Saving Private Ryan

This film is one of the main reasons I started this blog, as I have lied about seeing it SEVERAL times. It took a surprising amount of courage to finally sit down and watch it: I had a vague sense that Saving Private Ryan was going to emotionally wreck me, and it did. Just not in the way I expected.

Set on the war-torn frontlines of 1944 France, the film follows the perilous journey of a small American platoon ordered to locate and retrieve Private James Ryan, the last surviving brother of 4 servicemen. They are led by Captain Miller (Tom Hanks), a skilled and disciplined officer who suffers from shaking hands and PTSD. As the unit plunges into enemy territory, death and decimation punctuate their search for the elusive Ryan.

First off, it seems impossible to discuss Saving Private Ryan without addressing the harrowing twenty-minute opening scene, which depicts the D-Day invasion. Inconceivable brutality desecrates the French shoreline as men are peppered by machine gun fire. Despite the scene's length, we are not numbed to the violence, as new horrors unfold almost every other shot. Spielberg does not shy away from guts, blood and cartilage, unlike more recent war epics such as 'Dunkirk' and '1917'. Under Miller's leadership, a fraction of the soldiers manage to survive the massacre. American troops are shown slaughtering lines of surrendering German soldiers, ignoring orders to cease fire. Red water washes up on the shore, the remnants of a horrifying deluge; there is no victory here, no march, no songs. Violence breeds rage, and rage feeds revenge and further violence in a deadly cycle that will prevail throughout this tale. Sergeant Horvath is seen collecting a tin of sand from the beach and adds it to a collection of others from his travels, reinforcing the film's key themes of memory, legacy and a human need to assign meaning to senseless violence.

The story really gets underway after this horrific prologue, when interpreter Timothy Upham is appointed to the unit. A meek and under-trained cartographer, Upham is a fish out of water amongst his new, battle-hardened comrades. Despite being mocked, Upham has a naive optimism about the mission. 'I think this is all good for me, Sir', he explains to Miller, 'War educates the senses, calls into action the will.' Upham sees the war as a means to moral and spiritual improvement. It is clear he has not yet experienced the horrors we have witnessed. Unfortunately for him, he will soon.

As the unit moves inland, the losses quickly mount. Private Carpazo (Vin Diesel) is shot whilst attempting to save a young girl, his final moments spent gripping a letter home to his family - a scrap of paper is all that remains of a life cut short. Next, Wade, the medic, is shot in the spine during an assault on a German gun nest. Even as he dies, he fights to sustain his duty as a healer, guiding the men towards administering him a morphine-induced death. In the aftermath, Upham notably fights to spare the life of a German soldier, named "Steamboat Willie", who has survived the battle. Miller decides to spare him, despite warnings that "Willie" may fall back into enemy hands. Upham, in his idealistic reverence for the 'rules of war', briefly halts the deadly cycle of violence, rage and revenge, though only temporarily.

Throughout the mission, Miller wrestles with the question: 'Is one soldier worth the lives of so many?' The group splinters, the same question haunting them too (they even wish Ryan dead to cut the mission short). At a breaking point, Miller reveals that back at home, he is a secondary school English teacher. In this quiet confession, Miller admits his fear that his wife won't recognise the soldier he has become. The confession reveals the simple truth of the story: these men, including Ryan, are ordinary people who have been altered irreversibly by forces beyond their control. What they can control, however, is their duty to one another and their integrity as comrades.

Finally, after a close encounter with a German tank, the crew are unwittingly saved by Private Ryan, played by Matt Damon, and a small group of paratroopers. After receiving the devastating news of his brothers, Ryan refuses to leave his comrades behind: they have been stationed in the town of Ramelle and must defend its bridge at all costs. Miller's unit ultimately decide to help, despite the extensive oncoming German forces. They cannot conquer death, only hope to shape the legacy they leave behind.

The final 20 minutes of Saving Private Ryan, much like the first, are devastating. Outnumbered and outgunned, the small, hodge-podge regiment put up a stellar fight, using makeshift explosives and tactical manoeuvres to disarm their enemy. Despite their efforts, one by one, they fall. Jackson (the deadly, god-fearing sniper) is blown up by a tank in his watchtower. Mellish dies in a horrifying hand-to-hand fight with a German soldier, whilst Upham, paralysed with fear on the floor below, fails to come to his aid. It is the single most gut-wrenching moment of the entire film, not only because of Mellish's gruesome end, but because it denies the glorious arc we expect from a war epic. Upham is incapable of overcoming his fear of combat, and we kick ourselves for hoping otherwise.

After defending the bridge, Captain Miller is fatally wounded by "Steamboat Willie", the very soldier Upham spared earlier. As American bombers fly over the town, decimating the German army, Miller tells Ryan to 'earn this'. Surviving the apocalypse brings a moral responsibility to prove that the world, and the people in it, can be better. At long last, Miller's trembling hand stills. In contrast, Upham (who survives) executes 'Steamboat Willie' on sight. His murder is retribution, not only for the lives of his comrades, but for the optimism he once carried. Upham has succumbed to the cycle of rage and revenge, and his guilt now has a body count. Years later, an older Ryan salutes Miller's grave at the Normandy Cemetery as the American flag flies proudly above. The moment screams of American patriotism, but is shadowed by a much darker undercurrent.

As 2026 unfolds, Saving Private Ryan feels disturbingly relevant. War ravages Ukraine and the Middle East, peaceful protests are met with violent repression and global powers posture toward conflict at the expense of innocent lives. As the doomsday clock ticks closer and closer to 12, this permeating feeling of fatalism is beginning to feel commonplace. For me, Saving Private Ryan is not just a stirring commemoration of the fallen, nor is it a warning of the terrors of modern warfare. It is a guaranteed premonition of events yet to come. Cheery-bye.

9/10

Yours sincerely,

The Film Buff