The Messenger, Part Two

On Dec. 18, I reviewed The Messenger, a movie about two soldiers whose assignment is notifying the next of kin that the U.S. soldier in their family has been killed.

In response, Jeff M, a thoughtful and regular visitor, writes: “My God, who the hell would want to watch this film? No offense, Banjo, but some things...I don't know. It's right up there with Sophie’s Choice or Boys Don't Cry.”

Jeff, I know what you mean, but where does one draw that line concerning serious art? At Dostoevsky? I completely understand a reluctance to seek out grim stuff, to pay admission to be depressed as well as enlightened. I've never put myself through Clockwork Orange along with a number of other books and movies, especially when there are more innards and sliced flesh on film than in medical schools.

Still, when I make those choices, I know I’m sacrificing something—maybe the new information and perspectives offered in The Messenger, maybe the elevation of human suffering to the status of tragedy. An audio recording of King Lear can make me shiver, but it’s a price I'm willing to pay once in awhile for witnessing the eloquent arrogance of social rank and senility and fatherhood as they are struck down into eloquent humility.

I remember Sophie's Choice as magnificent, if difficult—ditto the more recent The Road and Hurt Locker, and any number of other high quality but grim movies. Like you, however, I’ve consciously chosen to skip some. Don’t you think it’s got to be a personal choice?

The people who make me crazy are those who seem to get off on war while confining their reading and movies to Patriotism Made Simple by Moe Rawn and the Simpleton Brothers. Those people should be forced to see every minute of every convincing war movie—twice. Ditto for bigots and well-made movies about racism or sexism. Or am I just refusing to accept that bricks can’t think?

Jeff, I'm pretty sure that's not you signing up for Jingoism 101, so by all means skip this movie if you want to, need to. But I’m not sorry I saw and praised The Messenger; I think it added important fuel to my skepticism about American wars popping up like zits, here, there, and everywhere.

As we’ve heard so often since our war in Vietnam, the surviving veterans of most wars—and their loved ones—are wounded in myriad ways, from which the rest of us are shielded. Maybe the least I can do is put myself through two hours of forced enlightenment about an aspect of military life I've probably never considered. I don't have to endure such things every time, but sometimes, especially if someone I trust tells me how and why the book or movie is well-made.

So, as long as viewers have some of sense of what they’re getting into, I recommend, again, The Messenger as good film making.

More importantly, I repeat what I said in the December 18 review: most of Congress should see it—right after they volunteer their children or themselves or their spouses to be put in harm's way in one of our foreign ventures.

This should be a rule: if you vote for war, you go to war—or send your young offspring because they are more able warrior surrogates. I suppose that’s Utopian, though I’m not entirely sure why.

You might have heard something similar from Michael Moore in Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), but I promise I had the idea decades before seeing that good film. And of course, when Michael Moore is your ally, your argument is probably more than halfway down the tubes in mainstream America—not because it’s unsound but because it fails the Simpleton’s Red, White, and Blue test, which is entirely multiple choice. Experiences like The Messenger are essay tests, and they’ll be graded hard.

* *