Never mind the 75 soldiers that Private Desmond Doss, the only conscientious objector to receive a medal of honor, literally drags out from the clutches of death; they are but a fraction of the many wondrous resurrections performed in Mel Gibson’s new film, Hacksaw Ridge.
Indeed, there must be something miraculous going here because by the time the credits roll we have (1) cheered for a hero so earnest he’d make Captain America look like a hardened cynic, (2) enjoyed Vince Vaughn as a mean ol’ drill sergeant, (3) believed Andrew Garfield (previously Spider Man) as a war hero, (4) sat through what some might call a “Christian” film with nary a cringe (if only the same could be said for the coming attractions, and (5) experienced what may be the best World War II film since Saving Private Ryan.
The story begins, as World War II epics must, with a glimpse of backcountry Eden before The Fall. Here two youths gleefully leapfrog up a trail in the Blue Ridge Mountains. These are the Doss brothers: Desmond and Hal. Back at home they are awaited by a troubled, sometimes violent pa (Hugo Weaving), and a momma (Rachel Griffiths) whose only real role in the film is to inform us: “if you only knew him before the war…”
(Another sign of divine intervention: this must be the only film with such painfully one dimensional female characters to have ever received a standing ovation at a European film festival.)
From there unfolds a first act – growth, young manhood, first love – so predictable that it threatens to flood Hacksaw’s motor before the blade even begins to spin. Worse still, the whole is punctuated by musical cues so plodding and formulaic that we wouldn’t be surprised to hear Gibson had used stock samples as a cost cutting measure.
But fair enough, really. Gibson’s got two hours and eleven minutes to give us religion. He can’t waste time circling back for stragglers.
And give us religion he does. If not the Jesus kind, we most certainly walk away in awe of the power of story structure.
The pacing is so precise and efficient, and the film moves along so effortlessly, that even the most seasoned eye-rolling critic is swept up in the current of it all.
Even scenes at which we really ought to have scoffed, (e.g. Hugo Weaving pleading his son’s case before a military tribunal in a threadbare “Great War” uniform), damn near achieved sobs.
To quote Southpark’s Matt Stone and Trey Parker: “Say what you want about Mel Gibson, but the son-a-bitch knows story structure.”
He glides through Doss’ formative years so smoothly, in fact, that he forgets to inform of just how our scrappy Doss got to be such a stubborn pacifist that he joins the marines only to refuse to carry a rifle during basic training.
Still, that gap in the narrative may be a strength. With the exception of perhaps Ben Hur, movies very rarely succeed in presenting a believable “Coming to Damascus” moment without causing discerning viewers to shuffle uncomfortably in their seats. Gibson doesn’t bother. He lets his character’s hardships do the talking.
And talk about hardship! By the end Doss has actually developed stigmata. Yes, the Christian motifs are unmistakable, but weren’t they as well in Spartacus, The Lord of the Rings, and A Christmas Carol?
Besides, it would be a shame to waste such a perfect location – Hacksaw Ridge itself – on a mundane tale of heroics.
What better place for Gibson’s attempt at cinematic redemption than a sheer 100-foot bluff, the top of which is occupied by a furious horde of Japanese soldiers who would rather kill themselves than surrender. Not content with an Oscar nomination, Gibson is sending Doss and his fellows to recapture heaven itself.
And they largely succeed, for atop the ridge is where Gibson finally comes to life as a director. Dirt, mortar, and entrails continually whirr across the screen. It is a ballet of savagery. Whereas the savagery of Spielberg’s battle scenes in Saving Private Ryan came from his realist, almost documentarian approach, Gibson paints a tableau of war in the more romantic style of Theodore Gericault.
Of course, some will decry his gusto as sadistic. Yet, we felt far less queasy walking out of Hacksaw Ridge than we did after, say, American Sniper. There we never felt entirely comfortable. Was Chris Kyle unhinged or heroic? Was the film an elegy or a cautionary tale?
Gibson gives us no such trouble. If the bite on the hacksaw in question is especially sharp, it is only to underline the selflessness and courage with which Doss acts as he prays for the strength to save one more soldier.
This is a movie about heroism in which the hero does not resort to violence.
I don’t care where you come down on God. That’s a beautiful story.
In summary, there is much that one could criticize about Hacksaw: the use of female characters as back drop, the first hour that feels more like a formality than a first act, the casting choices, the sometimes excessive brutality, the overtly Christian themes…
…But I dare you to sit through the whole film and tell me any of it really bothered you.
By the time the credits roll, all is forgiven. Perhaps we are witnessing the second coming of Gibson’s once-great film career.