Here is a glorious beginning for your lives, the field of honor calls you. Personal ambition must be thrown aside,
In the one great sacrifice for our country. Introduction: A Cinema of (Anti-)War I cannot think of many film-related subjects that come with as much complexity as that of the cinematic depiction of war. Between the contradictory statements
of famous directors, like Truffaut saying that every film about war
ends up being pro-war, and Spielberg claiming that every war film, good or bad, is anti-war, there appears to be a lot of ambiguity about what it is that war films actually communicate. Definitions of what it really means to make an anti-war film therefore also remain vague and inconclusive. In an article from the BBC, California State University professor of philosophy Dennis Rothermel said that anti-war films must at least portray a nuanced view of deadly combat, one that depicts the infliction of lethal violence as a norm of behavior, and as a force striking down randomly. In the same article, New York University film professor Sheril Antonio said that they have to show both sides, they have to ask if war is just a national tragedy for the victor, or if it is terrible for everybody. If we threw away these rifles and these uniforms
you could be my brother. There are plenty of war films that meet these criteria, but for many of them, they are not enough to definitively label
them as anti-war. In fact, many of them are heavily debated
for having the exact opposite effect, like American Sniper, or even some classics like
Saving Private Ryan or Full Metal Jacket. Goodnight ladies. All right son, let her rip! One complicating factor is that making a film
with certain intentions doesn’t mean it will be perceived accordingly. Apocalypse Now for example is a slow-burning journey into a heart of darkness that comments on the dehumanizing effects of war, but also contains some isolated scenes, most notably; the Ride of Valkyries, that communicate the excitement of warfare
so effectively that the larger context it is placed in
is easily forgotten. While such misinterpretation is bound to happen as filmmakers can never fully control the reactions
to their work, nor can they account for every specific worldview
that is projected onto it, they can definitely muddle their own message by not thoroughly considering the effect their images really have. Just look at, as the channel Every Frame A Painting pointed out, how Michael Bay filmed the devastating attack
on Pearl Harbor with the same cinematic spectacle that is also seen in fictional blockbuster adventures, and that he himself would later use to create exciting action scenes in the transformers films, and to tell another real life war story in 13 hours. To illustrate: contrast this shot from Pearl
Harbor with a similar moment in the film Midway, in which the point of view remains with the
Americans under attack, and not the spectacle. Well, mostly. A better example is Dunkirk, in which the
point of view is so restricted that the danger becomes a constantly ominous presence, and the spectacle, terrifying. The Russian film Come and See takes this even
further by presenting a fully subjective experience from the point of view of a young boy. This implies, among other things, that we not only hear the sounds he hears in the world around him, but also the sounds that are haunting his mind, thereby connecting us even closer to the traumatic effects war has on the human psyche. However, despite the amount of care and consideration
that is given to the depiction of warfare, another complicating factor is that the audience is, and will always be, observing it from a safe and comfortable distance. And so however realistic the feeling,
however profound our catharsis at the end, the experience is always a simulated one. It is never the same as going through the
real thing. Though this is a question that can be brought up in the context of our general consumption of stories, when it comes to something as impactful as war, it is fair to question how and to what extent this matters. These are but a few of many issues that illustrate
our complex relation to war films, and by extension, to war itself. So what does all this mean for the anti-war film? Well, that’s what we’re here to find out. The goal of this discussion however is not
to end up with another dichotomy to label films as either pro- or anti-war, but to construct a deeper understanding of a complicated subject that does not let itself be captured in such simplified terms. So today, let’s deconstruct humanity
at its most destructive, examine what the narrative, cinematic and contextual elements of war films communicate to us, how they reflect and shape our perception of war, and explore the purpose and meaning of witnessing the darkness of warfare through cinema. For in the words of novelist Thomas Hardy: If a way to the Better there be,
it exacts a full look at the Worst. Part 1: Cultures of Heroism Before we get into our more specific discussion of war films, we first have to have some understanding
of war itself. We have to understand why, over the course
of human history, we seem so eager to engage in deadly conflict
with each other, why the soldiers that are send into these battles, despite knowing the horrors they will face, seem so willing to put themselves in harm’s way. And why heroic causes so easily result
in atrocities. This great evil, where’s it come from? What seed, what root did it grow from? In his book Escape From Evil, Ernest Becker
makes an attempt to uncover the roots of human evil, and our appetite for war and destruction. He does so by building on the thesis he laid out in his Pulitzer price winning book The Denial of Death, which argues that our primary driving force
is the desire to escape death. Like all other animals, human beings have
an innate fear of dying. But unlike animals, we are constantly aware
of this inevitable fate. And because we know we cannot escape it literally,
we attempt to do so symbolically. You ask yourself, what the sum total of your
life represents. What difference your being there at any time
made to anything, or if it made any difference at all, really. The classic and most obvious example of how
we try to do this is through religion, which promises some kind of continuation of life
after our physical death, be it via heaven, hell or reincarnation. But Becker argues that it is actually the
entirety of human culture that functions this way, as culture provides us with the opportunity to fit ourselves into a greater whole that gives our lives meaning, into some larger social construct that endures after we’re gone, like a nation, or an ideology. I’m very proud to serve my country, yeah. More specifically, cultures provide us with
meaningful actions and virtues which, through their realization, allow us to symbolically
transcend death, to expand our lives beyond our physical existence. In simple terms, cultures provide heroism. Historically, heroes have always had an important
role and function, as Becker writes: “He is the one who gambles with his very life
and successfully defies death, and men follow him and eventually worship his memory because he embodies the triumph over what they fear most, extinction and death.” You wanna live? Get off the beach! And nowhere is this more obvious than in war. Among the chaos, death and destruction of warfare, the hero stands out as a life-affirming force. And their presence alone encourages people
that they too can be victorious over death, even though death is staring them right
in the face. A good example of this can be found
in an episode of Band of Brothers in which the allied forces attack the town of Foy. As they’re charging the snowy fields, one
of the captains suffers a mental breakdown which causes the entire mission to stumble. The captain is then relieved by a more heroic one, All right, I want mortars and grenade launchers
on that building till its gone. When it’s gone I want First to straight
in, forgot going around. Everybody else, follow me. one whose decisiveness and courage immediately embolden everyone around him. To top it off, he pulls of a truly death-defying
stunt by running right through enemy lines to connect with the rest of his men stuck
on the other side, all of which to the great admiration of his followers. By understanding cultural systems as hero systems, we can begin to understand why people are willing to sacrifice themselves for their country or their beliefs. For in such a social structure, the sacrifice of one’s physical being is but a small price to achieve symbolic immortality, to become a hero for eternity. But as the renowned psychoanalysist Otto Rank
pointed out, there is something paradoxical about hero systems emerging in reaction to our desire to escape death, as it primarily seemed to have resulted in us becoming more concerned with achieving immortality rather than actually preserving our lives. I was just protecting my guys, they were trying
to kill our soldiers, and, I’m willing to meet my creator and answer
for every shot that I took. I think one of the reasons why no one
can seem to agree on whether or not the film American Sniper is pro- or anti-war is because it captures this exact paradox. Because while the film does portray its main
character in all his human fallibilities, and as someone who exists in a self-destructive
hero system, at the same time it also indulges rather uncritically in his legendary hero status within that system, You’re that guy, the one they’re calling the legend,
you got like 24 confirmed kills. and delivers on the promise of symbolic immortality
by the end. A film that more purposefully captures this
paradox is The Bridge on the River Kwai. The story begins with British prisoners of war who are forced to build a bridge for their Japanese captors. In the face of such great adversity, the British officer pushes his men to find dignity and purpose in their work, a work that will transcend their harsh conditions,
and the war as a whole. One day the war will be over, and I hope that
the people who use this bridge in years to come will remember how it was built,
and who built it. And while this may have begun as a means of
coping with their situation, gradually it becomes clear that for the officer, the building of the bridge becomes a microcosm of an immortality project, of a source for heroic victory over death. He becomes so attached to his heroic goal, that when a group of soldiers sneak into the camp to blow up the bridge, he has become too deluded to recognize them
as his allies, and attacks them instead. Blow up the bridge!? No! Help! The result is a tragedy for pretty much everyone
involved, including the officer himself, who collapses onto the detonator and destroys
the whole bridge anyways, leaving us with the only sensible conclusion: Madness! Madness! Hero systems however, are not just paradoxical,
they are also, as we shall soon see, an important, if not the most important
driving force for human evil. And if we are to truly understand the potential
for and meaning of anti-war films, we need to travel a bit further into
this heart of darkness. Part 2: The Nature of Evil The reason that Becker is so intent on understanding cultural systems as hero systems, and subsequently questioning them
in a highly critical manner, is because he argues they are intrinsically
connected to human evil. To him, the great paradox of human existence is that our consciousness seemingly transcends our animal nature in an almost godlike fashion, while our body does not. Or, as he so eloquently puts it; “[Man] has an awareness of his own splendid uniqueness in that he sticks out of nature with a towering majesty, and yet he goes back into the ground a few feet in order to blindly and dumbly rot and disappear forever.” And so, assuming that our main driving force
is our desire to transcend death, and that hero systems are the primary vehicle
for that transcendence, heroism also functions as a denial of our physical limitations and animal nature, which Becker described as the negative
which is incompatible with the absolute values we’re striving towards. Snap out of it soldier! Sergeant, I want you to arrange for the immediate
transfer of this baby out of my regiment. I won’t have other brave men contaminated
by him! In Jungian terms, it can be described as our shadow, as that part of ourselves that we fear, that we feel ashamed of, that we refuse to acknowledge. I won’t have cowards in my army. We already saw the presence of this denial in the functioning of heroism that inspires soldiers to boldly charge into deadly situations, and briefly makes them forget, or ignore, their own vulnerability. Look, all these guys, they know your name,
they feel invincible with you up there. They’re not. They are if they think they are. But repression itself is not enough to fully deny
our shadow, for what is repressed is still internal, it can still find its way back to the surface. And so what see in hero systems – and this
is where we get to the nature of evil – is that the shadow is projected outwards. As psychologist and psychoanalyst
Erich Neumann explains: “The shadow, which is in conflict with the acknowledged values cannot be accepted as a negative part of one’s own psyche and is therefore projected – that is, it is transferred to the outside world and experienced as an outside object. It is combated, punished, and exterminated
as “the alien out there” instead of being dealt with as
one’s own inner problem.” To put it simply: hero systems lead to scapegoating. This is what happens when a world,
when a world dies. Foreigners swarm over our streets. Immigrants who don’t care for the past,
only for what they can grab. Scapegoating has always been an effective tool
to organize people under hero systems, again, be they nations, religions, or ideologies, for the simple reason that it absolves individuals
of their deepest struggles and unites them in the face of an external evil; an evil that not uncoincidentally represents precisely that which they seek to overcome, an evil that is now clear, tangible, and destroyable. One of the most infamous examples of this is Nazi Germany, on which Becker writes: “Hitler’s rise to power was based on his understanding
of what people wanted and needed most of all, and so he promised them, above everything else,
heroic victory over evil.” Only when you understand that - can you understand
what Hitler meant to us. Because he said to us: 'Lift your heads! Be proud to be German! There are devils among us.
Communists, Liberals, Jews, Gypsies! Once these devils will be destroyed,
your misery will be destroyed.' It was the old, old story of
the sacrificial lamb. It is because of investigations into the nature
of Nazi Germany, such as depicted here in Judgment At Nuremburg, that Hannah Arendt also spoke of the banality of evil, a term she coined in response to the post-war trial
of Adolf Eichmann, a Nazi officer who, despite having committed horrible crimes against humanity, showed no evil intent and appeared, in her words, neither perverted nor sadistic, but terrifyingly normal. A man who was mostly concerned with advancing
his career and following orders. The banality of evil then was coined to point out this thoughtlessness with which evil acts can be committed. In Becker’s terminology, we could say a man like Eichmann was so indoctrinated by his hero system, that he was oblivious to how it was driving him
towards evil. Though Becker also argued that the banality
of evil is not so passionless as Arendt claimed, as it is born out of our deeper desire to
transcend death. Eichmann wanted to be liked by his superiors, but for Becker, this did not merely make him a mindless follower, but rather someone driven to be part of the heroic group within his hero system. The real significance of Arendt’s report,
and of Becker’s concept of hero systems, is that the emergence of evil is not tied to any specific people or to some malicious, villainous attitude, but to greater social structures that envelop us
and blind us to their implications. And we all exist in such structures, structures that promise heroic victory to those on the inside, and makes evil into something external. After the Second World War for example, there were many who believed that by achieving victory over the Nazi’s, we also achieved victory over the evil they represented, which unfortunately isn’t the case. But it goes to show that there is a fine line between recognizing a real threat to one’s self or community, and using that threat to delude ourselves into believing that we can erase the shadow of our own light by violently putting out someone else’s. I just wanna believe in what we’re doing here. Well, there’s evil here. We’ve seen it. Yeah, there’s evil everywhere. It’s a delusion that often reveals itself
through promises like; if only these threats are eliminated,
our freedoms will be protected. If only these enemies are destroyed,
we will bring honor and justice to our nation. If only we end this war,
we will end them all. Knowing all this, it is finally time to take a more critical look at war films, and zoom in on some particular aspects of hero systems, and their specific representations in cinema. Hopefully, we will then get a better grip on what anti-war films can be, and what they should aspire to. Part 3: Glorious Suffering Even though what we’ve discussed so far is but a mere introduction to the work of Ernest Becker, and even less so to that of Hannah Arendt, I think it’s enough to get a sense of the deeper dynamics of war and human evil that echo into the films we see about it. It also gives us a better context for the
anti-war war criteria listed in the introduction, and we can now point out how they can indeed be effective, but also how they have their limitations. The first criteria for an anti-war film was that they must show a realistic depiction of deadly combat, they must provide an honest reflection of the acts of violence committed during war. With the essence of hero systems being that war is necessary to overcome evil and that suffering and death are rewarded with honor, what is probably the greatest merit of realistic violence is that it emphasizes how few soldiers actually die a meaningful, heroic death. It reminds you that there is a good chance
you won’t go out in a blaze of glory, but are more likely to die in some silly way before you’ve even gotten a chance to display any real heroism. Maybe you are hit the moment you step
on the battlefield, maybe even before that. Maybe you’re hit by friendly fire. Or maybe you accidentally blow your own butt off
by not carefully handling a grenade. I blew my butt off! I blew my butt off! A realistic depiction of violence also serves
to show that even if you do survive a war, you probably won’t feel like a hero. In fact, the impact of combat can be so traumatic
that the toll it takes on your mental health can end up destroying exactly what you thought
you’d protect, and leave you as a mere shell of your former self that’s neither heroic, nor victorious over evil, nor death-transcending. War don't ennoble men. It turns them into dogs. What is important to remember is that in hero systems, violence and suffering can be redeemed as long as
they serve a greater purpose. As Becker wrote; “What man really fears is not so much extinction, but extinction with insignificance.” And so when we’re discussing the cinematic depiction of combat and trauma, this nuance is precisely the reason why many war films
stumble in their message. One popular war film that exemplifies this
is Saving Private Ryan. The film opens with the invasion of Allied
soldiers at Normandy. The 20 minute or so sequence, which is filmed
in a realistic-looking documentary style, features graphic violence, terrified soldiers,
and the overall chaos and destruction of combat. But after that, as Agnieszka Monnet explains in her essay “Is There Such a Thing as an Anti-War Film?”, the conventions of Hollywood storytelling re-emerge and ultimately frame the violence and cost of human life as heroic, and renders it all meaningful. This is most notably demonstrated as our main
hero falls at the end, which could have left us wondering if the sacrifice to save Private Ryan was worth it or not. But instead, the film provides us a clear answer with its epilogue in which Ryan lives to be a good man
and beloved grandfather, who remembers and honors the men who died
for his sake. In doing so, we are reassured that all is well, that all the sacrifices eventually served a heroic purpose, and death has successfully been transcended
to achieve greater significance. Someday we might look back on this and decide
that saving private Ryan decent was the one thing we were able to pull out of this whole
godawful shitty mess. To emphasize; this doesn’t make Saving Private Ryan
a bad film, but it does make it a comfortable one, and as such, it greatly detracts from its effectiveness as a true anti-war statement. In his review, David Walsh also draws attention
to the film’s heroic leaders. “The implicit stance taken by the film”
– he writes - “is that only the authorities in Washington concerned themselves with ideological matters, while the men in the field were unthinkingly
doing the dirty work.” By looking closer at the representatives of
what we could see as the film’s hero system, we indeed see that they are portrayed
as righteous, rational, and deeply concerned with the suffering of soldiers
and their loved ones. The point is not so much if leaders were actually
like this or not, but that it doesn’t at all question the hero system
that is driving the violence. The film states the sacrifices were costly, but then assures us they were laid upon the altar of freedom. And this sentiment of meaningful suffering
echoes throughout the entire film, and in doing so, redeems it. What it comes down to is that despite showing
the gritty reality of combat, war films can still romanticize instead of criticize if they do not question the general function
of their hero systems. And so, in our effort to explore the potential
for true anti-war statements, let’s examine if this can be done better. Part 4: Holy Wars The second important criteria for anti-war films was that they have to show both sides of the conflict, which Clint Eastwood took pretty literally by making two films on the battle of Iwo Jima, one from the perspective of the Americans, and one from the perspective of the Japanese. But I don’t think it has to be as literal
as this. History is full of wars fought for a hundred reasons. But this war. Our war. I want to believe, I have to believe that
it's all worthwhile, because our cause is just. Becker wrote that all wars are holy wars,
in the sense that they serve as revelations of fate, as a testing of divine favor, and as a means to purge evil from the world at the same time. A hero system reinforces the belief that only
its own followers are meant for heroic destiny, and scapegoats others to fuel its holy crusade
towards that destiny. And so the value of showing both sides is
that it helps to counteract scapegoating, to expose how those who are accused of embodying
absolute evil are actually innocent, or misguided by their own hero system. Either way, it grants humanity to those who
would otherwise be dehumanized. Are you loved by all? Know that I was, too. But this isn’t always as easy as it may seem. It generally works well for conflicts that,
assuming a Western/American perspective, are far removed from our own experiences, or for wars that are now generally condemned as having been terrible for everybody involved. But for conflicts that do hit closer to home,
showing the other side often remains limited to only showing parts of the other side. Many films on the war against terror for example will often show American soldiers connecting
to foreign families. In particular, they show them connecting with children, the almost universal symbols of innocence. The issue is that while this does help to
counteract the mistaken belief that there are entirely savage nations or people, it doesn’t give us much insight into the actual group that these soldiers are in conflict with, and therefore, into the conflict as a whole. And when that group then ends up victimizing
this now humanized other side, as often happens in these films, it only reinforces their assumed evilness, and the righteousness of the war against them. Especially when it comes to harming children, this message can easily be twisted into one where, as Monnet writes in her essay, “the enemy is so perverse and cruel that they will harm even defenseless children, whereas “our” side protects them and tries
to keep them safe.” One important reason why I think it is so difficult to really portray and question another hero system is because it always reflects
back on our own. If we are shown how others were driven to
war and violence because of false beliefs, it suggests the possibility that we are too. Note that this doesn’t mean that every
hero system is equal, and that all acts of violence caused by it are the same, but it does mean that we are all susceptible to promises of heroic victory in the same way, and this can be an uncomfortable thought. The tribunal is now in session, God bless
the United States and his honorable tribunal. A good way to illustrate this is by looking
at the aftermath of the Second World War. In her report on the trial of Adolf Eichmann, Hannah Arendt also brought attention to the issue of punishment, which the film Judgment at Nuremburg also brings up. Well let’s face it, Hitler is gone, Goebbels is gone, Goering is gone, committed suicide before they could hang him. Now we’re down to the business of judging
the doctors, businessmen and judges. Some people think they shouldn’t be judged at all. The film extensively explores how the Nazi regime
came into power and how it led to the terrible crimes against humanity. But it also zooms in on the experiences of
ordinary citizens, You‘re good people, I believe that. What was it like for you living under Hitler? and there is a genuine attempt to understand what happened from their perspective. We can immediately see how it raises
important questions; what heroic victory was promised them? How it did it all turn so violent? How did all the good people go along with it? And perhaps most importantly:
who is really responsible? The reason questions like these can be rather uncomfortable is because they invoke another question: if it happened to them,
could it happen to us? And more specifically:
could this happen to me? Am I too susceptible to this great evil? For all those who don't know why they're here, you've been brought to Denmark to clean up
after the war. The film Land of Mine also presents an insightful
reflection on these issues. Set in Denmark just after the Second World War, the story follows German prisoners of war who were forced to clear beaches from landmines, a highly dangerous job that not unsurprisingly claimed many of their lives and was later deemed one of Denmark’s worst
war crimes. As the Danish officer begins to question what
justice is really achieved by putting these young and largely inexperienced boys through this kind of punishment, we are shown how easy it is to overextend
our holy wars against evil, how easy it is to misdirect anger and desire for justice onto those who do not deserve it, and how easy it is to choose personal gratification over asking the all-important question: who is really responsible for the violence and destruction of hero systems? Part 5: Sacrificial Lambs If it was impossible, the only proof of that would be their dead bodies lying at the bottom of the trenches. They're scum, colonel. The whole rotten regiment. In Stanley Kubrick’s Paths of Glory, a battalion of soldiers fails to execute an impossible
order that would have gotten them all killed, after which the officers arbitrarily pick
three of them to put on trial for cowardice. Our main hero does his best to defend them, but it becomes clear that the whole show is rigged from the start, and the men end up being executed as we watch knowing full well their deaths serve no meaningful purpose besides pointless bureaucracy, and the grandiosity of uncaring leaders. This sort of thing is always rather grim, but this one had a kind of splendor to it, don’t you think? The important lessons here is that hero systems
do not have equal power structures. More often than not, there is a hierarchy that is purposefully kept in place by those at the top who personally benefit from it. On the surface, this may be because of greed,
grandiosity or a hunger for power, but beneath all that it is probably because of
the simple reason, as Becker points out, that it fulfills their own immortality fantasy. Of course it would be absolutely vital that
our top government and military men be included. Kubrick also effectively demonstrates this in his film Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Here we not only see how the incompetency
of the established forces of the Cold War lead to an all-destructive nuclear apocalypse, but also how, being promised a safe shelter and plentiful women, their only concern is themselves. Naturally, they would breed prodigiously, eh? There would be much time, and little to do. In a way, it shows how leaders and other prominent figures of hero systems are often the ones who are most deluded by them. I mean, you’re young, you’re just out
of the academy, you got your war. It’s 15 years, this is my first war! As such, they are also likely to be the most
disconnected from any real sense of humanity, and therefore most willing to sacrifice it
for their own heroic victory over death. If some of the men pass out, well hell, they’ll
just have to pass out. But because hero systems have fundamentally
unequal power relations, this also implies that those on top do not have to make the same sacrifices as those on the bottom. In fact, it is precisely because others make
the costly sacrifices that those in privileged positions can enjoy
their heroic victory. And it is for this reason that those who benefit
from hero systems the most, also benefit from deliberately obscuring this inequality. We see this in military bootcamps for example. From now one you will speak only when spoken to. Do you understand? At face value, bootcamps are rites of passagethat build character, form brotherhoods, and train new recruits for the hardship
and challenges of war. They can be seen either as a lesser evil that is necessary to prepare recruits for the greater evil of actual war, or even as a challenge to aspire to. I was hooked. But looking at it more critically, bootcamps provide measurements for heroism that recruits can meet, exceed, or fall short of. It turns their entry into the hero system
into a competition, and tells them only the worthy deserve to succeed. That is a quitter. You say goodbye I say good riddance. In doing so, the perceived obstacle becomes
not the unequal structure of that competition, nor the fact that it marginalizes entire groups of people through racism, homophobia and general bigotry, You must have Cherokee or Shawnee blood in you.
- No, Ser.. Are you contradicting me, you wagon-burning
son of a bitch? the perceived obstacle becomes the weak and unworthy that are holding them back, that need to be separated from the strong
and deserving, which explains why we so often see recruits
becoming hostile towards those of their own, those who are perceived to be in their way
of heroic victory. It also explains why for many people the bootcamp sequence in Full Metal Jacket did not achieve its intended effect. Because while it does show how this ritual
can end in a tragedy, it shows the tragedy as driven by the weaker link of the group, which raises the question: does this really question the nature of the bootcamp, and its place within an unequal hero system, or does it merely suggest that this particular individual
was not cut out for it? Which in turn, would only affirm its primary function,
and even its necessity, rather than critique it. I was a good soldier. I had purpose. And I loved it. Another way a hero system’s inequality is obscured is by downplaying the traumatic experiences of soldiers. Within highly militaristic hero systems,
trauma is a token of the shadow, a weakness that suggests that the hero system is not successful in achieving its heroic victory, and could therefore bring the whole thing into question. Hence, it is rather avoided. You were my hammer out there,
don’t let these young guys see you fold like this. It’s bad for morale, bad for big army. The film Thank You For Your Service sheds
some light on how the suppression of trauma can have devastating consequences for veterans, in particular when this suppression extends to institutions and services that are supposed to take care of them. Could be 6 to 9 months. You think these guys can wait that long? But what is perhaps the most effective shield to deflect criticisms on the nature of hero systems, and the final, and most resilient barrier towards making a true anti-war film, is heroism itself. Part 6: Hero Worship We like things nice and simple. Good and evil. Heroes and villains. So far we have discussed how anti-war films can critique hero systems through the purposeful use of violence, examinations of other hero systems, and by exposing how the promise of heroic victory is abused by people in power to let others make the great sacrifices,
only to cast them aside afterwards. But to truly deconstruct a hero system is to face what Monnet argued is the greatest taboo of militarism, that is: the possibility that military deaths
are in fact for nothing. That there is no such thing as a hero. And yet, it is a taboo we’re going to have to break, because it is also one that reveals a lot about the way in which heroes, and particularly, stories of heroes, are used to keep hero systems in place,
and to undermine true anti-war films. Seeing him in that photograph, I don’t know
why it makes me feel better but it does. In the film Flags of Our Fathers a mother
is led to believe that her fallen son was in the now famous photograph of the planting
of the American flag on Iwo Jima, even though it is revealed to us that he wasn’t. And we are shown how those in control of such
stories know how cruel it would be to take that away from a grieving mother, to tell her that her son’s death didn’t have the significance she thought it had, and therefore, how it is much easier to just go along
with the story, and not question the more complicated and
much more political reality behind it. Well to be honest mam, it happened so quick
and uh… but, yeah, I think that’s where he was. That’s Hank. Thank you. And the thing is, they are right. It is cruel, inhumane even, to rob grieving families
of their last bit of consolation. But the problem is that the sacrifices made by these soldiers are also easily weaponized in a way that prevents us from questioning why those sacrifices had to be made in the first place. This can be done deliberately, but it is also
something that often happens inadvertently out of compassion and decency towards the
human lives that were lost. Because it is true that to attack a hero system
is to attack the significance it gives to death, and therefore; to attack a hero system is to attack the significance of the deaths of real people, which in turn can easily be experienced as
inconsiderate or disrespectful. I think it is because of this reason that so many films ultimately fail to truly deliver on their anti-war statement, and end up with what is at best a ‘hate the war, but love the warrior’ kind of story. A story that acknowledges the destructiveness of war, and even the problematic nature of the hero systems that led to them, but also sidesteps any real commentary on it, which again, is perfectly understandable and certainly an issue that can be born out of the best of intentions. The real heroes are dead on that island. Stories like these often focus
on the individual soldiers, their bravery and sacrifices, their loyalty and brotherhood. But for my dad and these men, the risks they took,
the wounds they suffered, they did that for their buddies. They won’t understand. It’s about the men next to you, that’s it. But by highlighting these personal virtues
and meaningful qualities, they can’t help but at least partially redeem what they also want to critique. This also becomes clear when we look at how
these stories are experienced by us. For the immediate emotional impact of heroic
war stories is undeniable; they move us, they make us feel grateful, they leave us in tears over the great sacrifices
that were made, especially when it comes to true stories,
and most of them are. But we have to ask: what purpose do they really serve? What does it mean for us to sit in the comfort of our homes and consume stories of tragic war heroes? This is where we have to move away from the
successes and shortcomings of war films, and towards the role that we play as their audience. Because if filmmakers are complicit in failing
at anti-war, then so are we. Part 7: Comfortable Icons In the film 1917, we follow Lance Corporal Schofield who is tasked with delivering a vital message that will prevent 1600 men from walking
into a deadly trap, and there is this moment towards the end where, after having gone through hell, Schofield finally reaches the battalion and collapses down between them, and I thought; this could have been a really
powerful ending. To have Schofield die between these joyful
young men who are completely oblivious to what they are about to walk into. Or better yet, he delivers the message but it is discarded by the overzealous commander, as also almost seems to happen, and Schofield is left powerless as the men storm off towards their fateful end. I can only imagine: what a statement that could have been on the needless waste of human life in war. Of course, this is not what happens. Instead, Schofield gets the great hero shot,
and succeeds at his mission, thereby saving not all, but still many, many lives. Now, it was still a rather bittersweet ending
but overall, I felt relieved at the end, and I found myself re-watching that one heroic scene
because it was just so powerful. But then I started wondering what this really
implies, and this brought to me another film. I paint the tombs of the prophets. They look up and imagine that if they
lived back in Christ’s time, they wouldn’t have done what the others did. There is an interesting scene in A Hidden Life in which the main character meets a painter who questions the purpose of his
religious imagery. While the film is about an Austrian man resisting
the Nazi regime, an act for which he is eventually prosecuted and killed, this particular sequence touches on a more fundamental issue about how we relate ourselves to hero systems, and especially, heroic stories within those hero systems. What we do, is just create sympathy. We create admirers. We don't create followers. As we’ve seen in the opening discussion, the potential for anti-war partly depends
on the eye of the beholder. And it is here that Becker makes what is probably
the most confronting observation as he argues that this beholder is by default a fundamentally selfish one. According to him, the price we pay for being
naturally narcissistic animals is that “very few of us, if pressured, would be unwilling
to sacrifice someone else in our place.” This is why we worship heroes so much, as
they are the exception to this rule. They make the sacrifices so few are willing
to make. “But what we are reluctant to admit”
– Becker continues – “is that the admiration of the hero is a vicarious catharsis of our own fears, fears that are deeply hidden; and this is what plunges us into uncritical hero worship:
what the hero does seems so superlative to us.” In other words, the danger of worshipping heroes is that we end up admiring them not as a means to an end, that is, as an inspiration for meaningful transformation, but instead, as an end in itself. Like the phenomenon of scapegoating, we can project our desire for heroic victory onto others, and through their heroism,
enjoy it as if it were our own. I say this was a confronting observation because
it certainly was so for me. I love war films, and I love to think I’m a better person
for watching them, for soaking in the suffering of others and believing it
guides me towards better values. But there is a confession to be made here: I have never helped out families of fallen soldiers. I don’t donate to organizations supporting
veterans who are struggling at home. I’m not marching down the streets
in defiance of war. I’m not actively protesting military recruitment programs that are preying on the young who are still impressionable, and on the marginalized who are led to believe they have no other recourse for a meaningful life. I’m watching these heroic war stories, in part because I am genuinely in awe of seeing the power and perseverance of the human spirit, but also because it feeds into
my own narcissism. I love seeing these acts of heroism and, as I’m sure many others do, I imagine that could be me. I like to believe that, if the situation demands it, I too would be capable of making the great sacrifice, I too would emerge as a hero. Though the reality is, I probably won’t. And yet, I indulge myself in the fantasy, and even find a strange sense of moral accomplishment in doing so. As in; I already feel more heroic just because
I can imagine myself being so. The experience is not unlike watching superhero films, but of course the difference is that these are stories about real people, and they really got killed. And so it is important to ask ourselves if we are truly honoring and giving significance to those lives, or if we too are turning them into sacrificial lambs that only serve our own vanity, and provide us with personal comfort. Christ's life is a demand. You don't want to be reminded of it. I paint their comfortable Christ,
with a halo over his head. So we don’t have to see what happens
to the truth. If we are to fully understand the potential
for and meaning of anti-war films, we have to acknowledge the possibility that there is a deep down, secret part of us that does not want them. Because by truly attacking the hero systems that drive us to war, we are also attacking a part of ourselves; the part that longs for our own heroic victory over death, for our own achievement of greater significance. And so it is understandable that instead of
truly striving for anti-war, for the absolute deconstruction of the hero systems, it is extremely tempting to instead cling to
our reassuring tale of the hero, to our comfortable Christ. Someday I might have the courage to venture,
not yet. Someday I'll... I'll paint the true Christ. Conclusion: A True Christ In the conclusion to his book, Becker poses what is probably the most burning question after all this, that being: what is possible? We have discussed our instinctive urge to
transcend death through symbolic significance, how hero systems have emerged to achieve this, and how they have destructive consequences by projecting our fears and weaknesses onto others. For Becker, this is not a condition to be overcome,
but a necessity to be able to stand life. “The fact is that men cannot and do not
stand on their own powers.” – he writes – ”Moral dependence is a natural motive of the human condition and has to be absolved from something beyond oneself.” What this implies is that we need heroes,
villains, meaningful action. We need stories. We need that which grants us significance. In Becker’s words, this makes us an impossible animal: “one who, individually, needs for healthy action the very conduct that, on a general level, is destructive to him.” This also is the great struggle
of the anti-war film: there is a part of us that simply cannot face the reality
of its implications. We cannot truly face the meaningless waste
of human life. We cannot truly accept the possibility that
all the harrowing pain and sorrow accumulated over centuries of war carried
no greater significance. We need to believe it was all worth something. But this is also why anti-war films, or at least,
the effort towards them, is so important. “If you talk about heroics that cost mountains
of human life,” – Becker continues – “you have to find out why such heroics are practiced
in a given social system: who is scapegoating whom, what social classes are excluded from heroism, what there is in the social structure that drives the society blindly to self-destructive heroics.” The real problem however is finding some kind
of non-destructive alternative, and then translate that into transformative cinema. Monnet argued that war films can only be as
antiwar as their viewers already are. And while I think it is true that anti-war statements generally don’t reach those who need them the most, that being; those are most deeply immersed
in their hero system, I don’t fully share in her pessimism. Sigmund Freud believed that human beings were violent out of lust, and if he was right, then warfare is
a fatality for all time. But if we are violent out of animal fears,
as Becker now argues, then there is a small possibility that those fears can be examined and calmed. Becker imagines an ideal world that achieves
this by putting the problem of death central. A world that admits to its own fear of extinction
and insignificance, and questions its own hero systems. A world in which leaders always act fully aware of the implications of their own deeply-hidden fears, and always consider the full weight
of every single human life and its suffering. Such a world, unfortunately, is little more
than a utopian fantasy. Although Becker does mention one social system
that comes somewhat close to it, and that is democracy. With its free flow of criticism, art and science, democracy acts in constant defiance
of its own cultural fictions, which is why authoritarians despise it so much, it seems ridiculously intent on discrediting itself,
as Becker put it. When it comes to cinema, democracy at least provides the possibility for war films that urge us to really face the mirror, to look critically at ourselves instead of clinging to stories that merely give us comfort. And by continuing to push us into self-reflection, by helping us understand our human condition in creative and insightful ways, maybe then, someday, we might just find that tiny measure of reason
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Come and See is a heart-wrenching movie
this was really well done. its quite long, but if you have the time i recommend it. I have had a struggle with war films that claim to be anti-war because many of them end up being at least apologetic to it. interesting and nuanced watch.