I haven't seen all of Terrence Malick's movies, but I have been entranced by the ones that I have seen. Despite the fact that I was a young man still in junior high school I nonetheless clearly remember the reception that was extended to his film "Days of Heaven". The cinematography by Nestor Almendos was justly recognized, and the acting seemed to be in key with the understated tone of this movie, but it was the story that seemed to work its enchantment on viewers. Perhaps it was an exercise in sublime romanticism or perhaps it seemed to capture a wistful look towards the past that had been elevated in response to the disenchantment we all felt in the late 70s, but it seemed to catch hold and maintain a grip on our imagination. Of course, the idea of escape and of journeys towards new and open realms of possibility have always exercised their appeal on the western imagination, and this film was no different, as grasped even by a child of my age.
It seemed as if we heard very little from Terrence Malick in subsequent decades, and indeed, he has come to be known as a director who produces films at considerable intervals. From time to time his name registered in my consciousness, but I lament that I didn't take the time to watch his latest works. It wasn't until the highly laudatory comments with regards to his latest film, "The Tree of Life", that I undertook to begin exploring his works once again. I turned first to his film from 1998, "The Thin Red Line".
This film is an adaption of a novel that deals with the experiences of a group of soldiers during one of the pivotal battles of WWII, this being the Battle of Guadalcanal. From the very beginning, when we see a crocodile submerging itself into a pond full of algae, it struck one again the lyrical notes that I remembered from his classic of the seventies ("Days of Heaven"). It was a film that struck a deeply philophical tone, being as it was a profoundly meditative exploration of the ways in which humans abide by the values that they think define them.
Through the use of multiple first-person internal narrations we become much more connected with the characters as they reveal their own internal worlds. One obtains the unsettling sensation that these revelations are a little too personal, and that we are eavesdropping on a conversation that is not meant for our ears, however much the issues that are raised strike a universal note. It would seem as if we are placed in the position of an interlocutor who is asked to intercede for these characters, and to dispense some form of dispensation for the suffering and for injustices that are committed. This is, of course, an uncomfortable position for us.
I was struck over and over again by a plaintive note in these meditations. The characters are genuinely honest in their ruminations, and they seek an explanation for the inhuman situation in which they find themselves, treated as they are as pawns who are about to be sacrificed. It raises, understandably, questions of ethics as we ponder the meaning of violence and the petty compromises that each and every one of us makes as we proceed in our existence. It is very much an interior search that consumes all of us at certain points, and one that leaves us breathless as we consider the possibility of mortality.
The characters are all enmeshed in conflictive situations, both external as well as internal. We have the military officer by the name of Tall, played by a grizzled Nick Nolte, who reflects on the meaning of failure as he perceives it. It is an experience that humiliates him and leads him to pursue redemption at whatever cost, even if it be the sacrifice of his entire company of soldiers in the single-minded pursuit of the capture of a hill defended by Japanese soldiers. We also have the earnest Witt, a soldier who had gone awol but who was reincorporated into the ranks, and who is forever held in a form of wistful suspension as he meditates on the spirit he sees in his fellow soldiers. He represents a form of earnest reflection that serves to denounce the inhumanity of their situation, and yet through his observations we recognize how it is that this group of men are bound together, and how it is that their weakness constitutes, paradoxically, their strength.
The reason I found the character of Witt so compelling has to do with the ethical concerns that hit me as I was watching the film. While it may very well be true that we live unconsciously for the majority of the days of our lives, unable as we are to recognize and value the relationships that define our existence, it is also true that there is a fundamental spirit that coheres around groups of people as they find themselves in desperate circumstances. The idea seemed to overwhelm me after watching the film tht compassion, that ability to "see the light" in other people, is an experience that is only felt by those who are similarly cognizant of their own weaknesses and vulnerability. It cannot be attained by a higher entity who is removed from our sphere of concerns, and as distant as the religious icons to which people address their appeals in moments of desperaton. What hope of compassion do we have from a God that is removed, and that is portrayed as eternal and all-cognizant? How can this God every truly understand us and feel compassion, if compassion truly necessitates the awareness of a fundamental bond that these men come to feel as they perceive their supreme weakness and vulnerability? Pity is not the same as compassion, for pity is defined by the awareness of hierarchy, and in hierarchy, there is no bonding. It is easy enough to see the abuses of power in the actions of an officer such as Tall, although this is compensated in some minor way by the actions of his subordinate Staros, the Captain who tries to delay the order to march his soldiers up to the hill where they will certainly be slaughtered.
Is obedience a virture? Why is it that faith as presented in Christian ethics seems to involve so much needless suffering? We are left to question ourselves and to wonder, as one of the characters asks himself, about the presence of good, and of how we are left mired in a debilitating morass of ethical incertitude, where values seem to be compromised eternally for petty ends, as is all too evident in this film. "How did we lose the good that was given to us? Let it slip away, scattered, careless?". Did we indeed squander the gift that was given to us?
The experiences of these soldiers as they see their comrades cut down is one that is profoundly unsettling. Their perpetual thirst is emblematic of this quest for satisfaction, of this most elemental need to explain not only this monumental battle between two opposing forces but also the internal self-doubt that consumes them all. The married officer, Bell, is particularly consumed by the memory of the wife he has left behind, and he relives over and over one particular memory, that of a golden and melancholic afternoon spent in her company and consuming what he saw as the ultimate aspiration of all human beings: a genuine bond with another human being. Bell, of course, is fated to lose this relationship and to see his fondest hopes shattered as the movie progresses, but his relationship is perhaps emblematic of all the hopes and disappointments that we all feel.
The action sequences are indeed fairly dramatic. As the soldiers proceed in their campaign a sense of dread gradually overwhelms them, and it is only as a result of desperate actions undertaken in an attempt to combat the perception of futility that they manage to overtake the hill and proceed to overrun the Japanese line. It is evident once again that these experiences are devastating, and all the characters are left in various states of despair but also, in fleeting moments, with glimpses of a raw and angelic humanity that reveals how it is that humans are able to achieve communion once their illusions have been shattered. They are not numb and this experience of not seeming to care is not indicative of "bliss" or nirvana. They are all being born anew, but this rebirth is one that is divested of Christian theology. It is religious but it is not dogmatic.
The movie proceeds from one character to the next as we are exposed to their innermost thoughts, thoughts that are piercing in their honesty and in their desperation. This suffering reduces many to incoherence, and we see this time and again in the shots of soldiers, both American as well as Japanese, who lie in fetal crouches or who are left in various postures of supplication, crying aloud and seeking, it would seem, some explanation for the suffering they are forced to endure. The wounded soldiers who lie prostrate, with terrible wounds, and who shiver uncontrollably, or who wail bitterly like the wails of a doomed humanity that rails against the injustice of this situation, like the soldier who is given a lethal dose of morphine as the only way to get him to finish dying.
We see humanity at its extremes, and yet there are a myriad number of ways in which humans promulgate suffering amongst others. It is not a situation that is limited to wartime, for the seeds of this evil or, what we may term, compromised humanity are evident everywhere, as is all too evident in the earnest reminiscences of the soldier Train who recounts the beatings he used to receive as a small child from his violent and drunken father, or the false illusions held by others who had failed to find a place for themselves among regular society. One thinks most tellingly of officer Tall.
In the end, there is an earnestness in this film that speaks to issues of self-awareness and of what it means to be human. As evident in officer Welsh's response to the inquiries of Witt, that pair of friends who remonstrate with one another and carry out a debate as to the fundamental redeemability of humans, we see that experience of loneliness and alienation that is also, paradoxically, a marker of weakness and compassion. "Do you ever feel lonely?", Witt asks. "Only around people", answers Welsh.
Captain Staros leading his men:
The Japanese platoon as it corners Witt near the end, killing him soon after.
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