The Jungian thing

Rating: 6/10 (15 May 2016)

Full Metal Jacket's thematic exploration on the duality of man is not buried in the slightest...in one moment Joker (aptly named) even jests about the origin of his 'born to kill' slogan on his helmet and his inevitability at getting his hands stained with blood with war coming. This is not really actual engagement but rather Kubrick being witty. Suffice to say that most wars could end up going down the 'war is hell' pathway where there are no clear moral boundaries and fresh-faced young men are thrust into a chaotic, nightmarish world to cope. In Full Metal Jacket Kubrick has done the same as what Stone did in Platoon; obscure the surroundings in smoke, ash and explosions, give no sense of direction or control, and drop the inexperienced squadron right into the middle of it. Here, they have no idea who or what is shooting at them half the time, and it is terrifying and disorientating, and the film begins to close in on them and their paranoia rather than have it be an external battle.
The frenzy of war also reflects the stylistic shift that Kubrick has created here. First the rigid geometry of the boot camp, the long rows of bunk beds, the spotless surfaces, the coldly-lit corridors that allow for no non-conformity. And then the smoky, shaky battlefields where all sense of purpose and direction is lost. It is no wonder that so many viewers have found the first half of the film so riveting and yet cannot engage with the second half after the soldiers are dropped in hell. But is the raw and senseless portrayal of war really saying as much as it thinks it is? Many war films making the same bait and switch have long relied on the audience expectations, in particularly those who have never been so much as near a battlefield, of it being a precise and action-packed affair, especially with the less serious films paving the way for masculine, adrenaline-filled heroics and balls of fire. But the other extreme is also a bit nonsensical; there is only so much chaos and disorganisation and bodies flying that you can really throw at the screen until the message because senseless. It cannot at any point be an actual substitute for substance, an argument for the listlessness and meaningless experiences of these youths. Apocalypse Now was another film that went along the same lines, but found itself confused and with little to say at the end. But even that had a certain warping of the mind, of the physical and mental being muddled until we knew neither how long nor how far the crew had sailed up river. Here, the scenes are not part of a descent or a journey, but individually compartmentalised. If anything the vividness of the opening boot camp is an anti-climax. It promises the harshness and physicality and broken mentality of the battles to come, and then takes a little detour, if only to give that final extended sequence a little extra punch. Dishonesty is not something that Kubrick would normally be accused of. But here it is, flashy and in our face; Lee Ermey from a low-angle shot, seducing and making the audience clamour for more, and then overshadowing the rest of the film.
Gomer Pyle's fate is perhaps a little less impactful than it might have been in 1987. Back then it was edgy and serious - today these menacing, open- mouthed snarls, the zoom-ins to the dead eyes, the loving whispers to the rifle and the adoration of Whitman and Oswald have all been seen before, so their shock lessens considerably. It is not all lost, simply because Vincent D'Onofrio is excellent. When smirks at his first confrontation with Hartman, and we really believe that he is trying to hide is smirk, but all the same we smirk with him. Kubrick has something to say about violence, and how it is not all that it is chalked up to be. But when Pyle takes a shot at his drill instructor and finally finds satisfaction, the bullet piercing his chest is in slow-motion, and over-dramatised. Later he constructs an elaborate set-piece involving two sets of camera crews, and makes a pointed note at the artificiality of the Vietnam battlefield, but has not realised he has contradicted himself. He has also walked right into a massive oversimplification - it seems the world of Vietnam is separated thinly by two archetypes of solider. One is the blatantly racist and juvenile meat-head like Animal Mother and co., as seen by the martial arts routine of the camera thief, the way they massacre civilians out of a helicopter like a video- game, and the approach towards the prostitute (a funny irony as they later get terrorised by a little girl wielding a machine gun). The other is the saint within a hellhole, Joker as the solitary moralist who does not want to wade into waters until he is too far gone. Kubrick wants to make his inevitable fall agonising, but even that isn't a irredeemable act, but rather a compromise - he is mercy killing the girl to prevent further pain. In one moment a soldier simply steps on a landmine and is blown up. There is no droning of the soundtrack, only silence, and the life is taken from us just like that. But Kubrick is more content to smother the film in the plastic ironies of upbeat pop songs over senseless violence. The squadron marches along soullessly to the tune of Mickey Mouse, but we already knew the tone their lives would take.