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The Thin Red Line (1998)

A review by Damian Cannon.
Copyright © Movie Reviews UK 2000
Welcome to today's lesson: a work of art isn't profound just because it confuses, somehow eluding your intellectual grasp. If anything the opposite is true, which is that communication must be established between an artist and their audience. Unfortunately with The Thin Red Line Terrence Malick commits this very sin, he is guilty as charged. In fashioning a war movie that seeks to be like no other, one that's as much about philosophy as it is bloodshed, Malick appears to be forgetting one of Hollywood's central tenets. Movies, those in the mainstream, exist to entertain their audience via the use of temporary emotional constructs. Without these, for the majority of viewers such a film is barely more valuable than the medium on which it's developed.

What's irritating is that The Thin Red Line is terrific in a few scattered places, as if to point out what might have been. For most of the picture's running time, there's nothing to latch onto or identify with. No central theme emerges, no single character stands above all others, and no shattering conflict breaks through the spasms of violence. Instead the story is diffuse, quite unfocused and wayward in execution. Just as soon as a thread establishes itself, taking shape and drawing you into its little universe, the script disconcertingly leaps elsewhere, unlikely to return. In consequence anytime a character starts to carve out depth and dimension, they disappear, never to be met again. In an ocean of anonymous, similar faces this is a tough barrier for even the most attentive.

To get a sense of just how much James Jones' novel is hampered by this, consider the setting. We're on the island of Guadalcanal, a fertile paradise that happens to be the key to the Pacific; that explains the presence of so many Japanese soldiers. Onto this remote land pour thousands of Allied troops, some commanded by the ambitious Lt. Col. Gordon Tall (Nick Nolte). In the battle to take a strategically important ridge, combatants are slain in terrible numbers. Hoping to shield his men from this senseless waste, Capt. James Staros (Elias Koteas) refuses to obey one of Tall's orders. For a time the film considers their relationship, then the focus shifts and we're spirited somewhere else. More characters, more introspection, more beautiful but ultimately pointless pans across the foliage.

In common with Malick's other movies, all two of them, the photography and mental conception of what's being shown is tremendous. John Toll captures many beautiful, memorable images of a variety of subjects; sunsets, moving water, animals in their habitat, nature in its glory. Familiar materials, yes, but endlessly soothing. That said, Toll also shoots The Thin Red Line's brilliantly choreographed battle scenes. Stunningly executed, to appear both believable and honest, every piece of close-quarters fighting benefits from sharp editing wielded to maximise the impact of special effects. It's a real shame that elsewhere the cutting is dreadfully lazy and wearily corpulent. Alongside Hans Zimmer's score drifts delightfully in the background, supportive without showing off.

For all of the obstacles that Malick places in path of his cast, a select few manage to wriggle through. James Caviezel as Private Witt provides in many ways the film's soul, mainly because he's convinced that there is something more than the Pacific hell of the present. His thoughts and contemplations merge with those made public elsewhere in The Thin Red Line, lending weight to the theory that we are all but parts of the same global body. Sean Penn makes a fine contrast as the acerbic First Sgt. Edward Welsh, a man certain that what you see is what you get. Regrettably Malick saddles these two, and many others, with quasi-religious, rambling voice-overs that add nothing to the film. Such narration merely rams points home when they're obvious enough already. As for the numerous cameos, they don't interrupt the flow of the story (how could they?) but there is scant merit in their inclusion.

Ultimately The Thin Red Line plays just like a book but without the associated benefits; you can't move back and forth to familiarise yourself with the characters and internal monologues almost always work better in print. It isn't even a particularly brave attempt to film something, the search for one's self, that is inherently untranslatable. The sticking point is that Malick has created a hugely disappointing movie from a stunning collection of resources. Sure it has a certain sluglike momentum and a few transcendent, lyrical scenes but The Thin Red Line doesn't provide any new insight into the human condition. We already know that war is random and pointless, so what's new? Maybe Malick's real message emerges through the sheer length of the picture -- you feel like you've been into battle yourself by the end credits. Frankly, if Malick is the Emperor then here you can be certain that he's buck-naked.

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