|
“We who have seen war will never stop seeing it,
For most of its 200-year history, the United States of America had never lost a war. From Yorktown to the Korean peninsula, the best our foes could manage was a draw. And – with a few notable exceptions – most movies about U.S. military operations were rousing depictions of courage, heroism and righteousness. Then came Vietnam. Although the U.S. military never lost a major battle, the war ended in early 1973 with a feeble South Vietnamese government in power that could not withstand invasion by the North without continuing American support. By then, the war had become so unpopular that Congress withdrew that support. The communists took over in 1975, and remain in power today.
In 2002, Randall Wallace, celebrated writer of Braveheart and writer-director of The Man in the Iron Mask, turned his eye for history and character to the story of Lt. Col. Hal Moore, Commander of the 1st Battalion of the 7th Cavalry, and the Battle of Ia Drang in 1965 – the first major conflict between U.S. forces and the North Vietnamese Army and Vietcong. We Were Soldiers is based on Col. (later Lt. General) Moore’s memoir, “We Were Soldiers Once… And Young,” written with Joseph Galloway, the reporter who had been in the thick of the battle throughout. Although our opponents are given ample screen time and dimension, the focus of this film is squarely on the noble commander and his heroic troops. As Oliver Stone – whose Oscar-winning Platoon belongs to the earlier generation of Vietnam tragedies – turned the horror of 9/11 into an inspiring story of courage and survival in World Trade Center, Wallace’s treatment of Ia Drang marks the end of the “bad ‘Nam” era, by hearkening back to the stirring epics of John Ford and Franklin Schaffner. This film, however, ain’t no mea culpa.
Stylistically, We Were Soldiers eschews the psychedelic expressionism of Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, the sprawling nightmare vision of Cimino’s The Deer Hunter, and the hypnotic absurdity of Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket. Instead, Wallace offers a straightforward, classical approach. This is not a showy display of bravura cinematic flourishes; Wallace rigorously employs the conviction and discipline to simply tell the story. And with a story as dramatic as this, it’s exactly the right approach. On November 14, 1965, Col. Moore and his 400 men were dropped into the Ia Drang Valley via helicopter (the first combat usage of the famed “Air Cavalry”). As they quickly learn from a captured enemy scout, they’ve landed smack on top of the camouflaged headquarters of an entire North Vietnamese division. Outnumbered more than five to one, the Americans are in a terrific fight for survival from the moment their boots touch the ground.
In many war films, what’s missing is a sense of what illustrates leadership in battle. We Were Soldiers does not make this mistake. Throughout, Moore’s brilliance as an infantry commander is demonstrated, as he counters each move the enemy makes by anticipating their moves, assessing terrain and maneuvering his forces. Wallace also takes the time to depict the skill, tenacity and humanity of the North Vietnamese commander, Lt. Col. Nguyen Huu An (Don Duong). We Were Soldiers obviously abounds in intense, graphic battle scenes. But the violence never feels gratuitous. This is war at its most personal.
One of the most satisfying aspects of We Were Soldiers is its willingness to show a man of faith who calls upon that faith in times of greatest stress. In most movies, ordinary men and women are placed under extraordinary pressure; this is what makes for good drama. But it is rather rare for those characters to turn to God – which makes for a profound disconnect between the films and their audience. Americans, generally, believe in God. And when the chips are down, they pray. That’s what Col. Moore does, without preaching or maudlin sentiment, but also devoid of easy cynicism. Interestingly, We Were Soldiers was filmed entirely in the U.S. There are none of the picturesque rice paddies and creepy jungles of previous films. And – perhaps surprisingly – it doesn’t matter. Having never been to the central highlands of Vietnam, this essayist has no idea if the scrub oak forest depicted in the movie is accurate or not. But this is not a travelogue. The strength of the film is not in capturing the exotic feel of a distant land, but in clearly and powerfully depicting the horror and heroism of war, the men who fight it, and the women who love them. Charles Robert Carner is a writer, director, and producer for film and television, and a member of Catholics in Media Associates. Charlie was a member of the SIGNIS jury at the Venice Film Festival in 2006. |
The Horror and Heroism of War
Over the next twenty years, many major Hollywood movies dealt with Vietnam, most emphasizing the futility, insanity, tragedy and failure of the war. An entire generation of Americans considered the war a mistake, and its price too high. It was, to most filmmakers, a sad chapter in the annals of the American experiment.
Col. Moore (Mel Gibson) is depicted as a deeply religious man, proud of his diverse soldiers – who are the living embodiment of the American melting pot and the principle of “E Pluribus Unum”. Mel Gibson delivers a powerful performance of a committed, disciplined warrior who hopes being a good soldier helps him be a good father – and vice-versa. Sam Elliott, reviving memories of Victor McLaglen, superbly portrays Moore’s hard-bitten Sergeant Major Plumley, unleashing a plethora of fabulous one-liners, from “If one of you sumbitches calls me Grampa, I’ll kill ya,” to “If they’re close enough to kill us, we’re close enough to kill them,” and “Gentlemen, prepare to defend yourselves.” When Moore wonders what was going through the mind of his long-ago predecessor, George Armstrong Custer of Little Big horn ill-fame, Plumley says, “Sir, Custer was a [sensitive part of the female anatomy]. You ain’t.”
Over the next three days, the Americans hold fast against overwhelming odds, withstanding repeated waves of savage attacks. Then, when they are about to be destroyed, Moore orders a surprise counterattack. Supported by the last-minute arrival of air cavalry choppers, the bold maneuver pays off. The North Vietnamese are forced to abandon their command headquarters and withdraw. Moore himself is the last to leave the field.
The film also takes the time and trouble to depict the lives of the families left behind in bucolic America, while their men are fighting and dying 10,000 miles away. This provides relief from the battle scenes, and a heart-wrenching emotional dimension to the human cost of the conflict.