No one would argue that this 1945 war film was a masterpiece. (How could any 1945 war film be a masterpiece?) And yet this is an extremely effective telling of a true story, that of Al Schmidt, blinded on Guadalcanal, as played by John Garfield, who spent days wearing a blindfold to capture the nuances of a blind person's actions. Robert Leckie, in "Helmet for My Pillow",denigrates Schmidt's popularity in favor of his foxhole mate, who was killed, writing that "the country must have needed live heroes."
Well, I suppose the country did. And they had one here. There is a single combat scene in the movie, bound to the studio lot, lasting only ten minutes or so, and occurring less than halfway through the film instead of being saved for the climax, but it is the scariest and most realistic depiction of men under fire that I can remember having seen on screen, including those in "Saving Private Ryan". Men yell with fear, scream at each other and at the enemy, and bleed and die, without the aid of color, stereophonic sound, squibs, or gore.
Simply from a technological point of view, the film is outstanding. It isn't just that we learn how complicated a mechanism a .30 caliber, water-cooled Browning machine gun is, or that it must be fired in bursts of only a few rounds, or that it isn't waved around like a fire hose, as in so many other war movies. The technical precision adds to the scene's riveting quality. The need to stick to short bursts is horrifying when dozens of shrieking enemies are pouring across a creek fifty feet away with the sole aim of exterminating you and your two isolated comrades confined to a small gun emplacement.
The performances are solid, if not bravura, including those of the ubiquitous 1940s support, John Ridgeley, and a radiant, youthful Eleanor Parker. The framing love story is spare, but it works, and ultimately is quite moving. A striking dream sequence is included. It's not Bunuel, but for a routine 1945 film, it stands out as original and effective.
Albert Maltz may have overwritten the script, or it may have been altered by someone else. It could have used the kind of pruning that might have introduced some much needed ambiguity. Still, there are odd verbal punctuations that have a surprising impact on the viewer -- "Why don't God strike me dead?" And, "In the eyes, Lee. Get 'em in the eyes!" Depths of anguish in a few corny words. And a surprising amount of bitterness expressed by wounded veterans in a 1945 war film.
Notes that might seem false to a contemporary viewer but perhaps shouldn't: the dated vernacular which it's difficult to believe many of today's kids could think was actually ever spoken -- "private gab," "dope", "drip," "Gee," "you dumb coot," "dame," "a swell guy," and "feeling sorry for yourself." Let us consider the historical context and be kind in our judgments. At the time, some of this goofy lingo was at the cutting edge.
Real weak points? The wounded veterans get together and argue with each other about how much of a collective future they have and the argument is oversimply resolved with a conclusion along the lines of, "Just because you have a silver plate in your head doesn't mean people will think you're a bad person." There are sometimes voice overs and silent prayers that are both unnecessary and downright unimaginative. "Please, God, let him return to me," and that sort of thing.
Well, the film makers were operating within the constraints of their times. Maybe that's why the final fade is on a shot of Independence Hall and the inspiring strains of "America the Beautiful" swell in the back.
None of this can undo the film's virtues, which are considerable, particularly the impact of that horrifying combat scene. It's not on television that often. If you have a chance, by all means catch it.

I am a great fan of Martin Amis, on whose book this film is based. Unfortunately the director has been unable to translate the book to the screen. The novel is thoroughly post modern and highly artificial in its wildly overblown characters and the disintegration of traditional plot line and character development. It is an hilarious examination of human greed, excess and emptiness by one of the most moral of contemporary British writers. The director of the film has completely missed the point of the novel. In his hands, the film screams along at breakneck speed, indulging in every known trick shot and 'odd' camera angle possible. It is like Ken Russel on acid, and suffers from that older director's self indulgence cranked up to a hundred. Not even the (brief) glimpse of gorgeous actor Christian Solimeno's penis was enough to save this wretched film for me. Abysmal!