A Private Matter

I recently felt compelled to pull Saving Private Ryan off my DVD shelf and watch it again. I was simply in the mood for a movie I knew I liked, and I hadn't actually seen it in more than a decade. Perhaps seeing the also exceptional Lincoln had put me in the mood for an earlier effort from director Steven Spielberg.

I've sampled a number of classic war movies over the years, and none of them come close to Saving Private Ryan in my mind. Invariably, the problem for me is the lack of a single narrative. Too often, a war movie seems out to specifically show us that "war is hell," without a specific story connecting the hellish montage. (Saving Private Ryan could even be said to be slightly guilty of this, in its opening 25 minute sequence depicting the assault on Omaha Beach -- which I'll come back to momentarily.) Spielberg's film has a very strong narrative, which also happens to be a very simple and very personal one. Even people who have never known war, or never lost a family member to war, can identify with the core premise of this story.

But if the point of a war movie is to show the horrors of war, Saving Private Ryan certainly doesn't skimp on that just because it has a compelling narrative. That opening sequence on Omaha Beach remains the most terrible and visceral depiction of battle I've ever seen, or could even imagine short of actual documentary footage of real combat. It's not just about the violence (for plenty of films have that), but also about what it shows in conjunction with the violence -- the senselessness of it, the shocking swiftness of it, the mental haze that closes in as the mind threatens to shut down. Of course, I'm fortunate never to have known any of this firsthand, but many interviews with actual World War II veterans at the time of the film's original release confirmed the accuracy of the depiction. Some in fact stated they couldn't make themselves watch the entire sequence, so powerful were the emotions it brought back.

It's not just the opening that so clearly lays out the stakes of war, either. Sequences throughout the film show repeatedly how one bad move can get you killed, and one wrong decision can come back to haunt you. You see the different ways people cope with the situation -- or not, in some cases -- and you see how people are permanently transformed by their experiences.

All this is played out by a stellar cast of actors. Many were well known at the time, but still others have risen to fame since their appearances in the movie. No doubt you know the movie features Tom Hanks, Tom Sizemore, Edward Burns, and Matt Damon. You might have known at the time who Barry Pepper and Giovanni Ribisi were. You might recall the appearance of Ted Danson and Vin Diesel in the film. But did you also know the film has Paul Giamatti, Bryan Cranston, and Nathan Fillion? Did you remember the face of Jeremy Davies when he showed up later on Lost and Justified? It's a perfectly cast company of actors.

In fact, I found in watching the film again that I liked it even more than I remembered, and I wound up moving it upward on my Top 100 List from its former position (at #69) to #42. It remains a solid grade-A movie in my book.

But before I sign off... back in the very (very) early days of my blog, I once alluded to a story from seeing this movie originally in the theater, and promised to relate it later. It's now more than seven years later, but better late than never, as they say. Spoilers of the movie's plot follow, in case you haven't seen it. (You really should.)

One of the more significant subplots of the film involves Jeremy Davies' character of Upham, a linguist who had never seen battle, who is recruited into the company's search. He specifically states that he's never fired a weapon since basic training. Clearly, he's never killed anyone. Halfway through the film, he argues to release a German prisoner when the rest of the group wants to execute him.

At the end of the film, the grand battle to defend the bridge of Ramelle traumatizes Upham. He cannot bring himself to fire his weapon, or even to do more than run about the city without even delivering any of the ammunition he carries. But finally, when the battle is ended and he stands holding several German soldiers at gunpoint, he recognizes the prisoner he argued to release; the German has gone straight back into battle to kill Upham's friends. Upham raises his rifle with a shocking lack of hesitation and shoots the German soldier dead in cold blood.

When I saw the film in a packed theater back in 1998, there was a lady sitting two rows in front of me who let out a triumphant "yes!" at this moment. And I was aghast. I don't generally feel that I want to tell people how they should react to a movie... but I sure felt like if it was possible to have a wrong reaction, hers was it. To me, this was not a moment about Upham finally finding his courage and doing a brave and noble thing; this was a moment about the character utterly and permanently losing himself. Yes, it was horrible that he'd done nothing in battle to save the lives of his fellow soldiers, but that was not a wrong to be righted by a cold execution. From that moment, for the rest of Upham's life, he would be haunted not just by the knowledge of his own inaction in battle, but by the knowledge that he'd abandoned his morals and killed someone -- not in combat, but in an act of murder.

And this woman in the audience was exhilarated to see it. After 150 minutes of the most violent, horrifying, brutal images dramatized in a film. She had what I can only describe as a bloodlust, and it had not been sated. Where I had just witnessed a rending account of the cost of war, she had apparently been watching the latest over-the-top Arnold Schwarzengger action film.

I never really drew any conclusions from the experience, but as you can tell, it certainly stuck with me. I suppose the lesson is that the way some people think is completely different from me. Sure, that's a manifestly obvious point, but demonstrated here in I think a unique way.

Perhaps I'll balance out all this deep thinking by next reviewing a movie that requires no thought at all.