Spielberg: Saving Private Ryan part 2

In all the excitement of Act I of Saving Private Ryan, I forgot to ask the all-important question: What does the protagonist want?

In Act I, of course, Capt Miller "wants" nothing more than "to take out that pillbox." To do this, he must risk his own life and the lives of dozens of his men, his metaphorical brothers and sons. It’s a first act not unlike the first acts of the Indiana Jones movies, a brilliantly-staged succession of purely physical actions — how does one retrieve a golden idol from a booby-trapped temple, how does one get from a Shanghai nightclub to an Indian village overnight, how does one take out a heavily-fortified pillbox from an inferior position.

This may be why some people dislike the opening of Ryan — narratively, all the 25-minute battle sequence does is show how Capt Miller took that pillbox. It could have been disposed of in a five-minute title sequence. Miller could then get his marching orders regarding Ryan by minute 10, the movie could have been an act, and a good half-hour, shorter. If it is not advancing the story of the saving of Private Ryan, what is that superlative opening sequence doing there?

We could say "well, it’s certainly not boring," but that doesn’t really cover it. We could say that it subtly introduces many of the themes and motifs that will be laced throughout the remainder of the narrative, but those things would be there regardless. I think what the opening does, in addition to being one of the most arresting examples of the cinematic form ever created, is immerse the viewer in a wartime narrative so terrifying and brutal that they will never want to go back there again. Having lived through the horrors of the landing, the viewer, like Capt Miller, wants nothing more than a nice safe desk job, like Lt Anderson or Corporal Upham, some comfortable behind-the-lines position where there are plenty of sandwiches and pots of coffee. The viewer, like the protagonist, has survived, against all odds, something extraordinary, something they would do anything to avoid in the future. What Spielbergwants, I think, is not to take the pillbox and say "well, that was easy." What he wants is to show, inch by inch, step by step, second by second, man for man, the effort undergone to take that pillbox and the price paid for it on both sides of the conflict. In addition, the sequence also throws the viewer so off balance, gets the viewer so jumpy, that for the remainder of the movie one is never sure if the next bush, the next building, isn’t going to suddenly explode into gunfire and blood. It’s almost a horror-movie opening, an assault of violence so extreme that it casts a shadow on every other scene in the movie, lending suspense and dread to the quietist of moments.

Act II is, like most Spielberg acts, a little over 30 minutes long and consists of three dominant sequences: The Sniper, the False Ryan and The Church. Miller’s goal is now to find and retrieve this Ryan character, although we still don’t know too much about him beyond his actions.

42:00 — Miller’s squadron hikes across some pastureland. In a long shot, they encounter a flock of sheep heading in the opposite direction, to the slaughter, one cannot help think. Spielberg senses that it’s time to learn a thing or two about the men, and goes about it with the unapologetically direct device of having Upham just come out and ask them questions. Upham, it seems, is a writer in search of material. He’s already decided what his book on soldiery will be "about," now he’s looking for background and anecdotes to back up his argument. Never mind that, one scene before, Upham was whingeing about how he’s never actually seen combat and isnt’ comfortable (or competent) handling a gun, he’s decided he "knows" about what a soldier is and is pursuing his topic. Like Spielberg, Upham sees soldiers as brothers; unlike Spielberg, he intellectualizes battle as a spiritual, bonding experience, rather than a visceral, rending one.

Which brings me to the presentation of violence in Ryan. Spielberg’s movies often feature "cool" deaths, spectacular violence designed to excite or even amuse. Other war movies, even anti-war movies like Full Metal Jacket, Platoon and Apocalypse Now feature these "cool" deaths, where the viewer’s impetus is to revel in the staging of the action. But the violence of Ryan is, without exception, horrifying, shocking and off-putting. One does not watch Ryan waiting impatiently for more violence, one dreads it at every turn.

As the squadron moves through rural France, a little mystery is introduced about Capt Miller — the men, apparently, don’t know anything about him, to them he is a soldier’s soldier, a military invention, without past. Narratively, this mystery is there to build toward the moment in Act III where Miller will reveal his identity, and thus reveal his motivation for fulfilling his mission. On a character level, it reinforces the relationship of Miller’s men as sons to the paternal captain, and insists that a soldier be judged not on why he’s fighting, but that he is fighting — he’s doing his duty, performing his mission, acting.

Reiben gripes about the mission, saying that Ryan is no more important than any of Miller’s men, that all soldiers have mothers, and Miller, with transparent sarcasm, says that "we all have orders, that supersedes everything, including your mothers." Clearly Miller has misgivings about this Ryan mission as well. When Reiben asks why Miller doesn’t gripe, Miller reminds him that "gripes go up, not down." A son complains to a father, not the other way around. But we’ve already seen that Miller does not gripe when he’s given a difficult, unpleasant duty, he merely hangs his head and sheepishly accepts. That, I’m guessing, is what mystifies the men about Miller — his definition of soldiery is much purer and hardened, more professional, than theirs.

45:53 — It begins to rain, and, in a lovely aural sleight-of-hand, the sound of the rain on the leaves develops into the sound of gunfire in the streets of a small town.

Four times in Ryan, Miller’s squad encounters other American army units, and each time, Miller seeks out the officer in charge to discuss the situation. These conversations are the only times when Miller actually talks about military strategy beyond the here and now. I wondered about these conversations, which happen at reliable intervals. The subject is always Ryan, of course, but each conversation has other topics in it — the layout of the town, the way to Berlin, the cause of a fuckup. They’re not that different from the kinds of conversations that make up the second act of a detective movie, the procession of "interesting characters" and their backstories who bump up against the detective’s investigation — Miller is in Drummond-like pursuit of his quarry, but these suspects he questions have concerns of their own that fill out the moral universe of the narrative. After a while it occurred to me that these conversations are "grown-up talk," above and apart from the "boys" in the men’s companies. Miller still never discusses ideology or philosophy with these older men, the conversation remains technical almost to the point of incomprehensibility, but we see that Miller isn’t just "a soldier," with his nose to the ground and a blind servitude — he’s a thinker and a planner and he’s got thoughts beyond getting over the next hill.

The Sniper episode: there is a French family, trapped in a blasted building. The father, fearing German gunfire, tries to give his daughter to Caparzo. Miller orders Caparzo to give the girl back and Caparzo gets shot by an unseen sniper. Again: family, family, family. The French father is trying to preserve his family by giving his daughter to the Americans, Caparzo must take her because she reminds him of his neice back in Brooklyn, and when he is shot his only request is for someone to deliver a letter to his father. What is everyone fighting for? They are fighting for their families.

(The French girl, returned safely to her father, slaps him repeatedly, screaming invective — a terrific brief performance from Anna Maguire.)

There are four primary "battle sequences" in Ryan, and I’ve been trying to figure out why they were chosen. There is the Invasion, the Sniper, the Radar Station and the Bridge. In between, the men debate the "math" of their situation — eight men risking their lives to save one. And it’s begun to occur to me that the battle scenarios selected are primarily about math. The Invasion in Act I feels like there are many, many Germans arrayed against the poor suckers in the boats, but then we remember that we are seeing the invasion from the point of view of one man — we’re not really told how many men in total were invading, nor how many pillboxes were lined up along the coast of Normandy — perhaps it was really the Germans who were woefully outnumbered, hence their savagery against Miller’s front-line troops. The Sniper then turns that scenario on its head, showing how one man can hold an entire town hostage, and then removed from power by one other man. The Radar Station starts evenly matched, then comes down to six men against one — at which point Miller lets the one man go, with disastrous consequences. Then, at the Bridge, a small group of men fights valiantly, and not unsuccessfully, against a much larger, more powerful force — and is very nearly completely wiped out. Again and again, "the math" of the military situation is not what it first appears to be, whichgives extra weight and suspense to the question of whether Ryan is worth saving.

Once Caparzo is dead, Miller goes looking for Lt Hamill. There’s a surprise encounter with a room full of Germans, where the Americans shout at the Germans and the Germans shout at the Americans and nobody’s killing each other, until Hamill shows up with a group of men and slaughters all the Germans. Miller is a leader, not a murderer — I don’t think we’ve seen him personally kill anyone up to this point — he’s not going to mow down a bunch of Germans in cold blood. Hamill does not have that hesitation, and both Miller and even Horvath are a little shocked at his ruthlessness. "It’s enough to make you old," says Horvath, to which Miller adds "Hope so."

(Who is this Hamill, this cold-blooded messenger of death? Why, its Sam the bartender! Ted Danson, in the only truly surprising piece of casting in the movie. Danson is great in the part and God bless him, but I really have to wonder what machinations got him to that point. Did Spielberg always watch Cheers and think "Ted is wasting himself on this show, I should cast him as an iron-hard army Lieutenant," or did he just give the best reading of everyone who auditioned?)

1:00:00 — The False Ryan: Hamill has a Pvt Ryan in his group, and he is fetched, and Miller tells him the news — his three brothers are dead and he is going home. Of course, this turns out to be the wrong Ryan, this Ryan’s brothers are in grade school, and it’s a measure of the impact and intensity of Ryan is that a scene where a young man reels in horror of his dead brothers is played for comedy. Miller expresses his misgivings about his mission to Hamill, and Hamill reminds Miller that this isn’t about France and Germany, it’s about Iowa and Minnesota and Brooklyn — men are fighting for their families back home, if you discount the importance of that, you don’t understand the war.

1:05:00 — The Church: Miller’s men bed down for the night in a church, but only Jackson, who killed a man that day, is able to sleep. Miller’s hand trembles, something we saw it do on the boat at Normandy and when he went to take a drink after the battle. I can’t say for sure what Miller’s trembling hand is about, but I’m pretty sure it’s not nerves. I think it’s conscience — Miller’s right hand is like his Jiminy Cricket, trying to keep him on the straight and narrow. Miller has to walk a razor’s edge in Ryan, make decisions that affect the lives of dozens, even thousands, of men, and his hand seems to be keeping track of the mounting toll of lives on his conscience.

Miller and Horvath rationalize "the math" of the situation and laugh about squad members who have died, while Wade copies down Caparzo’s letter to his father — the original is covered in blood. As Miller and Horvath tell stories of their "children," the soldiers on the other side of the church talk about their parents. Most effectively, Wade tells a story about his mother, how he passed up opportunities to talk with her. Upham then goes to Miller to try to pry his life story from him, without success. Miller appreciates Upham’s intellectual curiosity, but wishes to remain an enigma. Why? Is there a character issue for Miller, does he feel that if he exposes himself to his "sons" they will no longer fear and obey him? Or does he simply wish to remain anonymous to the men he sends off to death?

UPDATE: stormwyvern in the comments, suggests that Miller’s self-inflicted anonymity stems from his desire to keep his soldier life and home life separate.  I think this is exactly right, and Miller indicates as much in Act III, that he doesn’t like killing people and sending men to their deaths, it’s just something he has to do, and when the war is over, he’s going to tryto do his best to forget it ever happened, as though such a thing were possible.