Briefly - Cross of Iron
I was looking forward to seeing Sam Peckinpah’s Cross of Iron tonight, but having just finished it, I can’t find anything good to say about it. The disappointment struck such a chord with me that I wrote my first Netflix review (and possibly one of the first reviews I’ve ever submitted to any online service):
A disjointed, poorly-edited mishmash of anti-war sentiment and meaningless heroics. There’s a kernel of a good film in here, but it is lost in slow-motion explosions and blood-spurts. The film suffers from a lack of real direction, substituting chaos and confusion for drama and contemplation, giving the film as a whole a surreal quality that pervades it from the children singing in the opening credits, to Coburn’s maniacal laughter finishing with a grim, “Aw sh*t,” before the screen goes black. A disappointing film from a great director.
I almost wish I hadn’t already sealed the DVD back in the return envelope to Netflix so I could capture some stills and write a longer essay, but, sad to admit it, I don’t think I could sit through it a second time. Peckinpah’s themes are in there (the meaning of masculinity, female brutality, senselessness of violence), but his message and the narrative is lost in a film without finesse.



