Steven Spielberg’s war film is frightening, exhausting and worth the ordeal, chiefly for its combat sequences and Tom Hanks’s strained authority. The writing between battles is more familiar, but the terror is difficult to shake.
Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan is a frightening war film with a more conventional drama between its battles. We recommend it for the combat filmmaking and for Tom Hanks, who makes command look exhausting. Spielberg wants the fighting to be frightening enough that we stop treating survival as a reward for competence. The landing sequence achieves that with a directness that is difficult to bear. Men have jobs to do, but the violence keeps making those jobs seem impossible.
Janusz Kamiński’s handheld cinematography makes the landing hard to survey without making it look carelessly filmed. We were horrified by the succession of injuries and the lack of any comfortable distance from them. The camera puts us close enough to the violence that watching for the next piece of action starts to feel like the wrong way to watch. Michael Kahn cuts the sequence so that the confusion is sustained, rather than discharged in a few quick shocks. By the time it allows us to breathe, we are tired of seeing men hurt.
Hanks gives the film a reason to continue beyond that ordeal. His Captain Miller is still capable of leading, but the effort shows, and Hanks does not make every sign of strain into a request for sympathy. We believe in the authority because we can see how much work it takes to maintain. Tom Sizemore’s Sergeant Horvath provides a steadier presence beside him, without competing for our attention. Together they give the group a sense of having to get on with its work even when nobody has much left to give.
Robert Rodat’s screenplay gives the supporting soldiers less help. Edward Burns as Private Reiben and Barry Pepper as Private Jackson are readily distinguishable, but the writing too often stops once each man has an attitude. The middle stretch suffers because assembling a group of recognisable soldiers is not enough to make their conversations interesting. At 169 minutes, the film has room to know these men better. The cast does much of that work, though some exchanges still sound as if they have been assigned to cover the expected positions on duty and sacrifice.
Thomas E. Sanders’s production design helps keep the fighting convincing: the spaces look difficult to move through and offer little sense of shelter. That matters when Spielberg needs us worrying about where a man can stand rather than admiring the size of the scene. John Williams’s music gives the quieter passages a solemnity that is sometimes more than they need. Its gravity is understandable, and it suits the film’s respect for the soldiers. Still, we would occasionally prefer to be left with what Hanks has already put into his voice.
War films often depend on the pleasure of watching capable people work together, and Spielberg is prepared to make that pleasure uncomfortable. The combat leaves a harder impression than Rodat’s conversations about duty, but Hanks keeps the drama from becoming a lecture. Give it an uninterrupted evening, provided everyone watching is prepared for graphic violence rather than a reassuring account of courage. Allow a little quiet afterwards.
