Cultural Self-Abuse: Movies and the Military

Army,  Aug 2005  by Sinnreich, Richard Hart

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Last March, syndicated radio talkshow host and film critic Michael Medved delivered a lecture at Michigan's Hillsdale College that deserved wider attention. His topic, like that of the workshop at which he spoke, was the contemporary treatment of war in Hollywood films.

His thesis was straightforward: "The truth of the matter is that war movies have changed in a fundamental way. American troops are more likely than not to be portrayed as sick, warped and demented-in any case, very different from normal Americans. Very often the audience is manipulated to root for the other side, whatever the other side happens to be. And whatever the war, we are left with the idea that it is meaningless."

Medved acknowledges exceptions-Steven Spielberg's "Saving Private Ryan," Fred Fields' "Glory" and Mel Gibson's "We Were Soldiers." But he considers them to be distinctly in the minority.

Seeking to explain this phenomenon, Medved rejects the familiar argument that Vietnam permanently disillusioned Americans about government and the military. Instead, he lodges responsibility squarely with filmmakers. "I would submit to you that what has changed," he asserts, "is neither the American military nor the ordinary American's perception of the military. What has changed is Hollywood itself."

For Medved, three factors especially have contributed to that change. The first, ironically, is the volunteer military itself, which has largely absolved those in the film industry of any obligation to serve. Medved contrasts that condition with World War II and the early Cold War, in which such film luminaries as John Ford, Jimmy Stewart, Henry Fonda and Elvis Presley all wore the uniform.

Hollywood's absence from the volunteer ranks also reflects what Medved sees as its increased cultural elitism. Where once stars came from ordinary backgrounds, he notes, many today "are second or third generation stars-people who have been born into the movie business and have lived in it their whole lives." The result, he argues, is not just antipathy to the military, but also "a broader anti-Americanism-an alienation from everything American-that runs very, very deep there."

Finally, Medved points out that, in the past 20 years, revenues from U.S. filmgoing have halved while those from overseas distribution have doubled. Implied is that films increasingly play to the prejudices of foreign audiences. "Is it any wonder," he asks, "that when war movies are produced at all, there is much less reflexive sympathy and support for the American point of view?"

Medved is a political conservative, and some will reject his analysis for that reason alone. Moreover, there is a case to be made for films that deal frankly with the inevitably abhorrent side even of wars that otherwise are justified. I've often felt that no one should watch "Saving Private Ryan" without first having watched Spielberg's magnificent but appalling "Schindler's List."

Even films like "Platoon," Oliver Stone's distinctly unflattering portrait of soldiers in Vietnam, have something to tell us. The military, after all, has the flaws of any human institution. As we learned from Abu Ghraib, not all soldiers invariably live up to our highest expectations or their own. Neither do their leaders. Ignoring that reality would be as hypocritical as overstating it.

In the end, the issue is one of balance. Where Medved strikes a chord is with his contention that Hollywood's portrayal of war and those who fight it for us has become skewed in ways that should trouble us.

What should worry us most about it isn't the effect on our own society. America's fighting men and women are our sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, husbands and wives. We know who they are and what they represent. And, as we've shown more than once, we're perfectly capable of punishing both soldiers who abuse our trust and leaders who misapply it.

Instead, the more dangerous effect of an unbalanced portrayal of America's military behavior, at large or in microcosm, is on the rest of the world. If, as in the past, we're engaged today in a war of ideas, how the world sees us matters. And while that ultimately will depend more on our actions than on any fictional portrayal, good or bad, we can't very well expect the rest of the world to think better of us than we do of ourselves.

Filmmakers have the right, perhaps even the obligation, to portray war's downside, and to remind us of the myriad ways in which even well-intentioned military actions can go astray. But they also have an obligation to acknowledge war's occasional necessity and, as with "Schindler's List," the much greater evil that can result from refusal to take up the sword when required.

Finally, especially in a democracy in which military subordination to civil authority is absolute, the warrior must be distinguished from the war. More than anything else, it was Hollywood's failure during and after Vietnam to recognize that distinction that produced bitterness that still lingers today. Medved is right to rebuke it. So should we all.