25 years after the end of WWII must’ve seemed like enough
elapsed time to do an epic biography of one of that war’s most infamous
generals, George Patton, “Ol’ Blood and Guts,” as he was
none-too-affectionately nicknamed. After all, WWII films with a nostalgic,
action-bent had ruled the roost at the 60’s box office, from the gritty Th Longest Day to the equally gritty but
more escapist The Dirty Dozen. Even
non-war films found a comfortable setting with the conflict – mega-hits like The Sound of Music come most immediately
to mind.
But these were not ordinary times. In 1970, the country was
embroiled in another war, one far more divisive and uncertain in its mission.
And for a huge swath of the populace, baseness-as-usual patriotics simply were
not going to cut it. 20th Century Fox had released the black comedy M*A*S*H in January, to the BO tune of 81
million, making the cinematic sentiment clear: audiences desired – no, they required – a more truthful, if not
antiwar, perspective when chronicling man’s favorite sport.
Patton screenwriter
(and New Hollywood pioneer) Francs Ford Coppola was very much aware of the
water temperature, and was careful to depict his subject in such a way as to
satisfy both the hawks and the doves, and everyone in between (as he indicated
on this DVD intro). And what is most remarkable is how well he succeeded in his
mission. Actually, he accomplished what any good biographer should do; he told, to quote one of my
favorite TV characters, “Just the facts, ma’am.” If anything, perhaps he kept
it too even-handed, to the point of occasional flatness. But no matter; this is
not an Oliver Stone film. It’s a classic biopic told in traditional style,
letting George C. Scott’s phenomenal portrait of the title character do the
talking.
Nothing flat, though, about that opening, a directorial
choice that ironically got Coppola fired from the film: Patton comes out, in
full military regalia, to address his troops (unseen; he’s essentially
addressing the camera), in front of a huge American flag. His speech, an
amalgam of actual speeches he gave throughout his career, has no room for
cowardice in This Man’s Army. He’s a brilliant strategist, studied in centuries
of martial history, and he clearly has a passion for the act of war. He lives,
eats and breathes it, and considers it “mankind’s greatest endeavor.” The
blood, the death, the loss… all par for the course. The price to be paid for
such a vast accomplishment. How does he know? Why he’s been there already, in
his own mind, fighting alongside Romans and Normans and Goths. He’s not a part
of history: he is history.
But Patton’s passion tends to get the best of him,
particularly when he opens his mouth. We open the film in North Africa, when
the general evicts German troops, under the command of field marshal Erwin
Rommel, from Tunisia and Algiers. But his common sense is often overruled by
his competitive nature – that mostly takes the form of British rival general
Bernard Montgomery – and Patton becomes known for heavy casualties as a result.
But he wins battles, and so he’s transferred to Sicily, Italy, where the same
rivalry takes place. Against orders, he takes Salerno, and then Messina; when
he is called out for his insubordination, he replies, “You want us to give it back?”
But the s**t really hits the fan over a relatively minor incident: his slapping
of an enlisted soldier, suffering from shell shock, and chastising him for his
cowardice. This reaches the ears of supreme ETO commander Eisenhower, who
relives the rash general of all military command. Intermission.
Throughout it all, another general, Omar Bradley (Karl
Malden), acts as a tempering force, often forcing Patton to stand down under
unfavorable odds, or to wait until supply units can arrive to offer greater support.
As Act II begins, Patton seems a changed man, resolving to keep his mouth shut
whenever possible. He keeps silent when denied a chance to participate in
D-Day, resigned to act as a decoy so that the Germans reduce their defense of
the Normandy coast. But he can’t quite help himself when delivering a speech to
the French, and intentionally neglects the Russians when referring to the
inevitable major victors of the war. Not understanding the political
ramifications of such an exclusion, he remains unapologetic, again costing him,
but the film spurs to an upbeat third act when Patton, mostly on his own,
doggedly drives his tired and underfed troops towards Berlin. (We don’t get the
inevitable Russian-acceding halt at the Elbe.) But even after the German
surrender the man can’t shut up, offending a Russian general and comparing the
Nazi party to America political parties. He is relieved once again, overseeing
German reconstruction, and finally lamenting that “all glory… is fleeting.”
And so it is. But Patton also had the misfortune of living
in the wrong time period. The film poetically presents his astute knowledge of
history and strong desire to exist in the past, while at the same time
revealing the irony that such inclinations make him a great trouble in the
nascent, media-driven climate of the mid-twentieth century. Take, for example,
his offhanded comment about how the Nazi party is simply another party, not
unlike the Dems or Republicans. Offhanded? Not when every newspaper and radio
station reports it, giving ol’ Ike no other option but yet another
wrist-smacking. The modern-day irony is how we seem to reward such “straight
talk” nowadays, given the current President who rejects such “political
correctness and stirs droves of Americans in doing so.
But if Patton was a precursor to modern times, he was also
an anachronism in 1970. Protesters and left-wingers could hardly have found
anything salvageable about the man, despite his influence in Allied victory.
Yet, they did, and it’s thanks to the brilliance of Coppola’s script, which not
only depicts the general warts and all but also, somehow, gets you to identify with the man. He earnestly
believes that war is “mankind’s greatest endeavor’: he admires the Punic Wars
as he would a Michelangelo or a Rembrandt. And when he sees wounded or dead
soldiers, he grieves. But he only grieves because they can’t continue to
participate in more battles, in more wars. His life is war, and if he had any other cinematic analogue, it would be
Robert Duvall’s character in Apocalypse
Now, another Coppola film, who sees death as a necessary part of war. And
given his zeal for war, he actually sees death as life. What a paradox!
Could Patton, then,
be a Coppala film? I think so. Director Franklin Shaffner’s direction is ok,
but it really only serves the script, the real star. The battle scenes go on
too long; the real drama always involves Scott and his internal/external
conflict. Both the performance, and the writing, elicit a surprising empathy in
the viewer. Anyone with a passion for anything can understand, including
myself, and that’s coming from a person about as antiwar as you can get.
Not a stodgy, bloated epic, but a fine product from the
Coppola-driven New Hollywood. Scott refused the Oscar, but it was
well-deserved.
Rating: ****
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