Anthony Swofford, greets us at the outset of "Jarhead" as orders
are being barked at him by a sadistic drill sergeant. In lowercase
letters barely visible at the bottom of the screen, the title of the
film flashes briefly. We get it: These "jarheads," or
empty-vesseled marines, are interchangeable afterthoughts without
purpose.
One wonders why anyone would want to join the USMC, and director
Sam Mendes jarringly illustrates several deterrents in the film's first
few reels. Our protagonist is brutally hazed the minute he enters
the barracks. A recruit is shot dead during a training exercise. The
grueling day-in, day-out routine offers little reprieve from an
unrelenting command sergeant (Jamie Foxx). Swofford himself
doesn't exactly seem to know why he enlisted, but before you can
say "semper fi" he's being shipped off to Saudi Arabia on the eve
of the first Gulf War.
Like "A History of Violence" from earlier this fall, "Jarhead" aims to
show the roots of man's propensity for aggression. In this instance,
it is clearly boredom. The marines have nothing to do in the
middle of the desert as they wait and wait and wait and wait for
marching orders. The days turn into weeks and months, and the
mission they were trained for -- attacking the enemy -- seems like
just another mirage off in the distance.
Mendes' film works best as a collection of brilliant scenes,
alternately ironic, brutal, incisive, and majestic. Taken together,
the filmmaker keeps us at a distance. Swofford's character, for all
of the physical strength and emotional turmoil Jake Gyllenhaal puts
into it, remains a mystery from the picture's first minute until its
last. We get nothing so much as a 2-minute peek into his family
life. Apparently he speaks Arabic, and this comes as a surprise to
both the men in his unit as well as the viewer when he negotiates
with some camel-riding wanderers. We also learn more about his
increasing mental anxiety from the unnecessary voiceover than the
action onscreen.
Still, there are as many haunting images in "Jarhead" as there are
in the much-revered "Platoon" or "The Deer Hunter," which is
humorously referenced. The film's final third takes place during the
U.S.'s brief military offensive in Kuwait, and it is a stunning sight to
see the oil wells blazing in the sky, drops of oil descending like an
acid rainfall upon the restless marines. A slick-black stray horse,
sopping wet from the crude fallout, wanders in one scene amid the
nighttime haze of smoke and charcoal sand. It is perhaps the
most heartbreaking image of the entire film, as Swofford begins to
realize that no matter what role he plays in the war, he will
ultimately emerge similarly tarred and stranded for life.
His sniper partner (Peter Sarsgaard) appears to be the more
resolute and able-bodied of the two, but suffers an emotional
breakdown near the film's end that sums up the aggression of all
the marines in the desert: Why were they trained to fight, only to
be teased and forced to retreat during the battle's climax? Such is
the nature of modern warfare; jets can now do the work of snipers
in the field. In essence, though, these men's whole lives seemed
to be building to the next plateau of opportunity that the USMC was
thought to provide. But it, too, was another letdown -- like their
unfaithful girlfriends back home -- that left them searching
aimlessly for a meaningful piece of life.
"Jarhead" is a success, a cerebral and visceral one that puts you in
the heart of the (in)action. While it never quite gets to that deeper
level of emotion like many other war films before it, it is the
appropriate battle picture for the directionless times we find
ourselves in today.
