One of the greatest challenges we take on when we challenge ourselves to tell a story of wars is to tell the stories of our enemies. The challenge we face is twofold. We must face our own demons, and we must face the humanity of our enemies. When we demonise our enemy, we rob ourselves of our own humanity, yet if we excessively humanise our enemy, we magnify our own demons. This is the challenge that Spielberg and Eastwood took on when making Letters From Iwo Jima. It is the same challenge Petersen took on when making Das Boot, and whilst Eastwood does not triumph over the challenge as greatly as Petersen did twenty-six years ago, it certainly is not for lack of trying. The battle for Iwo Jima was, and still is, no different from the battle for the Atlantic, or the battle for Stalingrad, or the battle for Normandy. Two groups of nations sent massive groups of men to kill one another, and until recently, only one side's story was really told. Okay, pardon my hyperverbosity for a moment, I will dispense with it shortly.
Looking at a war through your own eyes is hard enough, looking at a war through your enemy's eyes is probably the greatest challenge of all. That Eastwood dared to take on the latter challenge at all is a testament to his fortitude. That he does it so well is a testament to his maturity as a filmmaker and storyteller. If there is a weak link in this production, it would definitely be the manner in which the stories are being told. Letters attempts to fit stories of a legion into a hundred and forty minutes. That the story of only two men comes through clearly should surprise nobody. That it is the story of a nobody, a mere footsoldier (and I apologise in advance to those who might be offended to hear him described in such terms), that comes off the best is both a surprise and a disappointment. A surprise because a lowly Private called Saigo ends up the real hero of the story, and a disappointment because we long so much to enter the mind and heart of the real General Tadamichi Kuribayashi.
Ken Watanabe puts in a performance as General Tadamichi Kuribayashi that stands in such fine company as Sir Ian McKellen as Magneto, Jürgen Prochnow as Henrich Lehmann-Willenbrock, or Ed Harris as Major König. The viewer is overwhelmed by the desire to hate or fear him, yet he comes across as so overwhelmingly human that these urges are soon overwhelmed by the respectful desire to sit down with the character for a beer. Both the script and the actor give the character such depth that it is unfortunate that the editing sabotages them in the middle act. Just as we are about to have a moment of clarity with Kuribayashi, the film degenerates into an action-fest with blazing guns, actors screaming at one another, and cameras shaking about. Unlike Flags Of Our Fathers, where the erratic and wild movement of the camera actually does succeed at creating the illusion of soldier's perspective, it only succeeds in throwing us out of the action at a critical moment. And it is the character of Kuribayashi that suffers the most for the lapses.
Where the film does succeed is in the opening and final acts. As we are shown the Japanese soldiers making preparations, we are shown how very much in common they had with the young hopefuls the Allies threw into the battle. About all that differs is the methodology by which the leadership gets them to lay down their lives for a goal that seems so nonsensical with six degrees of detachment. Where the American soldiers are told that they will come home and see a brave, free future that stems directly from their efforts, the Japanese are told in no uncertain terms by their commanders that they will only win this war if they make some other idiot die for their country. If they come home under their own power, they can consider that a bonus. Both the similarities and the disparities between the two armies (assuming one has watched the companion piece, Flags Of Our Fathers) smack us right in the face. But what really got this viewer going was the General's whispered remarks about what should be done in place of what is being done.
A friend of mine who once read through everything I had written at the time told me that what distinguishes a great critic from a good critic is his ability to dish out barbs equally between both sides. To point out the flaws in equal proportion, so to speak. Films about the inhumanity and flawed psychology of America's approach to war are a dime a dozen, so Letters' application of very American flaws to historical Japan's prosecution of the second World War is surprisingly refreshing. Like Flags, Letters demonstrates that the vast majority of a war effort takes place a great distance away from the battlefield. Granted, Letters is accurate neither in a historical or scientific sense for the most part, but by acknowledging this point in such brutally honest fashion, it transcends the need to be. Rather than bend over for the hobbyists who would pick apart every historical detail for their own pleasure, Eastwood keeps his sights firmly upon the proverbial big picture, and ends up with a film that, while not on the level of Unforgiven, does provide a whole new way of looking at a previously forgotten chapter of our history.
I gave Letters From Iwo Jima an eight out of ten. Sure, it is not perfect, but I can think of far worse ways to spend a couple of hours. This is one film everyone should see.
Looking at a war through your own eyes is hard enough, looking at a war through your enemy's eyes is probably the greatest challenge of all. That Eastwood dared to take on the latter challenge at all is a testament to his fortitude. That he does it so well is a testament to his maturity as a filmmaker and storyteller. If there is a weak link in this production, it would definitely be the manner in which the stories are being told. Letters attempts to fit stories of a legion into a hundred and forty minutes. That the story of only two men comes through clearly should surprise nobody. That it is the story of a nobody, a mere footsoldier (and I apologise in advance to those who might be offended to hear him described in such terms), that comes off the best is both a surprise and a disappointment. A surprise because a lowly Private called Saigo ends up the real hero of the story, and a disappointment because we long so much to enter the mind and heart of the real General Tadamichi Kuribayashi.
Ken Watanabe puts in a performance as General Tadamichi Kuribayashi that stands in such fine company as Sir Ian McKellen as Magneto, Jürgen Prochnow as Henrich Lehmann-Willenbrock, or Ed Harris as Major König. The viewer is overwhelmed by the desire to hate or fear him, yet he comes across as so overwhelmingly human that these urges are soon overwhelmed by the respectful desire to sit down with the character for a beer. Both the script and the actor give the character such depth that it is unfortunate that the editing sabotages them in the middle act. Just as we are about to have a moment of clarity with Kuribayashi, the film degenerates into an action-fest with blazing guns, actors screaming at one another, and cameras shaking about. Unlike Flags Of Our Fathers, where the erratic and wild movement of the camera actually does succeed at creating the illusion of soldier's perspective, it only succeeds in throwing us out of the action at a critical moment. And it is the character of Kuribayashi that suffers the most for the lapses.
Where the film does succeed is in the opening and final acts. As we are shown the Japanese soldiers making preparations, we are shown how very much in common they had with the young hopefuls the Allies threw into the battle. About all that differs is the methodology by which the leadership gets them to lay down their lives for a goal that seems so nonsensical with six degrees of detachment. Where the American soldiers are told that they will come home and see a brave, free future that stems directly from their efforts, the Japanese are told in no uncertain terms by their commanders that they will only win this war if they make some other idiot die for their country. If they come home under their own power, they can consider that a bonus. Both the similarities and the disparities between the two armies (assuming one has watched the companion piece, Flags Of Our Fathers) smack us right in the face. But what really got this viewer going was the General's whispered remarks about what should be done in place of what is being done.
A friend of mine who once read through everything I had written at the time told me that what distinguishes a great critic from a good critic is his ability to dish out barbs equally between both sides. To point out the flaws in equal proportion, so to speak. Films about the inhumanity and flawed psychology of America's approach to war are a dime a dozen, so Letters' application of very American flaws to historical Japan's prosecution of the second World War is surprisingly refreshing. Like Flags, Letters demonstrates that the vast majority of a war effort takes place a great distance away from the battlefield. Granted, Letters is accurate neither in a historical or scientific sense for the most part, but by acknowledging this point in such brutally honest fashion, it transcends the need to be. Rather than bend over for the hobbyists who would pick apart every historical detail for their own pleasure, Eastwood keeps his sights firmly upon the proverbial big picture, and ends up with a film that, while not on the level of Unforgiven, does provide a whole new way of looking at a previously forgotten chapter of our history.
I gave Letters From Iwo Jima an eight out of ten. Sure, it is not perfect, but I can think of far worse ways to spend a couple of hours. This is one film everyone should see.