As a rule, war movies made in wartime are propaganda; critical and realistic movies about war appear after the fact. An exception is THE STORY OF G.I. JOE, easily the best film about World War II made during the war, and one of the best American war movies of any era. It's not about famed correspondent Ernie Pyle so much as seen through his eyes; his compassionate observations create a portrait of an infantry company in North Africa and Italy, and a tribute to its commanding officer Captain Bill Walker (Robert Mitchum.) The film culminates in a set-piece based on Pyle's essay, "The Death of Captain Waskow."
Unlike most WWII movies, with their stentorian narration, maps and speeches and clear-cut missions, THE STORY OF G.I. JOE is reticent and nearly formless. There are many scenes of soldiers marching along roads, or waiting around in damp caves; one patrol after another sets out and returns without accomplishing anything in particular. Except for Dondaro, the resident "wolf" who thinks of nothing but dames, the soldiers don't fall into the usual stereotypes. Nor do they look like movie stars; they have real, varied faces. They're just a bunch of ordinary guys, with no obvious ethnic or regional characteristics. One is obsessed with his failure to get into the air corps; another incessantly tries to play a record of his son's voice. (This repetitive motif gets tiresome, but pays off in a big way. Freddie Steele is wonderful as the rough-edged, hard-working sergeant desperate to get back to his wife and child.) There are sentimental touches, especially the presence of a small dog whose whining and whimpering underscores tragic moments, but even this doesn't cloy. The dog is actually an effective symbol of the men's emotional vulnerability, their need for comfort and companionship. A little sentimentality is allowable because the film overall is uncommonly realistic. Like ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT, it's a war movie in which nearly every major character dies, and it conveys equally well the reality of the soldier's life: as the hero in ALL QUIET says, "Our bodies are earth and our thoughts are clay, we eat and sleep with death."
There is a touch of stylized lyricism in the film, and also a good deal of wry humor. Many of the comic lines are copied directly from the cartoons of Bill Mauldin, whose depiction of scruffy, un-heroic, grousing dogfaces was attacked by General MacArthur, but is brought faithfully to life in THE STORY OF G.I. JOE. There is very little action, and the film will disappoint anyone who seeks out war movies for the excitement and explosions. The few battle scenes have the quality of tasteful newsreels; they look realistic but aren't very engaging because they don't focus on the characters we have come to know and care about. Most of the deaths take place off-screen, and are accepted with numb resignation. Understatement is a rare quality in a war movie, and it's what makes THE STORY OF G.I. JOE so powerful. In one wordless scene Pyle sits in a cave while men return from a patrol, collapsing wet and exhausted. Pyle keeps turning nervously to the entrance as each man comes in, and you realize he is waiting to see who doesn't come back. Burgess Meredith is appropriately self-effacing as a man who admires the infantry soldiers so much he feels compelled to suffer alongside them, ashamed of his own safety and of his fame.
Mitchum is characteristically cool, sleepy-eyed and low-key, but his emotional sincerity and the nobility of his character belie his reputation for irreverent cynicism and his dismissal of his acting abilities with comments like, "Look, I got three expressions: looking left, looking right, and looking straight ahead." (He gives a similarly heartfelt performance in HEAVEN KNOWS MR. ALLISON, again as a soldier.) Here, beneath his tough, no-nonsense exterior he's soft-hearted and humane, anguished by his responsibility for sending men to their deaths. There's always a suggestion of sadness in Mitchum's mask-like face (he very rarely smiles) and in his deep weary voice, and both work beautifully here. His character is constructed subtly of small pieces: the way he responds to the crack-up of his faithful sergeant, the humorous scene where he strong-arms a quartermaster into getting turkey and cranberry sauce for his men on Christmas, and above all his conversation with Burgess Meredith as he exhaustedly swigs grappa while writing letters to the families of the dead. This was the scene Mitchum did to audition for the part, and his performance made William Wellman cry. Wellman later said it was one of the most compelling things he ever saw, and he wished he'd had the sets complete, so he could have incorporated the test into the finished film.
By the end of the film, you so love and admire this man that the sight of his corpse, brought down from a mountain by mule, is enough to convey the true heartbreak of war. One soldier sits beside him and strokes his hand; when he has to leave, he straightens the captain's collar and gently touches the side of his face before limping after the company. The fact that this mourner is a character we have not liked up to this pointthe conceited, irritating Dondaroand who has not had a warm relationship with the captain, somehow makes the scene even more touching, saving it from emotional overkill. The field of white crosses behind Pyle's head in his reaction shot is a mute rebuke to triumphalisman astonishing comment to make just months before the end of the war.
Unlike most WWII movies, with their stentorian narration, maps and speeches and clear-cut missions, THE STORY OF G.I. JOE is reticent and nearly formless. There are many scenes of soldiers marching along roads, or waiting around in damp caves; one patrol after another sets out and returns without accomplishing anything in particular. Except for Dondaro, the resident "wolf" who thinks of nothing but dames, the soldiers don't fall into the usual stereotypes. Nor do they look like movie stars; they have real, varied faces. They're just a bunch of ordinary guys, with no obvious ethnic or regional characteristics. One is obsessed with his failure to get into the air corps; another incessantly tries to play a record of his son's voice. (This repetitive motif gets tiresome, but pays off in a big way. Freddie Steele is wonderful as the rough-edged, hard-working sergeant desperate to get back to his wife and child.) There are sentimental touches, especially the presence of a small dog whose whining and whimpering underscores tragic moments, but even this doesn't cloy. The dog is actually an effective symbol of the men's emotional vulnerability, their need for comfort and companionship. A little sentimentality is allowable because the film overall is uncommonly realistic. Like ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT, it's a war movie in which nearly every major character dies, and it conveys equally well the reality of the soldier's life: as the hero in ALL QUIET says, "Our bodies are earth and our thoughts are clay, we eat and sleep with death."
There is a touch of stylized lyricism in the film, and also a good deal of wry humor. Many of the comic lines are copied directly from the cartoons of Bill Mauldin, whose depiction of scruffy, un-heroic, grousing dogfaces was attacked by General MacArthur, but is brought faithfully to life in THE STORY OF G.I. JOE. There is very little action, and the film will disappoint anyone who seeks out war movies for the excitement and explosions. The few battle scenes have the quality of tasteful newsreels; they look realistic but aren't very engaging because they don't focus on the characters we have come to know and care about. Most of the deaths take place off-screen, and are accepted with numb resignation. Understatement is a rare quality in a war movie, and it's what makes THE STORY OF G.I. JOE so powerful. In one wordless scene Pyle sits in a cave while men return from a patrol, collapsing wet and exhausted. Pyle keeps turning nervously to the entrance as each man comes in, and you realize he is waiting to see who doesn't come back. Burgess Meredith is appropriately self-effacing as a man who admires the infantry soldiers so much he feels compelled to suffer alongside them, ashamed of his own safety and of his fame.
Mitchum is characteristically cool, sleepy-eyed and low-key, but his emotional sincerity and the nobility of his character belie his reputation for irreverent cynicism and his dismissal of his acting abilities with comments like, "Look, I got three expressions: looking left, looking right, and looking straight ahead." (He gives a similarly heartfelt performance in HEAVEN KNOWS MR. ALLISON, again as a soldier.) Here, beneath his tough, no-nonsense exterior he's soft-hearted and humane, anguished by his responsibility for sending men to their deaths. There's always a suggestion of sadness in Mitchum's mask-like face (he very rarely smiles) and in his deep weary voice, and both work beautifully here. His character is constructed subtly of small pieces: the way he responds to the crack-up of his faithful sergeant, the humorous scene where he strong-arms a quartermaster into getting turkey and cranberry sauce for his men on Christmas, and above all his conversation with Burgess Meredith as he exhaustedly swigs grappa while writing letters to the families of the dead. This was the scene Mitchum did to audition for the part, and his performance made William Wellman cry. Wellman later said it was one of the most compelling things he ever saw, and he wished he'd had the sets complete, so he could have incorporated the test into the finished film.
By the end of the film, you so love and admire this man that the sight of his corpse, brought down from a mountain by mule, is enough to convey the true heartbreak of war. One soldier sits beside him and strokes his hand; when he has to leave, he straightens the captain's collar and gently touches the side of his face before limping after the company. The fact that this mourner is a character we have not liked up to this pointthe conceited, irritating Dondaroand who has not had a warm relationship with the captain, somehow makes the scene even more touching, saving it from emotional overkill. The field of white crosses behind Pyle's head in his reaction shot is a mute rebuke to triumphalisman astonishing comment to make just months before the end of the war.