LIKE THE Spanish Inquisition and the Salem witch trials, The Communist-hunting of the McCarthy era represents one of those too frequent periods in history when tolerance and rationality were abandoned in the overzealous pursuit of an ignoble goal. Such aberrations in social behavior, because they so unjustly harm the innocent, often inspire potent works of art depicting the struggle of the helpless individual against the demonic forces of the prosecution. The theme is tailor-made for exciting, socially significant theatre and cinema. When done well, the result is a deeply moving classic of the modern stage like Man of La Mancha or The Crucible; when done poorly, the result is a screen disaster like The Front.

The Front is a schizophrenic film. The script attempts to treat seriously a tragic and chilling period of American history when the ideal of personal freedom was subordinated to the fear of a "Communist menace." But the film cannot resist a comic tendency that cheapens and detracts from its political message. Complicating the problems embedded in the script are two extremely talented comedians who find themselves cast in straight dramatic roles which cannot suppress their seemingly irrepressible knack for "getting a laugh." Because it's impossible to watch either Woody Allen or Zero Mostel without expecting a humorous line sooner or later, and because the film's script occasionally obliges them with quips that serve only to destroy the actors' commendable efforts to render their roles serious and believable, The Front fails to fulfill its potential as a film of consequence. Instead, The Front is left as a half-funny, half-serious production that only partially impresses upon its audience the human tragedy of the situation it depicts.

Howard Prince (Woody Allen), A bumbling, inept creature who works as a cashier, is approached by Alfred Miller (Michael Murphy), an old school friend and television script writer who has been blacklisted by the networks. Unable to find employment or have his works accepted for production, Miller asks Prince to serve as a "front" for him. Under Prince's name, Miller's excellent scripts are submitted and readily accepted by the same people who refuse to deal with Miller because they consider him a Communist sympathizer. Soon Prince, now skimming ten per cent profit, begins to front for two other blacklisted writers in addition to Miller. As a fringe benefit Prince attains celebrity status and the attentions of his attractive script editor Florence Barret (Andrea Marcovicci).

Alongside the Prince storyline the film develops the tale of Hecky Brown (Zero Mostel), the leading actor in the show Prince "writes." Brown is under investigation by an ominous character named Hennesey who works in an agency called Freedom Information. (The blatantly fascist-trappings of Hennesey's character and office are an effective touch.) The eventual blacklisting of Brown, because he once marched in a May Day parade, which Hennesey recommends to the networks, provides the catalyst for the remaining events of the film.

The inability of good, decent people to oppose the anti-Communist crusaders is highlighted by the dilemma of Phil Sussman (Herschel Bernardi), the producer who must obey his superior's orders and fire Brown. Despite his moral objections, Sussman complies with the dictates of the blacklist, feeding Brown a phony line about his talents being too overwhelming for the show rather than admit the real reason behind the firing.

Outraged by this episode, Barret quits her job as Sussman's assistant and asks Prince to join her in writing a pamphlet exposing the industry's blacklist. But Prince, content with the benefits he is reaping from the system, has no intention of ruining his secure position. That position, of course, is not as secure as Prince thinks, and he discovers the perilous consequences of the witch-hunt mentality when he, too is investigated by Hennesey and subpoenaed by the House Un-American Activities Committee. His appearance before that committee forces Prince to confront what he has tried to ignore: an obligation to stand firm in his beliefs and pay the consequences.

Prince takes his stand against the evil "grand inquisitors," but the potentially devastating scene is too brief and ends on a somewhat flippant note. Although the film's ending has fine shock value, it fails to fully satisfy the inner frustrations that have built up during the course of the film.

The most effective statement made by The Front comes during the final credits when one learns that the director, Martin Ritt, the writer, Walter Bernstein, Mostel, Bernardi, and two other actors in the movie were all blacklisted in the early '50s. The real impact of the McCarthy period for a moment slips in.

What remains disappointing, however, is that men so directly involved in the blacklist turmoil failed to create a more moving film. Certainly for all of them The Front was a painful labor, but it also must have been a labor of love, filled with lofty purpose and deep emotion. Why, then, such a mediocre product? Although Allen and Mostel turn in excellent performances, neither are quite right for their roles. Allen particularly does not fit in a movie of this type. He is the classic nebbish, but the very qualities that contribute to his comic genius detract from the solemnity of the film. The mere sight of his face and sound of his voice, regardless of the unhumorous context, provokes laughter, interjecting unintentional but damaging levity.

THE MISCASTING of the two lead roles might be tolerable if the supporting cast were not so weak. Bernardi performs well, but the other actors are stiff and deliver their lines with little feeling. Marcovicci in particular damages what could be some of the movie's better scenes. She speaks mechanically, as though reading her part for the first time. Her love scenes with Allen are spoiled by the combination of abominable acting and typical one-liners that belong in Play It Again, Sam, not in a serious film.

Considering the talents involved, The Front probably should have been a comedy. But there was nothing funny about the McCarthy era. People's lives were destroyed by the insanity of the "commie-hunters" and many of the driving forces behind the film were only too well aware of that fact. Compelled by the need to make a poignant statement about the horrors of those years, they nevertheless could not fully resist the comic impulses with which they have been blessed. Unfortunately for The Front, their blessing was the film's curse, and their powerful statement was inadvertently but inevitably rendered ineffective.