The Cost of Fetishing Vietnam

Rating: 9/10 (21 November 2005)

On the surface, there is little to distinguish 'Jarhead' from a dozen other war movies. You see the same first act with the same bullying drill sergeant, the same fatal 'live round exercise', the same punishments in rain soaked and muddy yards. The characters are similarly cliché. We meet the weak bespectacled kid who we worry isn't going to make it, the psychopath who collects body parts, the career military-man who loves (and lives) to fight, the intellectual, the rebel, the cynic. The rules established by 'Apocalypse Now', 'Full Metal Jacket' and 'Platoon' are all clearly in place, laced with the cynical boredom of anti-establishment movies from 'Mash' to 'Buffalo Soldiers'.
However, Jarhead is one of those rare movies that improves on reflection.
The reason that Mendes so willfully embraces so many clichés is to support his claim that all wars, like all war movies, despite the superficial differences of time and setting, are essentially the same. The use of cliché, therefore, is not so much evidence of lazy writing, but a considered strategy for dramatizing the essential sameness of wars, battles and soldiers. Swofford gives voice to this idea in the movie's final moments, "Every war is different, and every war is the sameI am every marine, and every marine is me".
The imagery of Vietnam, despite being 30 years old, IS the imagery of modern warfare. Jarhead is not the first movie to explore the legacy of Vietnam. But more importantly, it addresses the powerful mythologizing and fetishizing of that war, the way it has been reduced to little more than the pop-culture iconography of bedroom posters, music videos, T-shirts and magazine covers. In the mind of every man born since 1970, filed under masculinity, is an image of an unshaven marine in jungle fatigues, with a cigarette clenched in his teeth and an automatic weapon across his lap. The young men in Jarhead embrace the Fetish of Vietnam, reciting whole passages of dialogue from Apocalypse Now and singing along to the music. When helicopters fly overhead playing The Doors at full volume, Swofford looks up in despair and shouts, "That's Vietnam music! Can't we have our own?" Upon returning to the US, receiving a heroes' welcome despite having done nothing but sit in the desert for 6 months, the young marines are greeted by a Vietnam veteran. But they have nothing in common. There is no recognition, no identification, no camaraderie, no shared experience. They shift uncomfortably in their seats, refuse to make eye-contact; looking visibly embarrassed by this ugly reminder that their Vietnam myth is just that  a myth. The scene is one of the most powerful in the movie, as much for what it says about modern America's treatment of Vietnam veterans as much as Gulf War veterans.
Performances are universally outstanding, with Gyllenhall proving once again that he is one of the most talented actors of his generation. Mendes, cinematographer Roger Deakins, and ILM, create a visually stunning, and often surreal, environment. Several scenes are breathtaking and are fine examples of how the successful collaboration of filmmakers and digital artists can attain a level of real artistry.
Jarhead, while at times lacking focus and direction (much like the war it represents), is a brilliant and fascinating addition to an often clichéd genre. I don't know whether the movie's themes are explored with the same depth in the book, but it should not be so surprising that such insight into a very American condition should come from an English director. The British have long dealt with the repercussions of fading power and a dying empire, and it often takes a foreigner to shed new light on an issue so close to home. Whether the Academy will welcome such insight awaits to be seen.