Flags of our Fathers

Clint Eastwood's first draft of an attempted WWII revival nearly squirms in agony with every successive shell impact. A despondent Adam Beach plays private Ira Hayes, a man whose Native American origins, in the eyes of almost every character in the film, seem to justify the rejection of heroism and his consequently booze-soaked descent. If this project is Eastwood's take on Iraq, it's only fair to view private Hayes' struggle in parallel to that of today's minority soldiers. Eastwood's Republican leanings are quite public, as is his blunt hatred of colleague Michael Moore, but isn't he re-examining a point clearly made in 2004's Farenheit 9/11? The intangible cost of war is not only the ante of human life, but the inevitable isolation and exploitation of our lower classes. The three flag-raisers, in fact, represent each of the socio-economic echelons of American life respectively, and go on to represent the respective cost of war. i.e. The poor get poorer.

Whatever his take, a sobbing and impotent Hayes isn't much of a vehicle for commentary. Rather than drive home an all-too-important point, Eastwood drags us through the mire of weak-stomached melodrama in the face of an unspeakably terrible (and completely unrepresented) enemy. There are so many problems with this it makes me want to throw grenades. Since when is Clint Eastwood a pussy? "He was the best marine I ever knew..." says Hayes of Barry Pepper's Captain Strank. Perhaps it's because he was the only marine in the film that wasn't continually sobbing. Anyway... At least Eastwood's formal abilities shine through, despite some basic problems. He's created a balance between the physical challenge of going against a tenacious Japanese force, and going against an equally apathetic American public. It's a very interesting split, and although the heroes apparently don't get it (and do nothing if not complain about the latter struggle, one which in truth is perhaps the more important) it makes an interesting reminder to both sides of the political spectrum. Eastwood reminds us lefties that wars are perhaps a part of American life, but more importantly reminds Bush and Co. that once upon a time governments actually needed to drum up support for wars in order to finance them. Oh, how times have changed.

In spite of this informative balance, Eastwood's tale is still lacking. The American public has no voice, and the really interesting historical stuff never makes it to the surface. The story of American apathy toward WWII is actually pretty amazing. Likewise, we see nothing of the Japanese, and are left with only secondary accounts of their ferocity, creating demons in our imaginations and therefore pigeon-holing an entire ethnicity. Nice job, Clint.