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Tour of Duty
Jake Gyllenhall plays Swofford, a recruit whose reasons for signing up aren’t entirely clear. He’s quickly selected for an elite sniper unit by a career serviceman, played with gusto by Jamie Foxx, and befriended by fellow recruit Troy (Peter Sarsgaard, turning in yet another stellar performance). All three turn in solid, credible performances, more than ably supported by sharp cinematography by Roger Deakins and a sharper eye on the part of Mendes, but the film can’t shake the fact that we’ve seen much of this before…and ultimately done better. Whatever meaning or focus the film may have been building towards in the first act is pretty much left wandering in the desert as Swofford and All of which is a shame, because Jarhead potentially has a lot to say. Unfortunately, the film never manages to find a voice of its own. It follows too closely in the footsteps of films like Full Metal Jacket and Three Kings, but lacks similar power and punch. As visually arresting and technically adept as Jarhead is, it ultimately feels unnecessary...even at a time when it couldn't be more relevant.
©2005 Ed Owens |
Like a marine on his second tour, Sam Mendes’ Jarhead, an adaptation of Anthony Swofford’s memoirs of the same name, treads familiar territory, even opening with new recruits struggling to maintain their composure in the face of a withering assault from a verbally and physically abusive drill instructor. The next two hours take him from training to be a marine sniper through a tour of duty in the first Gulf War and on to the aftermath of coming home, but by the time the credits roll, it’s hard to feel like we’ve really gone anywhere.
company are deployed to Saudi Arabia as part of Operation Desert Shield. Scenes (and guests like Chris Cooper and Dennis Haysbert) come and go like nameless, faceless grunts with little or no relation to each other—some stand out, some don’t, but ultimately they add up to less than the sum of their parts. Swofford remains an elusive character, an amalgam of traits that never fully coalesce into a real person, and the people that pass in and out of his life never rise above the level of common stereotypes (the psychotic squad mate, the conscientious objector, the power-mad C.O., etc..). By the time Swofford returns home, the obligatory “coming home” epilogue feels just that…obligatory, and some of its more sharply pointed messages feel tacked on and hollow. 