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But perhaps the most remarkable thing about this passage is that it is not what it would be in a more typical war epic, a virtuoso end in itself. For Spielberg it is something to build on, not build toward, and that says much about his confidence as a filmmaker and the stubborn, instructive earnestness with which he approached Saving Private Ryan. To him, this carnage--his vision of which has moved strong men to run from the screening room and caused the Motion Picture Association of America to give the film an unusual (for the director of E.T. and Raiders of the Lost Ark) R rating--is merely context, one of the premises on which the delicately nuanced "morality play" that preoccupies the remainder of his film's nearly three- hour running time rests.
For throughout the battle on the beach (filmed in Ireland using some 3,000 performers), Spielberg and screenwriter Robert Rodat have been introducing us to members of a small Ranger unit commanded by Tom Hanks' Captain Miller, in effect bonding us with them as they pass through this inner circle of hell, feeling their fear, enduring their losses, sharing their weary triumph when they destroy the enemy pillbox that commands their sector. They--we--have done enough. Time now to rest, regroup.
But no, that's not to be. Private Ryan, one of the paratroopers dropped behind the lines on the eve of the invasion, is missing, and no less a figure than General George C. Marshall, the Army's Chief of Staff, has ordered his rescue. For Ryan is the last survivor of four brothers sent to war from an Iowa farm family. The memory of the five Sullivan brothers, killed together when their ship went down, is fresh in Marshall's mind. He will do anything to avoid a repetition of that tragedy. Or rather, he will ask others to do anything to avoid it.
Therein lies the moral dilemma posed to Miller and his squad. They are being asked to risk their life for a young man no better than they are, no different, really. Yes, they understand, there's an element of compassion in their mission. But there's an element of news management as well: the upper levels of government don't want to burden the home front with another shocking story of loss. "I asked myself throughout, Is this a mission of mercy or a mission of murder?" says Spielberg. "But I can't answer that question. I don't think anyone can."
What one can say is that Saving Private Ryan is a brilliant commentary on a certain kind of war movie--those depicting a small unit with a job to do. They form something like a tradition, one with roots snaking back to silent-picture days but flourishing with particular energy during and just after World War II. You know the drill: griping guys of disparate backgrounds do their duty--holding a vital position, taking a crucial hill--in the process bonding and absorbing acceptable losses.
Those elements are present in Spielberg's film. The eight questing men here include a rebel (Edward Burns), an omnicompetent sergeant (Tom Sizemore) and, most important, Upham, an intellectual clerk-typist (Jeremy Davies), who learns more about himself than he will ever be able to confess in the book he wants to write. "He was me in the movie," says Spielberg. "That's how I would have been in war."