We Were Soldiers
dir. Randall Wallace
Opens Fri March 1 at various theaters.

As with other recent war films, We Were Soldiers appeals in its final moments to a site of public mourning, here the monolithic edifice of the Vietnam Memorial. It's as if the filmmakers realized that the movie had already failed, and so hoped that exclaiming "True story!" might lend a retroactive resonance.

The failure, however, is evident much earlier in a plot that bears a striking resemblance to Black Hawk Down. Helicopters land (in the jungle), soldiers proceed with a straightforward task (kill the Vietcong), and then we see a whole lot of napalm and impersonal bloodshed. The absence of characterization, despite strained efforts, lends a detached or desensitized quality. It's as if we're watching a ballet or the workings of a self-contained machine, the helicopters whisking away the broken bodies and quickly replacing them.

At the heart of this infernal machine is Mel Gibson, playing the same righteous avenger role he assayed in Braveheart, Ransom, and The Patriot. All the components are on display: an almost violent love of family, nation, church, and, well, violence. Mel's a Catholic: "Ignore [the Vietcong's] prayers," he prays, "and help us to blow these little bastards straight to hell." At one point this would have been silly; now it's just horrifying.