RATING: *****
When I first watched Saving Private Ryan I really liked the
movie, but I didn’t love it. Sure, the Normandy landing scene and the final
battle scene are two of the most amazing scenes committed to film. For those
scenes alone, Steven Spielberg deserved winning Best Director. But I couldn’t
help but think that most of the middle of the movie was very reminiscent of A
Walk In The Sun, the really good, but not brilliant, World War II picture
detailing a military unit going through Italy in search of a bridge to blow up
and in the course of their travails they encounter battle. But between battles,
there is just a lot of talking. Sounds the same, right?
Luckily, and probably because Spielberg is one of my
favorite directors, I stuck with the film and, after repeated viewings, have
accorded it brilliant - if not legendary - status.
Because what I did not get at first was that the real terror
of war was not the battle but the silence between the battles, that time when a
soldier searched for some semblance of normalcy before the bullets began flying
and mortars started exploding around them again.
Having never served, this was lost on me until I asked my dad
who served in the Second World War. Dad got over to Europe just as the war
ended and was part of the post-surrender occupation forces for the most part
but he always had his guard up. “Michael,” he’d say, “you’d just never know
when there’d be an unfriendly.” Dad is 92 and a half now and most of his
marbles are missing but he can still talk about the war. And, by the way, he
didn’t use the word “unfriendly”.
Saving Private Ryan takes its story from that of the
Sullivan brothers, five brothers who served on the same ship in World War II and,
when that ship was sunk, died together.
James Francis Ryan (Matt Damon) has three brothers, two of
whom died during the Normandy landing on June 6, 1944 and another one who died
a week earlier in New Guinea. Chief of Staff General George Marshall plainly
states that James Ryan is alive and he will be rescued and brought home to his
mother.
Captain John Miller (Tom Hanks) is recruited to take his
platoon into France and find Ryan. Miller is Hanks and Hanks is Miller, an
Everyman school teacher who doesn’t want to be there - he sobs in private and
he has tremors in his hand - but for his men he is a rock. Forget about Forrest
Gump or Philadelphia. Miller is Hanks’ most nuanced and fully actualized
character.
The rest of the platoon is made up of actors who look the
part, world weary and battle scarred. From Tom Sizemore as the platoon sergeant
Horvath to Ed Burns as the platoon coward Rieben to Barry Pepper as the platoon
sniper Jackson all of these actors look like the real deal, most likely owing
to the boot camp training Spielberg sent all the actors through, courtesy of
veteran movie technical expert Dale Dye who did the same thing for the actors
in the movie Platoon.
Two of the standouts in the cast are Adam Goldberg, who
plays Private Mellish, and who is involved in one of the most intense scenes
ever filmed and Jeremy Davies who plays the very wet behind the ears Corporal
Upham, a desk jockey recruited into the mission because he speaks French and
German. And Upham is the one who grows the most in the film, despite being
thoroughly scared throughout most of it.
One of the things - out of many - that Spielberg gets right
is the absolute disdain that Hanks’ company has for Private Ryan, a man they
have never met. And once they meet Ryan, they dislike him even more because he
refuses to go home. And you can feel the
disdain for Damon from the other actors as I recall reading that Damon was kept
separate from the rest of the actors during boot camp so no camaraderie would
be felt.
Do they leave him or do they stick by his side. As Sergeant
Horvath says “what if by some miracle we stay, then actually make it out of
here. Someday we might look back on this and decide that saving Private Ryan
was the one decent thing we were able to pull out of this whole godawful,
shitty mess. Like you said, Captain, maybe we do that, we all earn the right to
go home.”
And this sets up the final hour of the film, as Miller’s
platoon joins up with Ryan’s company for the final battle in Ramelle, a
spectacle that needs to be seen to be believed.
Again, Dad didn't see any battles like this but he knows guys who did
and they said it was realistic. Take
that to the bank.
Which leads me to give a brief mention to the incredible
production design and cinematography in this picture. Ramble, where the final
battle takes place, looks like it could be the real thing, a leftover from
World War II that has never been repaired. And the cinematography, dulled and
sepia-toned, gives the film a documentary feel.
So my original opinion of the film has changed and I now
watch this every year, during the first week in June to honor all those who
fought, including my dad, and I find something new with each viewing.
If you’ve never seen it, rush out and watch it - America is
not about politics; it’s about men and women fighting for the country to keep
us free and in a democracy.
If you’ve seen it, watch it again. Your time will not be
wasted.
To those surviving World War II veterans (and from the news stories showing many returning to Normandy for the 75th anniversary, there are quite a few), I salute you on
this, the 75th anniversary of D-Day. We can never repay our debt of gratitude
but we thank you for your service. Never Forget.
For those who died in World War II - and, of course all
other wars defending this great Country, I quote from “the Bixby Letter” referenced by
General Marshall in the film:
I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the Republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of Freedom. Yours, very sincerely and respectfully, A. Lincoln.
5/5
