mrdweb

PLEASE NOTE: CONTAINS SPOILERS. A topic that has long interested me is the participation in the U.S. military by Americans who are not white Christian males. I have paid special attention to books, movies, magazine articles about Americans who (like myself) are Jewish and have served and fought as members of the U.S. military; and I have also explored in detail the military contributions made by Asian/Black/Latino Americans. These are often uplifting, inspiring and moving stories.

So I am very disappointed with the results Spike Lee got with "Miracle at St. Anna." I checked the screenwriter (James McBride) out on this website and, if I understood the info, this was his first screenplay. That could explain a major concern I have with the movie: language and slang that are contemporary, not 1940s-era. I don't think McBride did his homework with respect to capturing the language of the WWII U.S. military, either. This story deserved an experienced screenwriter to translate book to screen; though Mr. McBride wrote the novel, he created dialog and sequences that were more literary than cinematic. This script needed a "we-can-take-if-from-here-James" hand-off to a "real" screenwriter or screen writing team.

The entire "bookend" subplot of Hector's crime and eventual exoneration seemed superfluous to me. The basic story of soldiers who are cut off from their unit and have a series of adventures and incidents that test, temper and teach them something (and in three cases, kill them) is strong and timeless on its own. The narrative threads that ostensibly connected the statue head, Hector's possession of it and the experiences of the Buffalo Soldier detachment behind the lines, were frayed, in my opinion.

I normally am willing to give some leeway to movies set in historical period. I had a friend once years ago who rejected an otherwise good Western because the type of bridle on one horse was not yet manufactured in the era of the story. I am not that compulsive. Yet I could not ignore a constellation of errors that one would think any technical adviser would have corrected: WWII noncoms wearing rank in the field (unless the 92d Div. had a custom or regulation requiring it, this was seldom done, just look at WWII combat photos), and sewn in incorrect positions on field jacket sleeves; Tommy guns used as infantry squad weapons (Thompson submachine guns were not authorized for such deployment, it would be unlikely that three out of four soldiers in one small unit would end up having them); tactical errors (e.g., a company-strength advance across relatively open terrain would not have so many men so exposed for so long); long bursts of submachine gun fire (too many of these can warp the barrel of an automatic weapon).

I may have to watch the movie again, but I still can't figure out why Hector shot the guy in the opening moments of the movie.

This actually was the first war movie I ever saw; would have been in about 1957, on t.v., when I was 5 yr. old., and had scarcely any idea about war, Marines, Guadalcanal, WWII, and so forth. At the time, I loved it. Saw it this weekend on DVD...oh, my word, what a different response I had! This movie does have a number of very compelling images and well-done scenes. Two of the latter include: Wm. Bendix's solo hula dance that turns into an Irish jig with Preston Foster; and A. Quinn, Roy Roberts and a third Marine, sole survivors of an ambush, passing one last cigaret hand to hand to take last puffs before attempting to vacate their besieged position. Too much of the movie contains scenes that are embarrassing in their manipulative sentimentality. An example is the night before the "big push," the camera pans across the Marines' encampment as "Home On The Range" wells up from the soundtrack in perfect multi-part harmony. I presume this movie was designed to reinforce morale on the home front, and perhaps it did accomplish that. I found too much of the movie--the bloodless injuries, the lame jokes, the stereotypical characters, the racism--difficult to bear, however. For me, it was an exercise in nostalgia to see a movie I recall enjoying in my youth; it was not the experience of encountering a movie to which I'd attach the label "classic."