Movie Review: Flags of Our Fathers
I enjoyed Flags of our Fathers. I was expecting a Saving Private Ryan-esque film, and there were certainly similar elements. But this film seemed more personal to me, concentrating on men who became faces for something they never asked to be faces for. The film has its issues--the beginning is very stagy and the actors are stiff. But the performances become more natural as the film goes on. The battle scenes are a bit too frenetic, but have moments of real dread (again, Ryan was an inspiration, but I founf the scenes similar moreso to Platoon and Casualties of War). There's a lot of facial acting and quiet moments, especially by Ryan Phillipe. I've always admired Phillipe as a utility player, and his role isn't "showy," but he does a nice job in a role that needed understatement. Jesse Bradford and Adam Beach have broader characters to play, and they do well in their roles. Phillipe sticks with you the most, however. Eastwood does a nice job of subtly relaying the message about the shame of a government manipulating imagery for profit without banging you over the head with his message. I'm not sure I'd call the film innovative, but it's solid. Not sure it's the best picture sure thing anymore.
There were two boys behind me on the packed metro train talking smack about Philly teams and PA in general. They started listing all the teams they hated from Philly . . . "The 76ers, The Flyers, The Eagles, and The Reds." And this point, I turned around and said "The Reds are from Cincinnati. I'm from Philly." That was the end of that. They didn't say a damn word for the rest of the ride. They were rabid Caps fans, which means they're their own punishment. It hearkens me back to how nice people were to me when I was wearing a Cubs shirt, but, really, when I wear Eagles stuff, no one says a damn thing to me unless they're a fan.
There were two boys behind me on the packed metro train talking smack about Philly teams and PA in general. They started listing all the teams they hated from Philly . . . "The 76ers, The Flyers, The Eagles, and The Reds." And this point, I turned around and said "The Reds are from Cincinnati. I'm from Philly." That was the end of that. They didn't say a damn word for the rest of the ride. They were rabid Caps fans, which means they're their own punishment. It hearkens me back to how nice people were to me when I was wearing a Cubs shirt, but, really, when I wear Eagles stuff, no one says a damn thing to me unless they're a fan.