The Greatest Trick

“God promised Abraham he would not destroy Sodom if he could find just ten righteous people in it. I am afraid that for Germany, it may come down to one.” So says Kenneth Branagh’s Major General Henning von Tresckow in director Bryan Singer’s Valkyrie; a film that finally tells the true story one of World War II’s great unsung heroes Colonel Claus von Stauffenberg, and those like von Tresckow who conspired with him to assassinate Hitler in his bunker at the Wolf’s Lair.

As Stauffenberg, Tom Cruise is perhaps not the ideal choice, but I maintain that he is underrated as an actor, and nevertheless good in the role. He is ably supported by Branagh, Bill Nighy, Tom Wilkinson, Terence Stamp, Eddie Izzard, Tom Hollander, Thomas Kretschmann and David Bamber among others. Much has been made of their non-German accents, but I found the US and British voices generally did not detract from the story.

Singer’s film has been steeped in controversy and troubled production history. He was not allowed to shoot at various historic locations in Germany as the Germans have a particular dislike for Scientology (Tom Cruise’s religion of choice). This somewhat irrational reason for putting a spanner in the works (its not as though this film has anything to do with Scientology) meant Singer had to compromise. But that was not the end of his problems. Early test screenings were not good, and reshoots were ordered.

Typically such problems mean the finished result is garbage, but despite bad reviews, I am going to fight a rearguard action on this one. Although it has a slightly awkward first half hour, Valkyrie quickly improves once the conspiracy is underway. The audience may know the ending, but Nathan Alexander and Christopher McQuarrie’s screenplay builds up considerable suspense, and certain sequences really underscore how the coup could have gone either way. One sequence in particular, involving teletypists, shows how minor workers in the Reich held the balance of power in their hands, deciding which of the contradictory orders they were receiving to pass on. These contradictory orders had to be enacted by the officer in charge of the reservists (the brilliant Thomas Kretschmann, who deserves a special mention for his pivotal role).

On a moral, spiritual level, this is exemplary – a true story from history about bravery, conscience and when it is right to rebel against authority. One is reminded of when the apostles said they must obey God rather than man when the law of the land is immoral. Everything Stauffenberg does is for the good of Germany, because he knows the only way to truly serve its interests is to get rid of the Fuhrer. That he failed makes him no less heroic.

In final analysis, this is a flawed but tense thriller, well worth a look and certainly a lot better than critics have said.

Simon Dillon, February 2009.

Waltz with Bashir was on my to-see list late last year, but it only recently arrived at my local arts cinema, hence the lateness of this review. Anyway, it’s an extraordinarily bold, shocking and visually stunning animated documentary and further evidence that animation is not always for children. Rather amusingly, Ratatouille/The Incredibles director Brad Bird once threatened to punch the next person he met who referred to animation as a genre. It is merely a technique, and one that is employed here to phenomenally innovative effect.

Based on a true story, the film is about writer/director Ariel Forman, who fought in the Israeli/Lebanon war of 1982, but has no memory of it. Throughout the story he attempts to piece together fragments of his repressed memories by interviewing those who fought alongside him, and gradually it becomes clear that he was present at a terrible massacre which so traumatised him that he was unable to remember it.

The extraordinary animation is used to riveting, brilliant effect. Whether depicting a rain swept Tel Aviv, hallucinatory visions and dreams, fierce battles, or the stunning opening where a pack of snarling dogs charge towards the camera, it really is impossible to find a film to compare this to. On a purely visual level alone, Waltz with Bashir is a mesmerising triumph with a level of detail that really needs to be seen on a big screen to be appreciated.

It’s worth making clear that Waltz with Bashir is not a political film. There have been some misguided attempts to nail it down as both pro and anti Israeli when it is neither. This is not an attempt to whitewash the Israeli Defence Force, nor condemn them outright. Critics have said Ariel Forman failed to contextualise the Israeli/Lebanon war by explaining its origins, and as someone sympathetic to Israel who gets continually frustrated with the general level of ignorance about these events, I can understand – to a degree – this point of view. Waltz with Bashir does not detail the years of violent attacks against Christians by the PLO (they had migrated to Lebanon after King Hussein kicked them out of Jordan in the early 70s), nor does it speak of the thousands of Lebanese Christians who were forced to flee as a result of that and Syria’s involvement.

However, with this context or not, such events do not in any way justify the appalling war crimes perpetuated by the Christian Phalangist militia who killed around 800 civilians or more at Palestinian camps. It is right and proper, in my opinion, both to bring these events to light, and (in the case of the IDF) to demonstrate that standing by and allowing such atrocities is a great sin of omission. An interesting historical footnote is that Arik Sharon, who in the film is shown to have had the power to intervene and stop the atrocities, was eventually found personally responsible for not stopping it by an Israeli commission investigating the massacre.

However, as previously stated, this film is not about politics or borders but morality. Yes, it’s about the appalling damage war inflicts on those who fight in them, psychologically as well as physically, but it is even more than that. It is, above all, a profound meditation on personal responsibility and a clear demonstration that regardless of the rights or wrongs of a military cause, murder is always murder. To call oneself Christian, then shoot unarmed women and children and carve bloody crosses on their chests, is about as far from true Christianity as it is possible to get.

This astonishing animated documentary is a genuinely unique piece of cinema that offers no easy answers and really forces its audience to think. There never has been, nor, I suspect, will there ever be a film quite like it. It is therefore a great shame to have to report that in spite of the undeniable technical and artistic brilliance, there is one moment that really ought to give Christians pause as to whether or not they see this. In said sequence, an Israeli commander is watching a pornographic film which although animated and played for laughs, is nevertheless unjustified, gratuitous and leaves nothing to the imagination. There is nudity elsewhere in the film, but in a non-sexual context and unlike the afore-mentioned scene it did not seem gratuitous. Obviously there is also violence, much of it shocking, but in this post Saving Private Ryan era, the level of blood and gore actually seemed comparatively restrained.

In final analysis, on a purely artistic level, this is an absolutely outstanding achievement. However, in light of the scene mentioned above, most if not all Christian audiences really ought to avoid this, or at least exercise extreme caution if viewing. This is a great shame, as it spoils an otherwise extraordinary film.

The Manchurian Candidate was originally made in 1962, and starred Frank Sinatra as Captain Ben Marco, recently returned from the Korean War and troubled by strange dreams which lead him to question what actually happened when his platoon was ambushed. It touched on interesting subjects, such as brainwashing and the anti-Communist paranoia prevalent at the time, and was an effective thriller, if not exactly the most world-shattering movie event. This remake updates the setting to the Gulf War, but loses most of the interest along the way.

Marco, played this time by Denzel Washington, is suffering from strange dreams and the general feeling that things aren’t right. This is due to the fact that Raymond Shaw, former army buddy and winner of Congressional Medal of Honour for single-handedly saving their platoon during an ambush, is about to become Vice-President (manoeuvred into position by his mother, played by a grand-standing and scenery-chewing Meryl Streep). As Marco investigates his plight, and the events surrounding the ambush, it becomes clear that what he thinks happened is not the whole truth, and that he has to get to Shaw, who seems much less aware that his past is largely fabricated.

The problem is that we just don’t care enough. There are elements of the story that are supposed to be plot twists, or at least moderately surprising, but they just aren’t because of how the plot is set up in the first 40 minutes or so. In fact, from the moment that the viewer meets the three or four central characters, it is totally obvious what has happened in Kuwait several years ago, and the steps that have been taken to get where they are today. Washington is, as ever, dependable (read: dull), and Liev Schreiber as Shaw does a perfectly good job, but doesn’t really have a great deal to get his teeth into (unlike Marco at the end of the scene where they eat and chat together - about the only spark of surprise I felt while watching!) Meryl Streep was pretty unbelievable most of the time, from the patriotic yelling to the creepily intimate scenes, and the climax of the film, which was where the original really racked up the tension, was just lame and predictable. The most interesting thing about it, especially given the events of the past few weeks, is how it showed the circus-like nature of American politics, and how showbizzy it all is.

It felt too long, and yet at the same time was too quick to get into solving the central mystery - there was not enough distress for Washington before the pieces started to come together. And frankly, there was not enough distress for the viewer either - I felt totally distanced from the action and mostly bored. By some miracle I didn’t actually fall asleep, but maybe that’s more to do with watching it at a decent time of the evening! In terms of violence, there is some - some of the characters’ brainwashing is used to assassinate others - but other than that there is little to offend. Little to recommend it with, either.

Widely tipped for Oscar success, Atonement has been given rave reviews just about everywhere. However, after viewing it last night, I must confess a certain amount of disappointment. I don’t dispute the quality of the performances or direction, both are first rate. It’s the story itself I have issues with. Having never read Ian McEwan’s novel on which it is based, I can’t be sure if these narrative problems were inherited from the source material, but I can say that as a film, Atonement isn’t the masterpiece many are claiming.

The delicately balanced plot begins in a kind of pseudo-EM Forster environment, during the hot summer of 1935, thematically echoing novels like A Room with a View, Howard’s End or A Passage to India (and their respective film adaptations) with its beautiful, rich, sexually repressed characters going bonkers in the heat.

To say too much about the plot would be unfair, suffice to say it involves a tragic series of misunderstandings between thirteen year old Briony Tallis (Saoirse Ronan), her sister Cecilia (Keira Knightley) and Cecilia’s lover Robbie (James McAvoy). These eventually lead Briony to falsely accuse Robbie of a terrible crime he didn’t commit. The tragic repercussions affect all three for the rest of their lives.

The first act is absolutely superb. Not since the heyday of Merchant/Ivory has an atmosphere of erotic danger been so richly and vividly conjured. Bizarrely, I was also reminded of the eerie, dangerous magic of Peter Weir’s early films including Picnic at Hanging Rock. The second section, during World War II, felt more uneven, despite a superb five minute tracking shot through the horror of Dunkirk (perhaps intended as homage to the famous crane shot in Gone with the Wind where Scarlett walks into a sea of injured Confederate soldiers). At no point during the war sequences does the audience actually see any combat, but only its bloody aftermath. As an aside, this is a story that rightly celebrates the heroism of the nurses who dealt with such a profoundly traumatic deluge of horrific injuries.

This ought to be the film that silences the “Keira-Knightley-can’t-act” brigade (it has to be said, a largely female group). Why people ever thought she couldn’t act is beyond me. I’ve always found her engaging (even in the dreadful Pirates of the Caribbean sequels), and here she is superb. James McAvoy, in his third outstanding performance this year (after The Last King of Scotland and Becoming Jane), is equally good. But best of all is Saoirse Ronan, playing the thirteen year old Briony. If Atonement deserves an Oscar for anything, it’s for her amazing and frankly terrifyingly intense portrayal of a precocious, emotionally immature confused girl whose imagination gets the better of her. Romola Garai and Vanessa Redgrave are also good as older incarnations of the character, but neither matches Ronan’s astonishing screen presence.

Joe Wright directs with considerable flair, not only with the Dunkirk tracking shot mentioned earlier, but in the way he ensures the multiple points of view don’t become incomprehensible. Cinematographer Seamus McGarvy appropriately contrasts lush, opulent colours at the country house with steely, grim tones for the war. Editor Paul Tothill ensures things never get boring, and Dario Marianelli contributes an interesting music score that neatly ties into the typewriter sound effects that punctuate key points in the narrative.

Which brings me back to my overall objection to Atonement: the ending. To my mind, the final act, set in the present, is a let-down. Make no mistake, I am a complete sucker for melancholy and/or tragic romantic epics (Casablanca, Gone with the Wind, Brief Encounter, Doctor Zhivago, Far from the Madding Crowd and The Remains of the Day are all among my all-time favourites), but Atonement gets a bit too post-modern, and, without giving anything away, tries to have it both ways.

Other reasons some audiences will want to steer clear include sex scenes, graphic images of war injuries, and extremely (and I do mean extremely) strong language. Personally, I think there is a very strong case for saying the above material is contextually justified, but it will nevertheless put some people off.

In short, Atonement is superbly acted and directed, it’s never boring, and for the most part the plot engages. But the ending simply isn’t satisfying, and that is why, for all its undoubted merits, I am filing it under “overrated”.

Simon Dillon, September 2007.

No, not the title of an obscure American indie feature (although perhaps it should be), but an indicator that we haven’t reviewed anything fully for some months and have gotten behind. So the following will also not be full reviews, but snapshots which we really want comments and questions on.

Knife in the Water (1962, drama/thriller, 3 stars) - The first feature film directed by Roman Polanski, his only Polish-language production and a pre-cursor to several more modern thrillers by other film-makers, and I’m thinking most readily here of Dead Calm and The Talented Mr Ripley in its plot and themes. A middle-class married couple, he middle-aged and she a fair amount younger, nearly run over a young hitch-hiker carrying a hunting knife and an attitude. Instead of just giving him a lift to his destination, they invite him to spend a day with him on their small yacht, for no discernible reason other than to patronize him. The young man takes all he can get from them, however, in more ways than one, and when competition between old and young men turns more serious, the tension racks up and the stakes are distinctly raised. Despite the wide-open vistas of the lake and surrounding land, it is claustrophobia that one feels more than anything, and that boat looks like the smallest living space ever when there is just one sailor too many.

Alien Autopsy (2006, comedy, 3 stars) - Ant and Dec star in a film documenting the facts behind the alien autopsy hoax revealed in 1995 regarding the dissection of an alien body found in the Roswell crash of 1947 (but it’s not a documentary, clearly). They are the 2 hoaxers, who just happen to come into possession of some sensitive film and see an opportunity to use it. It’s a good laugh, won’t challenge anyone but is most suitable for a Friday night’s viewing with some popcorn. Ant & Dec aren’t really actors any more, even though they started that way in their teens; they just play their charming selves and that’s enough for this story.

Kingdom of Heaven (2005, war/”historical”, 1 star) - Alien. Blade Runner. Thelma and Louise. Gladiator. Ridley Scott directed all these films, and each one is VERY highly thought of in filmic circles, even if they might not be to your tastes. I love all of them except T&L, which I’ve only seen the once. What I refuse to believe is that he also “directed” this unbelievably stinking messy pile of a movie, AND gave it a spiritual-sounding name!! I don’t think I have ever seen a bigger waste of resources thrown together to make a movie that clearly cost a lot of money to end up with such a shoddy result. Problems - there is no plot (need I go further)? No, seriously, until 3/4 of the way through I had no idea what the characters’ major objective was, or their main obstacle either. It was just a film where stuff happened. Orlando Bloom (or, as Mark Kermode regularly refers to him, Orloondo Bland) will never be as interesting and promising as he was in Lord of the Rings, and he couldn’t do anything with the lack of character given to him by the script here. A perfect marriage of crap material and uninspiring actor. I had half an idea that the battle scenes might be worth watching from such a visual master as Scott - I fell asleep during them. UNBELIEVABLE! Watch Gladiator for evidence that Scott can do this brilliantly - what the hell happened? My time is precious to me these days, especially leisure time, and I actually feel angry with Ridley Scott for stealing an evening from me with this indescribable pap.

More mini-reviews to follow soon…

Several years ago I attended a boxing match with some friends. I didn’t know quite what to expect and half wondered whether I would find my sensibilities too delicate for the gladiatorial spectacle. However, I needn’t have worried. Within minutes, all pretensions of being civilised evaporated and I was howling for blood with the rest of the crowd.

I had much the same trepidation about going to see 300, director Zack Snyder’s adaptation of Frank Miller’s graphic novel about the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 B.C, where three hundred Spartans stood against the vastly superior numbers of the Persian army. But again, within minutes I was completely sucked into the thrillingly blood-soaked battles. Watching 300 is the modern day equivalent of watching the Roman games, and its popularity puts a magnifying glass on the unfortunate baser instincts of human nature, for which I must put my hands up and plead guilty.

Make no mistake – this is absolutely not for the faint of heart. Heads, limbs and other body parts are hacked are severed throughout. Blood splashes in all directions and the highly stylised violence will challenge even the hardiest viewer. This is not a film where warfare is depicted realistically, nor one that wants to say war is hell, but in fact the exact opposite. Indeed, 300 is so steeped in the courage of its militaristic convictions that one almost finds oneself nodding in agreement that gruesome death in battle is the highest possible honour.

It seems pointless to descend into sanctimonious ramblings about gratuitous violence (not to mention sex and nudity) when everything about this film is gratuitous. Subtlety, understatement and complexity are not to be found, yet the carnage is so overheated and intense that somehow it goes beyond the point of being gratuitous and seems to become art. Which makes sense, since this has the look and feel of the comic book on which it is based (much like the other Frank Miller adaptation, Sin City).

To be fair, there is a smidgeon of positive moral and spiritual content amid the severed limbs. A curious spiritual warfare allegory in a couple of scenes has Xerxes trying to tempt Spartan King Leonidas with untold riches if he would only bow to him, which has vague Biblical echoes of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness by Satan. On a less spiritual note, it’s impossible not to admire the Spartans for their bravery and honour.

Although the acting is pretty much one-note, it’s a very good note. Gerard Butler is terrific as King Leonidas. Dominic West provides good support as Theron, Rodrigo Santoro makes a suitably odious King Xerxes, and as Dilios David Wenham’s performance and narration are both spot on. On the other hand Lena Headey doesn’t really have much of a chance to shine as Queen Gorgo, simply because the battle is so much more interesting than her boring subplot in which she tries and get the corrupt Sparta council to send in the army as back up.

It seems utterly redundant to say that this is a visually stunning film, art directed to within an inch of its life. The colour palette carefully matches that of the original comic, and the use of CGI has a deliberately larger-than-life feel. In places, one is even reminded of Sauron’s army in The Lord of the Rings since Xerxes has what appear to be orcs, trolls and giant elephants at his command. The sound effects and Hans Zimmer-esque music score (Tyler Bates) are surprisingly effective, and the end credit title sequence is superb.

Interestingly, the Iranian government have attacked this film because of its depiction of the ancient Persians. Given how 300 is clearly intended as an American right-wing fantasy (with immaculate Aryan warriors fighting dark skinned orc-like freaks), this offence is understandable, but I can’t say I particularly sympathise, especially since it is so removed from real life, and also given recent current events. Anyway, I doubt 300 will make anyone a racist – they’ll be on too much of a high from the adrenaline charged fights to read anything into it.

To summarise, if you’re even remotely squeamish, avoid 300 like the plague. If you’re a historian, you’ll be annoyed at the many liberties taken. If you’re looking for thought provoking drama look elsewhere. But whilst I can’t in good conscience recommend this to anyone, I also have to admit that, like the boxing match I attended, I enjoyed it immensely.

Simon Dillon, April 2007.

Clint Eastwood’s Letters from Iwo Jima was originally conceived as a companion piece to Flags of our Fathers, designed to show the battle from the point of view of the Japanese. It was expected to be a relatively minor work, and that Flags of our Fathers would overshadow it. But it was Letters from Iwo Jima that got the unanimous critical acclaim and Best Picture nomination. Not only is it the superior picture by far, but it also has the potential to be regarded by future generations as highly as All Quiet on the Western Front, Paths of Glory, Das Boot and other classic war films.

Where Flags of our Fathers was sprawling and incoherent, Letters from Iwo Jima is tight and focused. Unlike its predecessor’s insights into the nature of heroism which weren’t all that remarkable, Iwo Jima is by contrast profound, understated, meditative, melancholy and moving. Its unique strength is in the way it doesn’t conform to war film cliché, and refuses to paint the Japanese as the stereotypes viewers have seen in countless other works.

It is this very strength that has been attacked by some sections of the US right-wing press (some of them unfortunately Christians), accusing the film of being historically revisionist and anti-American. But the point made by Letters from Iwo Jima and less effectively by Flags of our Fathers, is that there is good and bad on both sides in any war, and regardless of how noble the cause may be war is always hell. Scenes of Americans shooting surrendering Japanese because they are too inconvenient to guard may have ruffled a few feathers across the pond, but sometimes this was what happened.

The performances are all beautifully understated. Ken Watanabe in particular is splendid as the essentially decent General Kuribayashi, whose unorthodox strategy to dig tunnels deep within the island meant the Japanese were able to hold out far longer than they would had they dug their trenches on the beach. Kuribayashi is vilified by some of his men as an American sympathiser, because he had spent time in the US prior to the war, and because he refuses to order his men to kill themselves when all is lost.

Equally good if not better is Kazunari Ninomiya as Saigo, a baker who has been conscripted but desperately wants return to his wife and the daughter he has never seen. Ryo Kase also provides fine support as ex-military policeman Shimizu, as does Tsuyoshi Ihara in his role as Baron Nishi, a former champion at the 1932 Los Angeles Olympics. Ihara has a key scene where he treats a wounded American soldier, the outcome of which is both heartbreaking and morally profound in the way it underlines the entire point of the film. Both Japanese and American soldiers have mothers who write letters encouraging their sons to “do what is right, because it is right” and that is what both sides believed they were doing.

However, despite showing their humanity, Eastwood does not flinch from depicting the patriotic code of honour that caused countless Japanese to commit suicide rather than surrender. One particularly grisly sequence where soldiers in a cave blow themselves up with hand grenades neatly links in with a scene from Flags of our Fathers where the remains of the same soldiers are discovered by American troops. Speaking of which, it hardly needs to be said that this is a graphically violent film, but none of the blood and gore is gratuitous.

Clint Eastwood once again demonstrates his superlative old-school skills as a director. His straightforward, no-nonsense approach is always a breath of fresh air in a market saturated by “attention-span-of-a-goldfish” pacing and whiplash MTV 18-frame cut editing. By allowing the audience time to get to know the characters in the leisurely opening section, the subsequent tragic vignettes within the battle are all the more poignant. The battle scenes themselves, although effective, are relatively brief and the film is all the better for it. Instead of opting for endless spectacular visuals, Eastwood concentrates on his character’s individual stories, punctuated by the occasional brief but well-deployed flashback.

Iris Yamashita and Crash writer/director Paul Haggis provide an excellent spare screenplay, based on Tadamichi Kuribayashi’s book of transcripts from a cache of letters written by Japanese soldiers that was recently found buried on Iwo Jima. Cinematographer Tom Stern gives the film a dark, stylish look with appropriately muted colours (a war film convention ever since Saving Private Ryan). Kyle Eastwood and Michael Stevens provide the film’s minimal but effective music score.

Ultimately, this is a superb, dramatically satisfying but quietly devastating film. The humanity of the characters resonates deeply as they joke, tell stories, and fight what they know is a hopeless battle. There is a profound sense of loss as each goes to his inevitable death and as I’ve already said, this is a war film that could one day be regarded as a classic. Please don’t be put off by the Japanese subtitles, go and see it.

Simon Dillon, March 2007.

Clint Eastwood’s most recent directorial project Flags of our Fathers is a sombre, meditative fact-based war film concerning the battle for Iwo Jima in World War II, and how three soldiers came to be regarded as heroes simply for appearing in a photograph which showed them raising the American flag. This photograph proved to be excellent morale raising propaganda back in the States, and was even turned into a famous memorial statue in Washington DC after the war.

The film tells the story of John Bradley (Jesse Bradford), Rene Gagnon (Ryan Phillippe), and Ira Hayes (Adam Beach), three of the soldiers who appeared in the photograph. Following the battle to secure Iwo Jima, they are ordered to return to the States to help raise money to cover the ever escalating costs of the war by giving interviews and appearing at functions where they are endlessly praised as heroes.

Bradley is ambivalent about his new found celebrity status, and simply sees his task as following orders. Gagnon attempts to take as much advantage of the publicity as he can, as does his fiancé Melanie (Pauline Harnois). But Hayes feels guilt-ridden and slides into alcoholism because he cannot see why he should be regarded as any more of a hero than his comrades simply because he appeared in the photo.

The fascinating facts surrounding the actual flag raising are later revealed as it becomes clear one of the soldiers in the photo who later died was misidentified. Furthermore, for complicated reasons, the actual flag raising was done twice, which is what led to the confusion over exactly who was in it. These factors all contribute to Hayes increasing despair, and ultimately when the war is won, his tragic fall into obscurity provides the most interesting dramatic arc of the film. One particularly poignant moment sees him being refused alcohol in a bar in spite of his status as an all American hero, because he is a Native American.

The film is structured in rather awkward flashbacks, and certainly feels too long. A framing device involving Bradley’s son investigating his father’s life seems tacked on and as a result falls flat emotionally.

On the plus side, performances are all good, especially from Ryan Phillippe and Adam Beach. There are also some good bit parts from the likes of Robert Patrick, Barry Pepper and Jamie Bell. The battle scenes are both epic and appropriately gritty. Steven Spielberg, who acts as producer on this film, redefined the look of the war film with Saving Private Ryan, and visually this continues the trend of fierce graphic violence, muted colours, and hand-held camerawork. But Eastwood tries to make the film his own by introducing swooping shots of the battleships and warplanes which give the film a more epic feel. He doesn’t succeed entirely, and the mixture of old-school war epics and post Saving Private Ryan documentary realism feels a bit like attempting to mix oil and water.

On the whole, Flags of our Fathers is a modest success. It’s good, but not as powerful or moving as it should be, and at times veers dangerously close to the “worthy-but-dull” category. Its insights into the nature of heroism are interesting, but not terribly profound. It makes the obvious points that it was a necessary evil to make heroes out of those men, but that war is hell, and the real heroes are those who died. I am looking forward to seeing Letters from Iwo Jima, Eastwood’s companion piece due out next year, which apparently tells the story from the side of the Japanese. By all accounts, it is a far more interesting picture than Flags of our Fathers.

But if you do see this, see it on a big screen, and stay for the closing credits which contain photographs from the actual battle for Iwo Jima. These are far more haunting than anything Eastwood has staged.

Simon Dillon, December 2006.

For anyone who isn’t aware, the stress is on the ‘one’ of the title, not any other word, as the action centres on the US Army First Division, (five members of it specifically) who wear a red 1 on their uniforms. Apparently director and writer Sam Fuller carried this story around with him for several years, following his experiences as an American GI in WWII, and it’s dead obvious - it’s extremely episodic, and doesn’t really have a focus beyond “this happened, then this happened, and then we did this and talked about this”. With one exception, perhaps, that being the journey taken by Mark Hamill’s character (the actor riding high in the middle of the Star Wars saga when this was made).

It begins with an assault on North Africa, where we are introduced to the unnamed sergeant played by Lee Marvin (seemingly in a totally different, higher-class film to all the other actors) and his four cocky comrades who just can’t get killed. From there they storm a beach, battle tanks and evade snipers in Sicily, then are involved in Omaha on D-Day and we follow them as they push on through Belgium, Germany and finally to the liberation of a Czech concentration camp. And really, that’s the story. It’s extremely episodic, and might have worked better as a mini-series (which, in my opinion, Das Boot didn’t when it was broken down).

There are some moments of fairly extreme violence and bloodiness, as would be expected from a war film, but lots of the killing is also done with relatively little gore, and swearing is minimal, which makes a change. There are some very affecting emotional notes too, mostly centred around Marvin’s character and how he relates to the children he comes across in particular - he treats them with respect and love, and lots of the film’s heart comes from these moments. But these are isolated incidents in a very messily-directed and poorly-structured film, in my opinion. Fuller makes some very odd editing decisions which did distract; if you’re going to make a “war against nature” picture, à la The Thin Red Line, then fair enough to include gorgeous shots of birds, animals etc. But that’s not what this film is about, so when a tense moment arrives and Fuller chucks in a shot of a pretty bunny rabbit in the snow, it doesn’t make sense. And the depiction of the inmates of the insane asylum was quite shocking by today’s standards; maybe that’s how it actually was when Fuller experienced it, I don’t know, but what you saw showed a terrible understanding of mental illness on the part of the director.

That said, the final sequence focussed around the concentration camp is rightly harrowing, and the actors pull it off well, considering they themselves fully knew of the horrors of the Holocaust when making the film in 1980, but had to play grunts with no idea what they would find when they opened certain doors in that camp. And Mark Hamill is key to this sequence; in the rest of the film, he doesn’t acquit himself particularly well in terms of acting (I really don’t rate him apart from in Empire and Jedi, when by some miracle he was able to pull off good performances), but he just about makes it work at the end.

We nearly turned it off after half an hour, and we would have missed some good moments. But there are much better war films around, ones not hampered by personal experience and a weak-willed editor.

And so the most recent viewing. Should say a lot more about this, and I know Simon will comment extensively, so I’ll keep the review short. The film doesn’t quite hang together as well as many other Spielberg films, and I reckon this is probably due to JG Ballard’s source novel (not having read it, I can’t say for sure). Jamie, rich Brit kid, gets separated from his parents when the Japanese invade Shanghai during WWII. Forced to live by his wits and then in a labour camp, he is obsessed with flying and the Japanese planes, and finds wonder even in the most horrific of circumstances. Christian Bale is brilliant in the role, and totally carries the film at the tender age of 13 or so. But the structure and time frame of the movie can mean it’s hard to engage or get a good handle on the characters around Jamie. Worth watching though.