It's Just So Easy to Misunderstand This Film...

Rating: 9/10 (13 April 2010)

Because of Terrence Malick's sparse, efficient technique - choosing to allow the marvelous images, the nuanced shifts in tone, and the character's own impressions to provide whatever philosophy the film may have - The Thin Red Line is very easily misunderstood. There's very few, if any, moments that one can point to and clearly discern a simple, common, facile attitude. Every scene is an exercise in ambivalence and contradiction. For many people, this sort of complex reasoning is just too troublesome. They grow weary of the process of unwrapping for themselves the curious mysteries of the soul that this film explores. They are the frustrated, angry, bitter ones. I, however, am one of the amazed and thankful ones. It's the most gripping war movie I've ever seen.
It's entirely an expression of the various soldier's psyches. Their personal motives, ambitions and fears assume the foreground, eclipsing the more sensational aspects of war. Troop tactics, martial strategies and national politics are barely recognized. An internal monologue, a half remembered poem, an incoherent rant constitute the bulk of the film's dialog, centering the action within the over strained, cracking minds of the combatants.
Language is the weapon of choice as each soldier battles to retain a thread of dignity, a glimmer of hope. There's no right or wrong, just the possible and the impossible. The impossible is again and again forced upon them, demanding the most elemental, primal responses. Every confrontation is a wasting of precious sanity. Watching someone be eviscerated is only half as terrible as experiencing another man's psychic disintegration. The trauma of baring witness to this slow motion slaughter of the soul surpasses even the most graphic moments of carnage.
The cast is huge but the star is Nick Nolte who very probably crossed his own thin line into the realm of madness. He so entirely merged his own psychosis into his character's, it's terrifically disturbing. He is riveting as he erupts in volcanic bursts of terror, hubris, conceit and bravado. It's as though we're present at a clinical exam of a tormented soul. All the other actors are very fine, notably Jim Caveziel as the central conscience. His posture - a wide eyed peace guru of indeterminate commitment to the "cause" - ruffles the feathers of career soldier Sean Penn. Penn is compelling, if a little stiff. In fact, Nolte's molten performance has everyone else looking relatively stiff. But with Sean's pedigree, I kept waiting for him to rise to Nick's challenge. Nick does have 20 years of experience on Sean, so maybe that's an unfair expectation. A totally fair criticism, however, is just how ridiculous is John Travolta. He can barely coordinate his own tongue to form intelligible words. His vocal drone is like the ringing of a lead bell. He's an absurdly inarticulate, flat cardboard cutout. Luckily he makes only a brief appearance.
The theme of "Man vs. Man as opposed to Man vs. Nature" is gorgeously revealed in the beatific visions of the tropical jungle. What acts as an alternative Garden of Eden provides a lush backdrop to Malick's sublime morality. "If life weren't so tragic, it could be so beautiful"; a notion emerging from all the lingering gazes upon transcendent vistas, tender child's play, and home bound flash backs. A respite from war's horrors is offered in tender, dreamlike images of domesticity. Ironically, one of the most shocking, most traumatic wounds is inflicted by a Dear John letter received late in the film by a love sick soldier. Had he been made to endure this outrageous hell fire only to be made to suffer an even more exquisitely cruel hell? It's truly a godless moment, witnessing a breaking heart.
Wyler's "The Best Years of Our Lives"(1946), Kubrick's "Paths of Glory"(1957) and "Full Metal Jacket"(1987), Nichols' "Catch-22"(1970), Hill's "Slaughterhouse-Five"(1972), Cimino's "The Deer Hunter"(1978), Coppola's "Apocalypse Now"(1979), Joffé's "The Killing Fields"(1984), Stone's "Platoon"(1986), and DiPalma's "Casualties of War"(1989) had cleared considerable psychic space, laying a broad foundation for skepticism of traditional concepts of war, even our own wars. Because those films had accustomed us to the themes of profound ambivalence, cynical patriotism, and delusional, if not corrupt leadership, Terrence Malick was granted extra time and space to develop a particularly vague, ethereal philosophy. And so, "The Thin Red Line" was privileged to luxuriate in prolonged self reflection. It is continually considering its own role as a very public forum for inquiry, constantly doubting its own ability - or right - to ask the simple questions that it does. The specifics of its realizations are inseparable from its haunting imagery, from its hypnotic cinematic method. The true story can only be intuited through the patient act of experiencing its intricately woven rhythms. As a meditation or a prayer or a lamentation on what is war, this film is unequaled. An extremely crude summation could be "A war hero, it seems, is anyone who survives as even a ghost of their former self," but this, at best, is only misleading.
The occasionally overwrought narration and Travolta's tedious bit may have slightly detracted (very slightly), but the "Thin Red Line" is very highly recommended for it's uniquely poignant insights into the horrendous psychosis that is war. If you're not deeply affected by this powerfully evocative film, I'd be very concerned.