Film and Felt

It’s always interesting to see Clint Eastwood’s directorial style play out in various genres. He tends to eschew artsy-fartsy gimmicks, instead opting to stay close to the tried-and-true cinematic methods that have proven themselves over the years (much of this likely stems from his involvement in the spaghetti Westerns of the 60’s and 70’s). In this regard, his sobering Letters from Iwo Jima bears more than a few resemblances to his terrific Million Dollar Baby of a few years ago (I’ve yet to see Flags of our Fathers). Both could easily be characterized as generic in their narratives, but they’re so expertly helmed that they manage to transcend the norm and duck clichés that would sink most other pictures. With Letters From Iwo Jima, Eastwood presents a three-pronged anti-war film, offering a tribute to the brave Japanese soldiers of Iwo Jima while sharply illustrating the contrast in American & Japanese cultures, and strongly denouncing our current Iraq war. Only an overstuffed middle, battle-heavy section keeps Letters From Iwo Jima from being a truly elite movie.
The opening hour of Letters from Iwo Jima is superb, lyrically displaying a noble culture of men who truly believe their country is greater than any individual being and (for the most part) proudly representing their Emperor in defending the island of Iwo Jima…yet underneath that pride lies a wistful sadness, the harsh reality that these soldiers are almost certain to never see their families again; at times, these two emotions are in deep conflict with each other. Still, when a Japanese captain tells his troops that one of Japan’s big edges over America is their discipline and ability to emotionally detach themselves from the moment, it rings true. Eastwood expertly balances the inner torment that these men face every day regarding their place in life, their priorities, and their doomed fate: he cleverly uses select flashbacks (and poignant in-the-moment scenes) to exhibit that there is more to life for these men than war, despite their brave fronts—examples are General Kuribayashi (Ken Watanabe) sketching lovely artwork in the bigwigs’ cave quarters, or Saigo (Kazunari Ninomiya) writing letters to his wife that he knows will never reach their destination. Moments of tenderness such as the aforementioned are present throughout Letters From Iwo Jima, but are particularly prevalent during the first half.
Once the Americans land on Iwo Jima, the picture slips a bit, resembling Saving Private Ryan more than The Thin Red Line (which may not be inherently bad, but doesn’t fit the dreamy tone that Letters From Iwo Jima establishes early on). Some war violence is inevitable—indeed, important—in a film of this sort, but Letters From Iwo Jima goes overboard for awhile: the middle section could easily be trimmed by 20-30 minutes without losing any of its message or power. Once Japan’s inevitable defeat creeps closer, though, Letters From Iwo Jima recaptures its effective pacing, and closes strongly and emotionally.
Eastwood’s goals with Letters From Iwo Jima are far-ranging, and are mostly accomplished clearly and quietly. Like Million Dollar Baby, subtlety isn’t Eastwood’s objective here: rather, he wishes to present a compelling story elegantly without sap, and allow the viewer to absorb and ponder as (s)he sees fit. Beyond applauding the Japanese loyalty to their country and the heartbreak that accompanies it, Eastwood also demonstrates the stark difference in American and Japanese ideals, ones that he clearly feels have spilled over into our current administration and the war in Iraq: the most glaring and chilling sequences involve Japanese Captain Tanida (Takumi Bando) treating and even befriending a wounded American prisoner named Sam, while the Americans coldly shoot their prisoners dead, taking great pleasure in their bravado and “manliness.” Not only does this symbolize the differences in the cultures’ respect (or lack thereof) for their enemies, but it reflects upon their respect for their superiors: in Japan, disregarding your superior officers is akin to treason, whereas the American troops do it without a whiff of concern for the consequences. Indeed, the American mentality in Letters From Iwo Jima reeks of the Red State war-mongering agenda that pervades our culture now during the Bush administration. The patriotic cant of Japan, in contrast, is far gallant, but is it worth it? For all their selfless actions, the Japanese soldiers are rewarded by a feeble “go get ‘em” from headquarters back in Tokyo, and are “left on an island” (no pun intended) with no reinforcements from the big boys back home. It begs the question of how sacred Iwo Jima was to these men, and if the principles were truly worth dying for. Given how many soldiers committed suicide to die with honor, it appears that most of them felt that they were.

Technically, Letters From Iwo Jima is excellent in every way. The music, composed by Eastwood himself, is slow and hypnotic, yet selectively used to avoid becoming overbearing. Outstanding cinematography by Tom Stern mixes intense close-ups of soldiers in the trenches with beautiful long shots of the American cavalry approaching Iwo Jima and the empty lonely beaches with waves lapping at the shores. As for the acting, it’s terrific all-around: Watanabe is the big name as Kuribayashi, but the real show-stealer is relative newcomer Ninomiya as Saigo, the conflicted young soldier who pines for his wife and unborn daughter back home while desperately trying to live up to the strict codes expected from his country. All in all, Letters From Iwo Jima is not to be missed: it’s another triumph for Eastwood, and one of 2006’s best pictures.