Flags of our Fathers
Tonight, I decided to go see Flags of our Fathers alone. I was dubious about seeing this movie because the title stinks of a nostalgic, nationalistic sentimentality that makes my skin crawl. I am especially sensitive to the mythologizing of WWII after taking a very intense class on the atomic bombings and other events, which took place around the end of the war. That class taught me to take a very critical look at what the history books say. The parallels between the myths created at the end of that war and the unclear, too-clean-cut stories surrounding recent events such as September 11 and the Iraq invasion make me very dubious of anyone trying to preach a black and white historical truth. As a result, I approached this film with a great deal of skepticism.
I must say that I was very surprised. I found the film to be, for the most part, one of the most powerful films about war that I have ever seen. It was conflicted and tortured in the most sincere way. It wove a web of moral dilemmas with no good choices. It dealt more with the lives and emotions of three men caught up in the midst of the sort of myth-making that is simultaneously so destructive and necessary to the formation of national identity.
However, the movie is bookended for about three minutes at the start, and what feels like half an hour at the end by the typical brand of sentimentalist tripe, which pervades so many babyboomers' accounts of their parents' generation. The "my daddy is a hero" epilogue is made all the more rancid by the fact that it follows a movie illustrating the terrible nature of such sentimentalization. This movie is, at the same time, one of the most sincere and most hypocritical portrayals of WWII I have seen.
I am incredibly disturbed by this compulsion we seem to have that requires us to coat anything conflicted and genuine with fabricated saccharine clarity. The film would have been perfect if they had just dealt with the parts set in 1944-5, which were narrated by the veteran. If you go see this film, I would recommend that you walk out as soon as the babyboomer takes over the narration of the story from the vet.
I must say that I was very surprised. I found the film to be, for the most part, one of the most powerful films about war that I have ever seen. It was conflicted and tortured in the most sincere way. It wove a web of moral dilemmas with no good choices. It dealt more with the lives and emotions of three men caught up in the midst of the sort of myth-making that is simultaneously so destructive and necessary to the formation of national identity.
However, the movie is bookended for about three minutes at the start, and what feels like half an hour at the end by the typical brand of sentimentalist tripe, which pervades so many babyboomers' accounts of their parents' generation. The "my daddy is a hero" epilogue is made all the more rancid by the fact that it follows a movie illustrating the terrible nature of such sentimentalization. This movie is, at the same time, one of the most sincere and most hypocritical portrayals of WWII I have seen.
I am incredibly disturbed by this compulsion we seem to have that requires us to coat anything conflicted and genuine with fabricated saccharine clarity. The film would have been perfect if they had just dealt with the parts set in 1944-5, which were narrated by the veteran. If you go see this film, I would recommend that you walk out as soon as the babyboomer takes over the narration of the story from the vet.