and through the narrow streets of Karik brought him a life of double marriage and pleasure. Maud in Gibraltar (pipe, slippers, and dumplings), Nita in Karik (wine, dancing, and midnight swims). He was, as one of his crew noted, a genius. But he was also, and this, too, is duly noted, a saint. If things ended badly, it was not his fault in trying to take too much, but in wanting too little. He wanted only a single full life, and when events seemed about to force him into taking two, he nobly offered up his one to set things right.

This picture, then, is an exaltation of the man St. James, of the species Guinness. Of plot there is little, and that little will not bear too close scrutiny. Supporting players abound; they must be there, since a game of such ingenuity demands many pieces that can be moved. If the picture seems to degenerate at times to farce, are there not always buffoons ready to disport themselves at the feet of the great? Guinness' performance is the thing to be seen, to be admired, but to be copied only by one who, as St. James cautions, can maintain his cool grasp when rough weather threatens the passage across the strait.