At the going down of the sun

 
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The companion piece to Clint Eastwood’s Flags of Our Fathers is Letters from Iwo Jima, also about the Battle of Iwo Jima, but now told from the Japanese, rather than from the American, perspective. With Letters, we find Eastwood yet again on top form, adding another strong and deeply compelling film to his growing list from recent years, which includes Unforgiven (1992), The Bridges of Madison County (1995), Mystic River (2003), and Million Dollar Baby (2004). We can only be grateful to him for spending the latter years of his life making such beautifully nuanced and thought-provoking films. Letters from Iwo Jima was nominated for four Oscars (including Best Picture, Best Director and Best Screenplay) in 2007 and is sure to be regarded as one of the best films of the year.

Letters from Iwo Jima is in some ways a conventional war film in that it has scenes of intense combat and shows the brutality and madness of war. But that is where the comparison with traditional war films end. It is more like Terence Malick’s The Thin Red Line in tone and feel than, say, Saving Private Ryan or All Quiet on the Western Front. Instead of a battle story which depicts an inspiring victory, courage under fire or defying conventional odds to gain glory for oneself or one’s country, this film is about impending doom and the anticipation of the losses these soldiers are certain to face since they are resigned to the fact that they will not be going home.

Led by an outstanding performance from Ken Watanabe as General Kuribayashi, the film focuses on a few characters whom we get to know through letters they write to their loved ones back home (many such letters were unearthed recently on the island). Torn between an unwavering commitment to the ideology (and propaganda) of the Japanese empire and the desire to be reunited with their loved ones, we truly get the sense that this battle is not about pawns in a larger military game – the people who are fighting are real human beings with real stories and deep emotions.

Unlike Flags, this film eases us in to the actual battle, which doesn’t commence until the half way point. Prior to this, the story tells of the meticulous planning by the Japanese as they formulate a strategy to defend the island. This includes building an elaborate tunnel network and moving all their beachfront defenses onto Mount Suribachi. Once the battle begins, there are several flashbacks to earlier times in the main characters’ lives, all of which effectively deepen our interest in, and understanding of, these characters. For example, we learn of Kuribayashi’s time of living in the United States and, ironically, having lovely dinner parties with American soldiers and their wives. This is reminiscent of a recent song by Keane about war (‘A Bad Dream’), which contains a line that affirms some of the maddening ironies of wartime versus times of peace: ‘And when will I meet my end? / In a better time you could be my friend’.

Another of the central characters is Shimizu (Ryo Kase), a soldier brought in to replace someone who had died of dysentery (which was threatening to decimate the Japenese forces). Shimizu is supposedly a strict, punitive, Japanese intelligence ‘spy’ (and mistrusted by his fellow soldiers) sent to report on disloyal soldiers. However, we learn through flashback that he has been discharged from the oppressive service for being too merciful. We also see the story of Saigo (Kazunari Ninomiya), who before being recruited for the war, owned a bakery with his wife and has a newborn child whom he hasn’t met yet. This soldier defies stereotype in that he can’t fire a gun very well (similar to Jeremy Davies’ character in Saving Private Ryan), but instead of being a coward, he shows his savvy by manoeuvring (aided by some good fortune) through difficult circumstances  and lives to see the end of the battle. In a beautiful twist of irony, he is the one who is hailed by General Kuribayashi as a good soldier. This is one example of many where Eastwood, in following the general tendencies of the war film genre, gently dismantles them as well.

As the momentum in the battle swings the Americans’ way, we find that the Japanese soldiers are caught in a dilemma between the instructions of the Japanese political leaders (fight to the death or commit suicide) and the very human instinct to try and survive at all costs. While there are several heartbreaking scenes of soldiers giving in to despair and ending their lives, we also witness the main characters being motivated by their promises to return to their families to try and survive, even though defeat was certain. What makes this film heartbreaking is its depiction of the horrible destructiveness of war and the cost exacted on those who are caught up in the fighting, coupled with the reality that this particular war was a necessary evil.

In our own day, we find ourselves witnessing a war which is no longer simply about national or political ideology and whose purpose seems not clearly known by public, military personnel or politicians. Eastwood was very careful not to make direct parallels to today’s situation, but echoes are inevitable as we watch this film. The Japanese clearly understood the orders that were coming from their leaders, but the extent to which they were willing to comply with those orders or even fight in the name of those orders was not as simple. Part of the dilemma of war is that human beings are recruited to perform very inhuman tasks. Soldiers are often viewed by the public as pieces in a larger military or political game. This, added to the fact that we now witness war in a surreal, immediate yet distant manner via communication technology, can easily numb us to these realities and dilemmas. As New York Times’ film critic A.O. Scott says, it is easy to forget that

An army needs personnel, not personalities, and one of the functions of the art and literature of war – especially on film, which exists to consecrate the human face – is to compensate for this forced anonymity by emphasizing the flesh-and-blood individuality of the combatants. Think of the classic Hollywood platoon picture, with its carefully distributed farm boys and city kids, its quota of blowhards and bookworms, all superintended by a wise, crusty commander. Even as they approach stereotype, those characters give names, faces and identities to men who have gone down in history mainly as statistics. (New York Times, 16 February 2007)

That is why films like Letters From Iwo Jima are so important. Regardless of one’s views on the ethics of war, we must never forget that the people who are asked to carry out these horrific tasks are real human beings who have their own stories and lives. Each of them has people who know and love them and simply want them to come home as soon as possible. And when they don’t, we are sometimes forced to ask ourselves, For what did they lose their lives? Is it worth it?

In each situation we must ask ourselves whether or not we can support a government’s justification of war when measured against the human cost involved. At the very least, we must grieve the millions of lives who have been sacrificed on all sides – some for worthy causes (such as World War II), but also some for more dubious causes – while constantly seeking to find other ways of resolving conflict apart from violence. The ethics of Jesus, for example, seem to clearly advocate non-violent solutions to conflict (loving your enemy, turning the other cheek, prohibition of murder). And while many might argue that personal ethics don’t apply to political conflicts, it is human beings who are asked to resolve such conflicts either through diplomacy or force. The ethics of Jesus may seem counter-intuitive, but are they in fact revealing something about the true nature of human beings? In other words, are the desires of our hearts truly satisfied through violence, or through love? Thanks to films like Letters from Iwo Jima, we are given the beautifully sad reminder that while we often seek the former to resolve conflict, our hearts cry out for the latter.

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