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Kon Ichikawa had lived through world war two, and saw what its effects it had on his people in Japan. But so did novelist Shohei Ooka, whose book was the inspiration for Ichikawa's film, Fires on the Plain. It's a film about the men in this war, or perhaps more universally in wars in general, who lose their humanity. The soldiers trudging along through these fields and jungles of the Philippenes in this story are almost completely without hope, if not already just that. It makes Stone's Platoon look like a picnic: at least they had certain things, like food, after all.
They have little to no reserves or supplies or ammunition, no back-up, no sense of anything going their way in this combat that they've been thrust into. They can't even get some proper hospital care, unless if they can no longer walk at all or have lost limbs (for example, say, if you have TB, you're on your way). But its really through the prism of one soldier, a private Tamura, that we get a full sense of the futility of war, both in its bleak scenes of nothingness and boredom and decay, and those flashes of intense and brutal violence.
In the film Tamura just wants to get some medical care. This is right at the start, and his told by his superior officer- already he is with eyes that stare off and an expression that has been drained by years of battle- that he will die if he doesn't find a hospital. He doesn't, really, but does end up in with some soldiers: at first with a platoon that seems to sort of have their act together, but is really led on by a power-hungry brute who just wants Tamura's stash of salt, and then later with two other stray soldiers who are part of a group that had previously been ambushed while crossing a road at night.
The story isn't entirely a straight line, but it doesn't need to be. Tamura's path in Fires on the Plain is told in vignettes, little stories like when he comes upon a seemingly deserted enemy village. Two of the populous comes back to get some supplies, and Tamura sneaks up on them. It's an excruciating scene, since so far with Tamura we haven't seen him do anything outright *wrong*, but he does so in this scene, not even so much out of evil but out of fear and desperation (this is also, without spoiling it, how he gets a stash of salt). Little scenes build up so brilliantly and with devastation, like a simple task of finding a pair of walkable shoes, which there seem to be none. Or when Tamura, later in the film, discovers his teeth are becoming torn apart and falling out from lack of total hygiene. So much for food, so it goes.
It should also be mentioned that this is a hauntingly realized film from Ichikawa, shot in a stark black and white view of the fields and woods, the cinematography filling everything we see in black-blacks and white-hot white. Ichikawa also makes sure to get everything authentic from his actors, not simply emotionally but with their own emaciated look and looks of desperation right on them. It's as if Ichikawa has to have them all surviving the film as well as characters surviving out in the wild; by wild, by the way, I mean also cannibalism. The shock of this is two-fold; first is the way that a soldier says half-jokingly early on about eating other soldiers to Tamaura, who asks if it was true and only in response getting a "don't ask" word of caution, and the second with the depiction of cannibalism itself, from the crazy starving man on the hill who pulls out guts out of his lap and says with a straight face to our hero that "You can eat me when I die."
This makes thing especially more brutal when it comes to the director filming the brief 'action' scenes. These are, I would argue, more brutal than 'Private Ryan' in their depictions of violence in battle, the carnage that is completely random. A scene I would point to, and that contains just a shot that is excruciating to watch, is when from a high angle we see a group of about twenty soldiers walking slowly along, a hail of gunfire comes that kills only four or five, but it just happens so fast, and the soldiers just keep walking along at the same crawl. This isn't the only shot of horrible carnage that's shown - when needing to be bloody its there, but splashed across the screen like something completely of the macabre - but it drives the point completely.
All of the acting is staggering (Funakoshi especially, who looks to be both most at peace and most horrified by what he sees in the subtlest of looks most of the time), all of the major set-pieces provide something else to the gruesome experience, and it all amounts to the ultimate question with an anti-war film: how can, or why, do people fight in wars like these? It's almost too depressing to put into words, and so Ichikawa pushes our noses right up into the muck and filth and blood and demands for us to take it in, so maybe, some day, it will never happen again. Or one can hope this, by the end of such a bleak and great film as this.


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