Let me be clear: Clint Eastwood's Flags Of Our Fathers is an honest-to-God masterpiece, emotionally devastating and technically dazzling. It may be Eastwood's life's work, the summation of everything he's learned about filmmaking in a thirty-five year directing career, and everything he's seen his country go through in seventy-six years of life. This former hardcore Republican clearly still loves his country, but the love is now conditional.
Yet Eastwood has no intention of drawing easy parallels between World War II and the Iraq mess. Clearly, Iwo Jima was a necessary battle. When the government plucked three soldiers off the island to send on a fundraising tour, it was also necessary: The U.S. was broke. There's no suggestion that there was anything sinister, or even dishonest, about the government's motives. But the result was, these guys were scared for life, proclaimed as heroes, yet abandoned when they were no longer needed. Still, that's what happens when you send people to fight: Whether the cause is worthwhile or merely an act of caprice, lives will be destroyed just the same.
One of Eastwood's strengths as a director has always been his use of actors, his preference for character actors over big-name stars. That pays off here, as the biggest name in the cast, Ryan Phillippe, is well past his A-list days, which somehow democratizes the cast: No actor is clearly The Star, no actor is more important than any other. Every actor here, every face, every voice makes an impact, no matter how small the part. (Particular mention should be made of Harve Presnell and George Hearn as elderly Iwo Jima vets, and Judith Ivey as a grieving mother, three superb cameo portraits.)
However large the scale becomes--and let's tale a moment to salute Eastwood's long time production crew, cinematographer Tom Stern, editor Joel Cox and production designer Henry Bumstead, who died during production--this is always a story about people, and the people we meet here will break your heart.
