The past year has been filled with a number of similar movies. The studios gave us not one but two movies about large objects from outer space threatening earth, not one but two animated flicks about ant colonies, not one or two but many movies about fabulously good-looking teenagers being stalked by evil adults; and with the release of Terrence Malick's The Thin Red Line, we have our second film in six months that details minutely what it was like to fight in World War II. But whereas the other movies often felt like carbon copies of each other, comparing Saving Private Ryan and The Thin Red Line is like comparing Chicago in January to Guadalcanal, the setting for Malick's first film in 20 years.
Though the two movies are profoundly different, it's inevitable that
comparisons will be made. And I suspect the typical moviegoer will find
Spielberg's film more satisfying, while the critics will argue passionately
for Malick's. For Spielberg has the advantage of a compelling narrative
with spectacular battle scenes and a clear beginning-to-middle-to-end
story, whereas Malick offers a more challenging narrative with a
meditative and philosophical bent, along with some of the most beautiful
jungle and ocean shots ever seen in movies.
But this comparison is counterproductive. Both films have tremendous strengths and are worth seeing. There's a place in Hollywood film for a movie like Ryan, with its strong sense of plot and technique; and there's a place for Thin Red Line, with its unconventional plot, thoughtful pacing and meditations on the big issues. Critics may wish there were more of the latter, but irritation with Hollywood tendencies shouldn't obscure the great movie Spielberg has made. And audiences may be more comfortable with the former, but there's much to be gained from seeing an incredibly powerful movie like Malick's.
The Thin Red Line opens with a shot of a crocodile slipping into the water while a narrator asks questions more suitable to a philosophy class: "What's this war at the heart of nature? Why does nature vie with itself?" For the next 20-30 minutes, however, the movie details little of nature's war but rather focuses on an idyllic Melanesian community, with gorgeous widescreen shots of the jungle, beach and water. Children play games, adults sing hymns, and the only hint of war is the presence of an American soldier, Private Witt (Jim Caviezel). Why is he here? The movie doesn't tell us, at least not for a while.
This withholding of information is a recurring theme in Thin Red
Line. The audience is often not clear on what exactly is happening, when
things are taking place. One soldier who has had to leave his true love
has a recurring flashback, but the scene seems so idealized it's not clear
whether this is memory, a daydream or a combination. Other characters
suddenly appear out of nowhere with little time for contextualization.
Different voice-overs are spoken repeatedly throughout the movie, but it's
often difficult to match the voice with the character.
Indeed, the film sometimes reminded me of my old calculus teacher, who had been teaching so long she often skipped numerous steps in a problem, leaving the class bewildered. But movies aren't math, despite what many Hollywood flacks would like to believe. The Thin Red Line may not follow a classic three-act script or introduce characters and events in an orderly framework, but that's not the point. Malick is attempting to offer a meditative perspective on war and what it does to nature and to men. Constructing a coherent narrative isn't high on Malick's agenda.
That's not to say the story isn't gripping at times. Most of the movie, which clocks in at 165 minutes, is about a battalion of American soldiers attempting to take an important hill on Guadalcanal. At the top of the ridge is a battery of Japanese machine guns which are ready to mow down everything in their path. The battle sequences, with swooping cinematography from two-time Academy Award winner John Toll (Braveheart, Legends of the Fall), don't quite measure up to Saving Private Ryan but are spectacular nonetheless. And the individual characters-the overly cynical but still effective sergeant (Sean Penn), the sensitive captain who can't stand to send men to their deaths (Elias Koteas), and the hero who leads the charge (John Cusack)-are compelling portraits of men in crisis. Particular mention should be made of Nick Nolte's Lieutenant Colonel Gordon Tall, the battalion commander who's been passed over for promotion and sees this battle as his big chance. I've never been a big Nolte fan, but his performance here-screaming orders into a phone, rallying his men, reflecting on fate-is truly fantastic.
The movie, though, belongs to Terrence Malick. His screenplay, full of soliloquies on love, nature, evil and death, is always thought-provoking and often profound. And though this is a powerful anti-war movie, particularly in showing how war affects the natural surroundings, Malick's direction reveals that there isn't always a simple dichotomy between the horror of war and the majesty of nature. Sometimes, if rarely, war is majestic and nature horrible.
By J. Robert Parks (1/17/99)
