Movies as a context for reality

Ever since man successfully crawled out of the caves, we have spent out time in pursuit of food, clothing, shelter… and entertainment.  In the modern age, when one goes to see a movie, the desired result involves some sort of escape from reality – a pleasant distraction from the daily toils of bill-paying, weed-pulling, and other annoying responsibilities.  Most often, the movies provide us with a complete escape from the real or the everyday, answering in a frame-by-frame manner some question that the producer hopes people want answered. 

 

 - What if you found yourself alone in a world taken over by vampires?

 - What if someone found an awful lost secret in the library of Alexandria?

 - What if you suddenly found yourself transported back to the 1800’s, and you have the power to stop Lincoln’s assassination?

 - What if you discovered that the vintage car that you just bought is haunted by the ghost of a gin-totin’ flapper who loves to dance, drink, and have a good time?

 

Naturally, not every theme appeals to every person.  But in today’s competitive culture, the measure of a good movie has less to do with poignancy of story than dollars made at the box office.  Yet, one cannot simply dismiss the artistic merit of some films.  Every movie director dreams of the public falling in love with his film.  How he achieves this is another matter.  Sometimes, it involves several close-ups of the lead actor or actress du jour.  Other times, stunning visual effects.  Less frequently, a really good storyline.  And in some few and far-between moments, the perfect combination of all of the above.

 

A few weeks back, Paul and I spent an evening striking another Oscar-winning film off of our “Classic Films to See” list.  This time around, we watched “The Best Years of Our Lives.”  The title, an irony to the theme, describes the return of American soldiers to a small middle-America town at the end of World War II.  Like many people of my age, our knowledge of WW II is only as good as what was taught in history class in high school.  The bad Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.  The bad Germans tried to kill all the Jews.  The good Americans came in and saved the day.  And at the end of the war, sailors kissed nurses in the streets in victory parades, moved into tract houses, and then made lots and lots of babies. 

 

Sad, isn’t it?

 

On the one-hand, I can’t really fault the school system.  Let’s face it – there’s a LOT of history out there to learn, and only so much time for teachers to cover it.  How much can really be covered in one area, without sacrificing another?  Yet, the result is a lack of understanding of events that, in some way or another, touch our lives.  For me, World War II may as well be the Norman conquest of England.  It is a date and series of events from before I was born that lives in the history books.  At least, that WOULD be the case if it were not for the fact that my parents both did their part during World War II.  Mom was a Rosie the riveter, trained to work on airplanes.  My father served on three different aircraft carriers in the south Pacific, fighting the Japanese.  To me, World War II is more “real” than, say the Korean War, because of the personal connection.  But, I really did not grow up with any discussion about the events of the 40’s.  Neither of my parents really talked about it, so once again, my knowledge of the war was limited to history class.

 

In watching The Best Years of Our Lives, I learned some things.  While I am naturally skeptical of what I see on film, I trust a movie from the 40’s to accurately portray the social conditions and reality-checks of the time moreso than a movie of a later time, colored by yet another social filter.  While it was not surprising to see returning soldiers greeted with cheers and with a heroes welcome, it did not occur to me that, over time, these same soldiers would be treated with a sense of apathy.  Somehow, the U.S. went from, “Yeah!  They are Home!” to, “Oh CRAP!  They’re gonna take all the jobs!”  For at least a little while, a soldier could receive some special treatment by wearing a jacket with a golden eagle lapel pin, given to honorably discharged servicemen. 

 

“So THAT is what that is!” I realized. 

 

I have my dad’s golden eagle, but had no idea what it was, what it meant, when, why, or how it was used, etc.  To see bright and shiny examples (even in black and white) appearing on the movie screen, worn by swarthy, young and strong servicemen suddenly brought the dull and tarnished pin to life - giving it a context and a meaning to me that it did not have the day before.

 

Seeing the reality check of returning World War II soldiers depicted on the screen taught me more than my high school history classes.  Post Traumatic Stress Disorder did not yet have a name, but it did happen.  I have heard bits and pieces of stories of my dad having episodes just after the war.  Yet, this condition really did not receive true acknowledgement until Vietnam.  Returning soldiers had to face new challenges upon their returns – they could not simply go back to their lives pre-war.  It wasn’t that simple.  Time had moved on, as had people.  Were the best years of their lives the ones they spent before the war?  During the war?  It didn’t really seem like the years after were being portrayed as the best ones.  Maybe the awkwardness of the years following their return marked an entry point to the best years yet to come?

 

In one poignant scene, a modest soldier who had been a highly decorated hero during the war finds himself wandering around in an airplane graveyard.  The quiet and desolate field contained lines of B52’s each in varying states of damage and disrepair, awaiting their fate in a scrap heap.  Yet, each plane contained a unique personality – a portrait of a pinup girl – a fancy name of the dame left back at home.  Once proud symbols of American might and individuality, each plane was now no more than an identical hulk of metal, outliving its usefulness, awaiting recycling.  In this existential reckoning, one need not wonder how the anachronistic soldier must have felt.  Yesterday, he was useful.  Yesterday, he was important.  Yesterday, he was appreciated.  Under the worst of conditions, he was somebody.  Yet now that the war ended, he wanders around without a sense of worth, or purpose, or meaning.  A life, destined for the scrapheap.

 

What do the movies teach us?  Sometimes, the celluloid records of a by-gone age illustrate more than just a story.  They bring back the lives, the voices, the smiles, the tears, and the emotions of a time otherwise lost to the high school history books.