“Film can be whatever you make of it”
Can’t really argue with that, but I’m just gonna say, “No.”
“it’s primarily a visual art more than a narrative one”
While it is true that non-narrative films exist. Random images have been strung together for extended periods of time without any intention for them to be interpreted as telling a story. However, the sort of films that people actually go see, the ones people care about, the ones that live on as more than elaborate but disposable art projects, the ones that are usually up for Oscars, have stories.
The Thin Red Line is supposed to be one of those movies, obviously. It has a well known background with a story of its own (Guadalcanal), characters, dialogue, and various scenes and sequences which, when you ignore how they’re supposed to fiot together as a whole, do actually tell a story. I understand why Malick’s unorthodox style of delivering the story appeals to people. No one wants every movie experience to be the same. And expecially if the visuals are inarguably masterful, what an opportunity to praise something different.
Except it’s not just different. It’s bad. It tells the story badly. As proof I offer my complete inability to remember what the story was. No point arguing now that film isn’t a narrative medium, since as we know, and as I’ve demonstrated, this particular movie was supposed to tell a story of some sort.
Now, it never would be my position that every movie has to be the same. And certainly, plenty of directors have gotten away scott free from having to follow every conventional rule of storytelling. I’m not saying Hitchcock, Tarantino, Lynch, Peckinpah, P.T. Anderson, or John Waters should have been exiled from the industry. What I am saying is that Malick is a particular offender. Much worse than most, in that not only do his movies break storytelling conventions, they barely even have stories.
By the way, there’s a popular saying that movies should tell a story with pictures, not words. I agree. Mostly, that is. There’s nothing wrong with some exposition. Anyway, the point is even that dictum appreciates that the story is the important thing. It only argues over the best means of presenting a story, not whether or not a story should be told.
“I thought that I learned more about the characters in the TTRL through the flashbacks and internal monologue than any of the stereotypically clichéd characters in Saving Private Ryan”
If Cusack (the green young officer), Nolte (the calous, egotistic, battle-hardened commander), and Caviezel (the stranger in a strange land cloudlander) weren’t clichéd I’ll eat my hat. And when you say you learned about the characters, I suppose I should say that my previous criticism about The Thin Red Line’s characterization is not so much that they are poorly drawn. They are not cyphers, nor are they impenetrable. Indeed, the moment Caviezel, Cusack, or Nolte (for instance) come on screen you know exactly what to expect.
No, my problem is in the character development, or lackthereof. This relates back to the lack of plot. I couldn’t say that they weren’t at all developed. To the film’s credit among some, it is done in, again, an unorthodox manner. That is, mostly by staring at scenery (once again, Malick’s strength). We think we know them when all is over because we’ve heard voice-overs and seen flashbacks that look like fabric softener commercials.
The problem for me is that they’re not developed in a dramatically compelling manner. Nor in a particularly comprehensible manner, by which I mean in a manner through which the audience can afterwards look back and realize why they did what they did, and what it was that changed about them. Somehow grass blowing in the wind and white puffy clouds don’t accomplish as much as characters coming into conflict with eachother or outside elements. Occasionally drama occurs, as in what stands for me as the most memorable scene. That is, when Nolte yells at Cusack. Other things happen, but mostly nothing happens.
By the way, comparing them to the characters in Saving Private Ryan is bad form. No one—or not me, at least—ever said that was a paragon of dramatic virtue. It will be remembered as the great war movie from ‘98. But that’s for the striking opening sequence; relaunching the WWII genre; and the influential gritty, shakey-cam psuedo-documentary style. Only two characters were dramatically compelling: Tom Hanks, for being genuinely mysterious; and Jeremy Davies, who despite my wanting to punch him in the face actually changed as a person during the movie. So did Ryan himself at the end, I suppose. But he was so disappointing and superfluous (as a character, not a plot device) up to that point that I’d rather forget him.
Aside from those two, Saving Private Ryan was comprised of cardboard cutouts, yes. However, it wasn’t a character-driven story. It was plot-driven. Unlike The Thin Red Line, it had plot to spare, and that’s basically why people preferred it. There was a clear goal from the beginning, with plenty of self-contained adventures in the middle. once they got to Ryan the plot shifted, but the importance of bridges had been previously established. As had the group’s continuing responsiblity to the rest of the army, as demonstrated in earlier assault on the machine gun nest.
It was basically the same plot in the third act anyway, in that they went on protecting Ryan. And not just Ryan, but the U.S. war effort, Free Europe, and Democracy, which made it all the more dramatic. There’s nothing approaching that in The Thin Red Line. We don’t even get an inkling what Guadalcanal is about, for pete’s sake.
Saving Private Ryan had its flaws, most notably the weird “FUBAR”/”what the heck are we fighting for?” theme. This was supposedly answered by the figure of Ryan, whose safe journey home was supposed to secure their safe journey home. So the point of the war was to get home? You’re fighting against Nazis, isn’t that enough? At some point, though, Ryan wasn’t the what they’re fighting for. Because they abandoned—or at least gravely risked—his safety to protect the bridge. But then he was their reason again, because Tom Hanks said “Earn this,” and Ryan asked his family if he’s a good man. Idiot, Tom Hanks didn’t die for you, he died for the bridge! What the heck is going on?
As you can see, at least there’s something to argue about with Private Ryan. The plot, characters, and theme were confused, but at least they were interacting. With The Thin Red Line, I can perhaps say Nolte was too much of a hard ass and Caviezel had his head too much in the clouds. But, again, that’s superficial. If only they had done things, things which did or didn’t hold together to make a whole movie, I could talk about them more.
“Nolte (the calous, egotistic, battle-hardened commander)”
I just realized that he was exactly the opposite of battle-hardened; he said something about having had to wait for his war. I guess that makes him a former arm-chair commander suddenly thrust into reality, which makes him like Himmelstoss in All Quiet on the Western Front. Still callous, but now we add no more experienced than the underlings he barks orders to, which makes him arbitrary and hypocritical as well.
Except it’s not just different. It’s bad. It tells the story badly.
To quote Jules Winnfield, "Look my friend, this is just where me and you differ."
I also think we need to weed out the difference in not liking The Thin Red Line and not liking Malick's style as a whole.
As to the first argument, I prefer The Thin Red Line because it shows, in a fantastic and visually intoxicating style, the internal and individual experiences of war. World War II is seen by history as the ultimate "just" war, but I've seen documentaries and read accounts that show that during the Pacific theater especially, troop morale, desertion, and insubordination were high; very high.
What Guadalcanal was 'about' is almost irrelevant; this isn't a film about the island hopping campaign or the strategic importance of the island or even the battle. It's more about what goes through a soldier's head before, during, and after the shooting starts.
I've heard the experience of an infantryman in a land war described as 99% boredom and 1% sheer absolute terror. I'm attracted to the idea of a visually impressive war film that instead of hitting us over the head in the first ten minutes with nonstop gore and slaughter, shows us what amounts to a soldier sitting in the grass of a Pacific island many thousands of miles from home, grasping the damp stock of his rifle, and looking down at a grasshopper devouring a fly and pondering the meaning of conflict. Or a couple of AWOL soldiers playing with the children of a peaceful island village, dressed in loincloths and swimming off a beautiful shore and wondering why a few miles a way men were tearing each other to pieces over a war they didn't start. The film pulls this off without a straight up All Quiet on the Western Front-type anti-war agenda.
I disagree about the clichéd nature of the characters. I still remember Caviezel's character's "I'm twice the man you are" scene with Penn's character, and recall it frequently in my mind. There's not really a similar character from a war film that I can remember, and I think his mindset is the lens through which we absorb the film.
I can think of so many sequences in that movie that stuck with me, specifically the beach landing, the scene at the river where they happen upon the Japanese platoon, the flashbacks that the soldiers had of home, the spectacular no-cut steadycam scene when they attack the village, and the murder by cop death of Caviezel's character.
I'd almost forgotten about Cusack, who I think helped lead the raid that involved dropping grenades into foxholes. Just hearing you talk about it coupled with my own recollections makes me excited to watch it again. I have it on DVD, but honestly haven't watched it all the way through in at least three or four years. I just googled it and saw that there's a Criterion Collection Blu-Ray out that I haven't seen. I'll be sure and send you a copy.
Look, I know it's a rather divisive film. My uncle said it was the worst movie he's ever seen (I told him that it wasn't the movie's fault that he had no taste), but Gene Siskel called it the best contemporary war film ever made surpassing Platoon (Apocalypse Now still gets that nod IMO).
The point is, there's a place for this type of film making.
I can easily say that I appreciated it more than Private Ryan. Now I do love Saving Private Ryan and can still remember vividly my first experience in seeing it, and I think that we were lucky to have in the same year two spectacular World War II films set in opposite theaters, with completely opposite themes, styles, and executions. It just shows how versatile the film medium is, how one mind can envision relatively similar combat and situations in completely different ways.
As for Malick's films as a whole, again there's not a lot to go on. The guy averages about one movie per decade.
Days of Heaven was stunning to look at and virtually revolutionized the way filmmakers light the frame. It had a simple story about desperation, poverty, and betrayal, but the images are what stay with you.
The New World rivaled Thin Red Line's beauty, and told the Pocahontas story in a way that was fascinating and not loyal to political correctness. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
The reason I think Malick's movies are worth seeing is that what you basically get are extremely approachable experimental films. This is as far as you can get from average studio schlock, but without going off the deep end into indie film limbo. Malick is also about as non-Hollywood as you can get; he doesn't give interviews or even allow himself to be photographed for promotional material, and you certainly won't ever find him at any self congratulatory awards ceremony.
The poetic stream of consciousness narrative style isn't for everyone, but I have to disagree that the The Thin Red Line and Malick films (all four of them) are the equivalent of dangling a pretty picture in front of your face. They're much more than that to me.