Four stars. Rated R, for graphic war action, gore and dramatic intensity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.4.16
Factual war dramas often are
remembered for seminal sequences: the badly outnumbered British soldiers at
Rorke’s Drift, who withstood the final onslaught by native warriors, in 1964’s Zulu; George C. Scott’s electrifying
opening speech, in 1970’s Patton; and
the Omaha Beach assault that kicked off 1998’s Saving Private Ryan, to name a few.
Indeed, the latter set a new bar
for gripping, ghastly, battlefield intensity.
Until now.
Director Mel Gibson’s impressive Hacksaw Ridge is another reminder that,
even with a long string of inspiring World War II dramas stretching back to the
1940s, fresh stories remain to be told. The best are those able to personalize
the ordeal, by focusing on a few unforgettable individuals, or perhaps just
one.
Hacksaw Ridge is the first dramatic depiction
of American Army medic Desmond T. Doss’ experiences in the war: specifically
his actions with the 77th Division — dubbed the “Statue of Liberty Division” —
when it was ordered to take the Maeda Escarpment on Okinawa, as part of the
Allied push to mainland Japan.
Frankly, I can’t understand what
took Hollywood so long; Doss’ story screams
for big-screen treatment.
Scripters Andrew Knight and Robert
Schenkkan didn’t even have a mainstream biography on which to base their film
treatment (although an obscure small-press book — Booton Herndon’s Unlikeliest Hero — was published in
1982). They were able to draw from Terry Benedict’s award-winning 2004
documentary, The Conscientious Objector.
That title cuts to the core of Doss’ unique status: He was the only American
soldier in World War II to fight on the front lines without a weapon.
As a Seventh-Day Adventist, Doss
believed strongly that killing was against God’s Sixth Commandment. But he also
insisted on serving his country in a meaningful way —obtaining a deferment, due
to his employment at a naval shipyard, seemed cowardly — and therefore viewed a
role in the army medical corps as a logical compromise.
It wasn’t to be that simple.
Gibson opens with a brief
flash-forward to the chaos on Okinawa — a pointless foreshadowing of the
carnage to come — and then takes us back to Desmond’s youth and young
adulthood. He came of age in a household terrorized by his alcoholic father,
Tom (Hugo Weaving): a man unable to forgive himself for surviving his WWI
service, when so many of his friends and fellow soldiers died. Weaving makes
Tom a forlorn and unstable — even dangerous — wreck, but not an entirely unsympathetic
monster. In fact, Tom gets his shot at redemption, later in the story.
A couple of seminal events harden
Desmond’s decision never to wield a gun, or take a life by any other means. We
don’t doubt his resolve.
Once grown into a young man (played
now by Andrew Garfield), the shy Desmond meets Dorothy (Teresa Palmer), a
volunteer nurse drawing blood for war effort donations. Their meet-cute
courtship is movie-magic sweet: Desmond and Dorothy are both deeply religious,
which adds a layer of innocence and vulnerability to a relationship that
develops via worshipful gazes and playfully suggestive dialogue.
Garfield and the Australian-born
Palmer work well together, and their screen chemistry is palpable.
Following the plan to serve his
country as a medic, Desmond travels to South Carolina, joining the 77th
Division for basic training at Fort Jackson. Although initially one of the guys
— and the film does a fine job of introducing us to roughly a dozen important
supporting characters — the bloom goes off the rose when Desmond’s refusal to
touch a rifle understandably upsets drill Sgt. Howell (Vince Vaughn).
Disbelief blossoms into disdain,
as word rises up the chain of command, to Capt. Jack Glover (Sam Worthington)
and beyond. The immediate response is peer intimidation, with Howell hoping
that Desmond’s platoon mates will “encourage” him to change his mind. When that
doesn’t work, the situation threatens to result in a court-martial and/or
Section 8 discharge (for “mental instability”).
I’ll not reveal how all of this
plays out, as such details are fascinating to discover as they occur: both in
terms of how they speak to Desmond’s character and firm commitment to his beliefs,
and how the U.S. Army chooses to respond to same.
Suffice to say, Desmond is part
of the 77th when it’s sent to Okinawa, to undertake an assignment that seems —
and quickly becomes — as suicidal as the events depicted in 1981’s Gallipoli (which you’ll recall starred
Gibson, and almost certainly plays into the manner in which he stages this
film’s battlefield sequences).
The initial, breathtaking assault
is shocking enough, after which we’re lulled into a sense of false security.
But Gibson and his scripters follow that with an even more terrifying fourth act: an amazing, edge-of-the-seat
experience that’ll not soon be forgotten.
Garfield is ideal as Desmond,
with a slight build that fits the derisive nickname — Cornstalk — by which he
quickly comes to be known. Garfield has a trusting, ready smile that frequently
gets Desmond into trouble, since various superior officers assume that he’s
finding inappropriate humor in a given situation. More crucially, Garfield puts
utter sincerity into Desmond’s religious convictions: Heartfelt lines that
might have sounded corny — or prompt derisive snickers, coming from a less
talented actor — are absolutely credible.
Garfield also manifests an aura
of angelic purity, which Gibson emphasizes a bit too much (the actor/director
still hung up on Christ imagery). Fortunately, such moments are rare, and they
don’t detract from the inherent humanity that Garfield gives Desmond. The man
is inwardly focused, not given to long speeches; Garfield makes every quiet
word count.
Of Desmond’s fellow soldiers,
Luke Bracey stands out as Smitty, the division’s alpha male, and the one with —
initially — the strongest contempt for this Bible-toting misfit. But it’s easy
to see where this character dynamic is destined, and Bracey successfully sells
Smitty’s gradual evolution. (In the interest of accuracy, Smitty is a composite
character, not based on any single individual.)
Worthington is equally convincing
as Capt. Glover, who undergoes a similar epiphany, eventually coming to view
Desmond as something more than a “mere” recruit.
Vaughn is a hoot as the sharp-tongued
Sgt. Howell, contributing the little bits of comic relief allowed by this grim
narrative. Howell isn’t a screaming monster in the R. Lee Ermey mode (from
1987’s Full Metal Jacket), but
instead a sly psychologist with an unerring talent for verbally skewering his
recruits via their weak spots. Howell demeans his men into becoming better
versions of themselves, and is genuinely bewildered when this technique fails
to shake Desmond’s religious convictions.
Rachel Griffiths is appropriately
worn and weary as Bertha, Desmond’s kind and protective mother, who does her
best to withstand her husband’s drunken abuse.
In an intriguing bit of stunt
casting, real-life war veteran Damien Thomlinson has a telling role as a
soldier named Ralph Morgan, one of the first — and most badly wounded — to be
rescued from the battlefield by Desmond. (Thomlinson lost both legs to an IED
strike, while serving in Afghanistan in 2009.)
The battlefield sequences
themselves are explosively compelling, Gibson choreographing the slaughter with
phenomenal support from editor John Gilbert and second unit director/stunt
coordinator Mic Rodgers. The results are amazing, and let it be said: Once this
sequence kicked into gear, nobody in last week’s preview audience made a sound. It felt like every breath in the
theater was held, long past the point of endurance.
That said, Gibson frequently succumbs
to his penchant for unnecessary gore, to the point where it becomes too much to
endure. It’s obviously the way he’s wired; Braveheart
and Apocalypto also are needlessly gruesome,
and The Passion of the Christ, in a
few key instances, is beyond the exploitative pale. We can perhaps acknowledge
that the bloodbath here is battlefield-appropriate, but I’d argue that this
film would be more powerful, and resonate to a greater degree with mainstream
viewers, if they weren’t so frequently nauseated.
Gibson also demonizes the
opposing Japanese to a degree that feels vengefully xenophobic, rather in the
style of Hollywood WWII movies made in the war’s immediate aftermath. This
attitude, as well, occasionally feels excessive.
Such caveats aside, Hacksaw Ridge is impeccably constructed
and carefully scripted, balancing deeply intimate behavior — most of it
conveyed so well by Garfield — and riveting battlefield action, with everything
wrapped up in one of the most amazing, true-life sagas delivered by World War
II.
I’ve
no doubt Benedict’s earlier documentary is about to become very, very popular.
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