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Okay so I wasn't there, thankfully, but Steven Spielberg transports us body and soul into the Omaha Beach slaughterhouse. His powers are great and the initial thirty minutes of Saving Private Ryan are quite unlike any war movie that I've ever seen. Janusz Kaminski's hand-held photography deposits you right there in the boat and on the beach, every moment an image of chaos and carnage. German machine-gunners free to fire from concrete bunkers, spraying a mistral of death over this advance party. It's an overwhelming montage of waste, heroics and appreciation; if you've ever wondered what it's like to be in battle, Saving Private Ryan provides an answer.
After such intensity, the rest of the movie could easily have disappointed. That it doesn't is testament to the skill of Spielberg and his harried cast. Having established the credentials of his men, writer Robert Rodat hands Captain John Miller (Tom Hanks) the most unexpected of missions. Somewhere in Normandy is a paratrooper named Private James Ryan (Matt Damon) and he's got a "Get out of the war free" card. So not only are Miller's squad envious of someone they've never even met, it seems that their eight lives are worth less than Ryan's. This is one facet of a theme central to Saving Private Ryan, that concerned with balancing actions and asking questions. With so many reasons not to fight, one wonders how the enlisted men, the grunts, continue despite themselves. The film is ambivalent in its answer.
The upsetting factor in this equation is that while Miller's men don't want to get too friendly with each other, it makes the inevitable mortal separation worse, they have little choice. Sergeant Horvath (Tom Sizemore) does his best to maintain distance and discipline, a job made hard by smart-alec Private Reiben (Edward Burns). Private Jackson (Barry Pepper) brings a little Southern prayer to his sniper talent, Medic Wade (Giovanni Ribisi) tries to ease the pain of dying and Corporal Upham (Jeremy Davies) annoys with naive, unwanted queries. Hardly a crack team, they're focused on the business of staying alive. If fighting is what it takes to get them home, then they'll battle on despite the odds and desensitisation.
For the viewer, Saving Private Ryan is awash with meaning. Grim and gory wounds show up close how war is a game of chance, where random bad luck can get you shot, yet stupidity plays its part also. If you're apt to wander out into the open, your career is likely to be short. Then, at a higher level, officers far from the front plan troop movements and strategies, more accountants than warriors. When they make a mistake, men (on both sides) pay in blood. Apart from birthplace there's little difference between the opposing soldiers, they're only doing their duty. What's important is that everyone who died in WWII did so for us, for a lifestyle founded on the principle of freedom. Throw away this opportunity and you betray those who perished.
From a technical stance Saving Private Ryan is exceptional, a blend of talent and resources. Careful manipulation of film stock and camera lens ensures a grainy, slightly washed-out picture. Without attempting a direct copy, the images projected evoke recollection of period newsreel. Michael Kahn edits these in such a fashion that the running time flows by, giving the characters room to breath without dragging. The musical score of John Williams complements Kahn's process, charting the story's never artificial progression. Yet it's Spielberg who binds the movie, directing with an inescapable power that's personal and immediate. He's made many wonderful films but rarely have we glimpsed the maturity of Saving Private Ryan, payment for a debt owed by all those alive today.
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