You know the scene.

Bert Lancaster and Deborah Kerr in a passionate embrace,

rolling on the wet sand as waves crash over them,

and the orchestral score practically loses its

shit with violins bordering on hysteria. It's a cinematic depiction of romance that

resonated so deeply it was for a while the gold standard of showing just

enough sex to titillate a movie-going audience that was desperate to paw each other but stuck

in 50s America. I mean you know what the waves are supposed to be, right?

Right? It's a classic moment in a classic film that to this day is symbolic of true love and also beach sex.

Until you consider what's really going on here.

See, that's First Sergeant Warden in that speedo,

and the lady getting wet is Karen Holmes the

captain's wife so it's complicated on that level but also if you've ever tried

making love in the sand and salt water in broad daylight on a beach in Hawaii, you know the chances

are good that you're going to get at least a rash.

But there's a whole other story going on at the same time.

The incompetent captain has a plan, and it would be really great if the new guy,

private Robert E. Lee Pruitt, played by the smoldering Montgomery Cliff, would just join the

inter-regimental boxing team like he's supposed to, instead of

moping about like a movie star, winching that he'll never box again and only wants to play

the most soulful of all instruments, the Army Bugle.

Add to that, the Academy Award winning and horse decapitating performance of one Frank Sinatra as the incorrigible sidekick, the ageless

...