I finally saw Saving Private Ryan tonight. I know, I know: but my husband used to just pop it into the DVD player without telling me: I'd hear it playing downstairs in the media room. And I couldn't, you know, watch it without seeing the beginning. (This is what we call, in the trade, a "rationalization.")

Actually, that might be a great way to watch it—minus that first 20 minutes. I've been hardened in the past two years by Band of Brothers, The Passion of the Christ, The Pianist, and (just last night) House of Sand and Fog. So I guess I was ready. But I knew the landing on Normandy beach would be awful.

Attila-Hub assured me that if I could get through the first 20 minutes, I'd be fine. He didn't tell me it might be the longest 20 minutes of my life.

It's beautifully done, though I don't think it's as good as Band of Brothers, which gives one a good ten hours to get to know these guys. You live with them, drink with them, fight with them, shower with them. They become a part of your life, especially the second time you go through the series.

On the other hand, Saving Private Ryan pioneered the filming techniques that Band of Brothers relied upon. They both have that Tom Hanks imprint.

All I want to do, watching either work, is weep with gratitude for all the men who died so I can be free—or at least so Europe can be. I want to bring them flowers, kiss the earth where they are buried. Maybe I will some day.

And I want to require every single French person to watch at least one of these, especially Private Ryan. They owe us that, dammit.

Posted by: Attila at 01:46 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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