When Spielberg makes a serious film he makes a SERIOUS film. After Schindlers List all I could think was: "That wasn't Spielberg. It can't have been. Where was the crowd pleaser set pieces? Where was the whimsical family aspect?" I really didn't think Spielberg was capable of the viciousness he displayed when that film was made. Until I saw this one. 'Vicious' doesn't even begin to describe him.
I came into this film knowing all the hype. How it was such a harrowing account. How it never flinched. How it didn't look away from the gory details. But no matter how much you know coming in you're never prepared enough. Within the first ten minutes you're dropped into this picture of Hell on Earth.
As the boats charge relentlessly towards Omaha beach you can see it coming. As the soldiers on board throw up from seasickness and fear the conclusion is inevitable. The twenty second call is heard. The palms sweat from your feeling of helplessness. The locks on the landing craft doors spin open. The faces of the soldiers behind it eat into your heart. And then it happens. They're dead. They didn't know what hit them. All hell breaks loose. Men drop left, right and centre. Machine-gun fire rains down on them like hailstones. Except these troops aren't punched by neat, circular holes. Oh no. They're torn apart. Shredded. Minced. Arms are removed. Heads caved in. Troops turn to see the person they were dragging to safety has turned into a piece of meat. The ensuing 25 minutes feel like an eternity. Please God let this end. When the beach assault was finally over my mother, who I saw the film with, turned to me and said "They didn't stand a chance did they?" I didn't reply.
The motive of this film was to take the heroic notions of War films and crush them totally. War just doesn't work. It's a stupid way to solve an argument. The message is agonisingly unavoidable. It's hard to argue a case for conflict after you've seen too many people die. Anyone that says that prolonged contact with scenes of violence de-sensitizes you clearly hasn't watched this. In a similar vein to All Quiet On The Western Front, this film should be shown to future generations until the word 'War' is removed from the dictionaries. At least the first 30 minutes should be.
After the brutality of Omaha the film calms down to become a more philosophical study into the futility of war. This is where things start to derail. Apart from Hanks' Miller, whose third Oscar was no doubt being moulded while this was made, none of the other leads get a look in. Miller's unit is made up of a pretty stereotypical bunch (whining jew, sympathetic medic, cowardly translator) and attempts to give them an extra dimension don't really work. Sizemore comes close with the job of dependable Sergeant but he just isn't given enough to do. The Germans are also given something of a rough ride. Whilst they are shown as being more human this time there's still an unshakable 'Evil Master Race' feel to the whole affair. There's also the problem of the final battle sequence. Where Omaha gave us the war=meatgrinder equation, the bridge defense opts for the more normal "A few good men can make a difference" approach. Add the lack of any allied units (We're in France. Where are the French Resistance?) and you have a rather mixed final message.
This isn't the greatest War film ever (Full Metal Jacket wins easily) but it's an unflinchingly moving movie which will often chill and occasionally scar. It sometimes feels like a grown up Indiana Jones but Omaha Beach has to be seen to be believed. You may not be the same person after.
I came into this film knowing all the hype. How it was such a harrowing account. How it never flinched. How it didn't look away from the gory details. But no matter how much you know coming in you're never prepared enough. Within the first ten minutes you're dropped into this picture of Hell on Earth.
As the boats charge relentlessly towards Omaha beach you can see it coming. As the soldiers on board throw up from seasickness and fear the conclusion is inevitable. The twenty second call is heard. The palms sweat from your feeling of helplessness. The locks on the landing craft doors spin open. The faces of the soldiers behind it eat into your heart. And then it happens. They're dead. They didn't know what hit them. All hell breaks loose. Men drop left, right and centre. Machine-gun fire rains down on them like hailstones. Except these troops aren't punched by neat, circular holes. Oh no. They're torn apart. Shredded. Minced. Arms are removed. Heads caved in. Troops turn to see the person they were dragging to safety has turned into a piece of meat. The ensuing 25 minutes feel like an eternity. Please God let this end. When the beach assault was finally over my mother, who I saw the film with, turned to me and said "They didn't stand a chance did they?" I didn't reply.
The motive of this film was to take the heroic notions of War films and crush them totally. War just doesn't work. It's a stupid way to solve an argument. The message is agonisingly unavoidable. It's hard to argue a case for conflict after you've seen too many people die. Anyone that says that prolonged contact with scenes of violence de-sensitizes you clearly hasn't watched this. In a similar vein to All Quiet On The Western Front, this film should be shown to future generations until the word 'War' is removed from the dictionaries. At least the first 30 minutes should be.
After the brutality of Omaha the film calms down to become a more philosophical study into the futility of war. This is where things start to derail. Apart from Hanks' Miller, whose third Oscar was no doubt being moulded while this was made, none of the other leads get a look in. Miller's unit is made up of a pretty stereotypical bunch (whining jew, sympathetic medic, cowardly translator) and attempts to give them an extra dimension don't really work. Sizemore comes close with the job of dependable Sergeant but he just isn't given enough to do. The Germans are also given something of a rough ride. Whilst they are shown as being more human this time there's still an unshakable 'Evil Master Race' feel to the whole affair. There's also the problem of the final battle sequence. Where Omaha gave us the war=meatgrinder equation, the bridge defense opts for the more normal "A few good men can make a difference" approach. Add the lack of any allied units (We're in France. Where are the French Resistance?) and you have a rather mixed final message.
This isn't the greatest War film ever (Full Metal Jacket wins easily) but it's an unflinchingly moving movie which will often chill and occasionally scar. It sometimes feels like a grown up Indiana Jones but Omaha Beach has to be seen to be believed. You may not be the same person after.