The Deer Hunter

The Deer Hunter (Michael Cimino, 1978) The Oscars are coming up and, with it, so many posts on Social Media about what "The Oscars Got Wrong." We all have our opinions, and mine is just as valuable (or worthless, in my mind) as anybody else's whose wasting their time reliving the past in an alternate universe where THEIR movie (well, not theirs, but their PREFERRED movie) might have taken home the Oscar for Best Picture—as if that were the arbiter of value. Time is the more deciding factor, away from the campaigning, the parties and the pressures of voting.*

After so many years since its release, and so much acclaim (including winning the 1979 Best Picture Oscar**) as an acknowledged "classic," The Deer Hunter does not seem to have the sustaining power that a classic should have. When it aired on television, it aired reverently uncut and "without commercial interruption"—a sign of "respect" from the tube-jockeys (but it could also indicate a lack of sponsor-spine enough to commit) and as much as I "enjoyed" the film when it came out, finding it "deep" and "meaningful" when I first saw it in theaters, I still have to ask, though, "What in the Hell is it trying to say?"

Or is it actually trying to say anything?

The story of five working class guys from Pittsburgh, and their rituals—marriage, hunting, country—becomes shattered when three of them enlist to go fight in Vietnam and find themselves (in a highly unlikely but dramatically convenient scenario) all prisoners of war in the same North Vietnamese prison camp, where ritualized torture by a daily game of Russian roulette among the prisoners is the order of the day, while their captors bet on the survivor. It's a rather stupid way of torturing your prisoners—giving them a loaded weapon, after all—and it eventually does become a means of escape back to America, where, when they return, nothing is the same, and despite the heroic efforts of one of them (Robert De Niro), things can't go back to the way they were.

Okay. It's a movie "in the tradition" of The Best Years of Our Lives—another "Best Picture"-winner—but, where William Wyler's film takes a real look at the issues facing the returning soldier at the end of World War II—unemployment, disability, PTSD, the lack of discipline and rigor in American life—The Deer Hunter merely takes on the attitude of "that's the way it goes..." and goes ritually, as everybody else gets on with the day-to-day, damaged (as the country was damaged).

The reason might be in its origins; where Wyler was determined to tell a story about returning soldiers and the crises they faced, Vietnam didn't even figure into the screenplay the way it was first envisioned. It started out as a story ("The Man Who Came to Play") about four guys going to Vegas and participating in a game of Russian Roulette. That was the original treatment. Once Michael Cimino and scenarist Deric Washburn got hold of it, it became a treatise on comradeship (and exclusively male comradeship one should point out), war, and self-destruction. 

And patriotism. Or...something. And, again, I think it has something to do with how ritual sustains us and numbs us, simultaneously. But, the screenplay went through so many revisions—and was basically re-written on-set—it's hard to say if anything about it had a solid structure or philosophy. At one point, Cimino wanted to cut out the Russian roulette aspect of it (until he was begged not to by one of the original scenarists). And characters were switched around. Originally, it was the pragmatic Mike—the De Niro character—who stayed in Vietnam, endlessly playing Russian roulette (which makes sense given it was his mental will power and tenacity that got the others through the ritualized torture, and his philosophy of "one shot" would seem to be the mantra of the man for whom hunting was a personal test).

The film, as it stands, focuses on a trio of Pennsylvania steelworkers—Mike Vronsky (De Niro), Nick Chevotarevich (Christopher Walken) and Steven Pushkov (John Savage)—and their friends Stan (John Cazale), Axel (non-actor Chuck Aspegren, a steelworker who'd befriended De Niro and Walken) and John (George Dzundza), who runs a local bar. Mike, Nick, and Steven are all going into the military, but before they do, they have two big events to attend: the marriage of Steven to Angela (Rutanya Alda) and one last weekend hunting trip. During the wedding it is established that both Mike and Nick love the same woman, Linda (Meryl Streep), but at the wedding Nick asks her to marry him when he gets home. Also, Nick promises Mike to bring him back home if something happens to him in Vietnam. 

During the hunting trip (Steven does not attend due to his honeymoon), Mike and Nick leave the others behind—Mike is annoyed that Stan and Axel are unprepared and a little drunk—to hunt a deer. Mike has rules: it is his intention to take down a stag with one shot. If he can't, it shows a lack of discipline and intent and he tells Nick that he is the only one of the party who would understand that and so is the only one he will go hunting with. Mike manages to take down a buck and the group drive into town, triumphant.

In Vietnam, Mike, Nick and Steven are captured by the North Vietnamese and thrown in a river prison camp. During the day, they are taken out by their captors and, for their amusement, made to play Russian Roulette. Steven is very nearly killed and Mike, with Nick, fearing that Steven has had a complete breakdown, decide they will use the torture as a means to escape. They increase the betting odds by convincing the NVN of putting three bullets in the gaming pistol. And, once the odds of getting a live chamber on the first fire are good, Mike turns the pistol on his captors and the three make their escape.

The three are separated: Steven with two broken legs from the escape attempt is sent to hospital, Nick is having trouble coping with the stress and one night is seen by Mike at a gambling den where Russian roulette is played. Mike finally gets home, avoids a welcome home party and is told the next day by Linda that Nick has gone AWOL. Steven is in a local VA hospital, a paraplegic, his wife is catatonic. Mike visits Steven and insists he go home and is also told that Steven is being sent money from Saigon. Being the benefactor to be Nick, Mike travels back to Vietnam to find his friend and fulfill his promise.

The performances in this 3 hour film are strong, despite the thin material. De Niro's performance is magnetic, despite being ultimately unknowable, Walken's is heart-breaking, Streep's performance, in a role that was underwritten and that she ultimately had to fill in herself, is strong, and Dzundza's (in his first film performance of any consequence) is full of heart and verve. It is John Cazale's last film performance before his death and another bold depiction of weakness. If the performances in the film are strong, so, too, are the cinematography of Vilmos Zsigmond, and the detailed editing by Peter Zinner (with an uncredited assist from the rigorous Verna Fields).

Those aspects, and the time in which the film was released (1978, three years after the war officially ended) allowed it to "play" to American audiences, providing a catharsis for the soul-splitting war that had deeply affected the country, with its emphasis less on the war, but its aftermath, something not seen in previous Vietnam-themed films that year, like Go Tell the Spartans and The Boys in Company C and far afield of earlier films like The Green Berets, and without the political baggage of Coming Home, which followed it in theaters. Most Americans could not relate to what was going on in the war, wanted to avoid it (and Hollywood was economically leery of depicting it), and by centering it in the homeland, allowed it to touch hearts, as we all relate to weddings and funerals...and less to jungle-warfare.

And we relate to patriotism. Although, I think the film's coda, with an awkward end-singing of "God Bless America"—although it may seem to mean something—is just as significant as the sing-along to "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You." 

And I mean that. It's not the subject of the song so much as the group-think that goes along with the blending of voices. We've seen a fracturing...of the country...of friendships...of marriages...of lives. But we can still come together...if only with platitudes. And easy touchstones. It's comfort. It's expected. It's ritual.

But, does it mean anything? Perhaps Cimino attempts to give us the answer when he has Michael say to Stan: "This is this." Take it for what it is. It doesn't have to mean anything. It simply is. But...that's not good enough.  

So, okay, then. Forty years (Good Lord!) after the fact. The Deer Hunter. Beautifully shot. Beautifully acted. But ultimately hollow. Stare at the trappings all you like. Heap on your belief-systems and your graspings for significance, like the many awards it garnered, until that is what it is known for. But, "this is this" says nothing—The Deer Hunter is as desperate in searching for meaning as the times in which it was made...and comes up missing the mark.

It isn't so much vogue as vague; it is non-communication posing as artistry. 

"One Shot..."

* Believe me, there is pressure—I used to vote for the Emmy's and the deluge of material (that I felt duty-bound to watch) and the voting by deadline was a headache. Plus, you'd look at the list of nominees and sometimes say to yourself "I didn't like any of those!" And you'd have to vote. Eventually, I just got sick of it and stopped doing it.

** In those days when the Best Picture category was relegated to only five nominees The Deer Hunter competed against Coming Home, Midnight Express, Heaven Can Wait, and An Unmarried Woman. Other films nominated that year—but not for Best Picture—included Superman, Interiors, Days of Heaven, The Wiz, The Boys from Brazil, Grease, California Suite and The Buddy Holly Story. Other films released included National Lampoon's Animal House, Comes a Horseman, Jaws 2, Capricorn One, Billy Wilder's Fedora, Robert Altman's A Wedding, Every Which Way But Loose, and the original Halloween.

China Gate (1957)

China Gate (Samuel Fuller, 1957) "...still fighting for her life, 100 miles from the China Gate is the dying village of San Toi, the last hold-out in the North. Her supplies have been ambushed, her ammunition depleted. But she fights, as she starves. Her only chance for survival is the American food air-drop from the South. The year, 1954. The day, Thursday. The time, 10 o'clock in the morning. All animals have been eaten. All but one." 

That one animal is a dog in the care of a small, semi-cross-eyed boy (William Hsieh), clever enough to avoid the citizens who might want to make a meal of the puppy. He probably gets it from his mother, Lia (Angie Dickinson, improbably), also known as "Lucky Legs", who has made an existence out of the rubble running a bar in VietNam—"Lucky's Bar," ironically, given the circumstances of French occupation and attacks from communist forces in the North and from China—and distributing liquor, mostly cognac, among the troops on both sides. 

But, "Lucky" wants out. She wants a better life for herself, but, most especially, for her boy. It's why, when approached by French Legionnaires under Col. De Sars (Maurice Marsac) for a tough job—to take mercenaries on her floating delivery system up the river to the communist headquarters at the China Gate with the intention of blowing up their ammo dump embedded in the tunnels. For this, they offer her $5,000 and a new bar, but "Lucky" changes the terms. She'll do it if the French guarantees the boy's passage to America.

She's skeptical, of course; it's a dangerous mission and the China Gate is overseen by a Major Cham (Lee Van Cleef), who is in love with "Lucky." But, there's an added down-side—one that makes her refuse the job—the munitions expert charged with blowing up the stockpile is Sergeant John Brock (Gene Barry), "Lucky's" former husband and father of her child. He walked out on her when the boy was born, ashamed that the child looked so "asian." Brock appeals to Father Paul (the wonderful Marcel Dalio of Le Grande Illusion and The Rules of the Game...and Casablanca and To Have and Have Not and Catch-22 and so many others), who offers no assistance, blaming Brock for "Lucky's" falling on hard times after his rejection.

Brock must "man up" and appeal to "Lucky" to put aside her animosity towards him and take on the mission, if only for the child's sake. She relents and she joins the motley crew of mercenaries: French Captain Caumont (Paul Dubov); Brock and Goldie (Nat "King" Cole, who also sings the title song by Harold Adamson and Victor Young—his last score, completed by "his old friend" Max Steiner), both Korean War vets; Private Jaszi (Sasha Harden), a Czech anti-communist suffering from PTSD; Pvt. Andreadas (Gerald Milton) a Greek freedom fighter; and a combination of French and Vietnamese troops—including Charlie (the seemingly immortal James Hong).

The friction between Brock and "Lucky" is all too obvious to the band, leading to some division in the ranks—Goldie, in particular, resents Brock, despite their history together, as Goldie and his wife could never have kids and Brock's rejection of his own child due to racism and his treatment of "Lucky" is particularly galling. On the practical side, Brock divides up the primers for their explosives between the two of them, should something happen to him along the way.

There's plenty that goes wrong, with Jaszi's nightmares, night-time firefights and mined roads, while Brock struggles with his feelings and "Lucky" struggles with the duties of distracting the guards, while around her, men are dying and Brock is unrelenting—he still has feelings for her, but, with so much going around, his focus must be on the mission. He doesn't give himself a chance for thinking about the future. Goldie steps up and vows to "Lucky" that he will get her son back to the United States.

The tenor of things change when "Lucky" gets to the China Gate. She finds Cham there and he tells her that he loves her and will be happy to take her and her son to Moscow when his position there is done. She reminds Cham that he once hated the Communists and war, but he counters that, now that he has some power and a future with the Communists, things have changed. He shows her the ammo dump, housed in one of the tunnels and vows to take him with her to Moscow once victory is secured.

She reports back to Brock that she knows where the cache of explosives is, and finds that he's had a change of heart—he will take her and her son to the U.S. once the mission is over. Plans are made to infiltrate the tunnels and destroy them once darkness falls. All "Lucky" has to do is distract the guards, giving Brock and the men enough to plant the charges.

Fuller has always been one to chase the headlines, given his reporter background, and just as he made the first Korean war film at the time of the conflict, he anticipated the struggles in Vietnam before the U.S. became engaged. Filmed in Cinemascope and returning to black and white (color might have been fine for something like The House of Bamboo and its exoticism, but for the war-torn Vietnam and the preponderance of night-scenes, monochrome is far more dramatic), he also tackles the subject of race and prejudice—as he would again in later films—while it still simmered in the background of public consciousness.

He gets uniformly good performances out of all involved—even Barry and Dickinson seem to rise above the melodrama—but Fuller took a chance on noted recording artist Cole and was rewarded with a completely lived-in performance devoid of theatricality, but much depth, a risk given his role as the "conscience" of the film.

This would be the last film Fuller would direct for 20th Century Fox. His next, a Western called Run of the Arrow was filmed for RKO, but so impressed Universal that they picked it up for distribution. Fuller would continue his career as an independent film-maker.