Matthew Stockwell

ENC 2135

Project 1

Thrust into the middle of the action, in a dream-like delirium, the historical fiction

genre has captivated my interests and developed my cinematic tastes. The second-

hand emotional trauma is a dish best served cold. I have fallen in love with the idea of a

historical adventure, told in a new light and new style as each new director sees fit.

These great storytellers weave fact and fiction, often deriving their plots from past

events. From the portrayals of enemies as robotic killing machines in Saving Private

Ryan, to seeing the faults in humanity in both sides of the war seen in Inglorious

Basterds-- as well as everything in between.

In order to delve into my personal fascination with the genre, we must examine

the roots of my upbringing, as well as the era of my impressionable childhood. As far

back I can remember, there has always been a feeling that we as a society have been

on the brink of peace. We are only going to take care of the Taliban, to restore peace

and then, We are going to Afghanistan to ensure peace and prosperity among the

region Looking back there is always another reason given as to why we need to pump

half of a trillion dollars per year into the military industrial complex. Hollywood has seen

an opportunity to capitalize on the vacuum of narrative in that area and continually

churns out action packed war movies, to explain, and reason why we went to war.

These are no government propaganda films either, but cinematic masterpieces. They

are able to capture the human condition, as it is dragged through the normandy sand
and into the foxholes as it battles tooth and nail for its own existence. These movies

make me take a step back and realize whats really important here. The minor

inconveniences in everyday life don't even come close to measuring up to the feeling of

fighting for your life, against an enemy veiled in evil. These motion pictures also take us

back to a simpler time--a breathing snapshot of life before the world went digital. People

acted more cohesive, from the cafe to the restaurant. Connections were in-depth and

unscorable to the outside world, where now we reduce friendships to a shallow number.

We used to remember birthdays, addresses, telephone numbers; but alas times have

changed. Before I get sentimental, I am happy with the current era we reside in, but i

deeply appreciate the past and its intricacies.

We can derive a common denominator when it comes to the bad guy. It ranges

from anything from a rage filled hitler, to a suave but sneaky capitan hell bent on

exterminating the jewish race. These characters are cartoonishly evil in order to

establish a face for the audience to root against. When it comes to war movies, there is

no debate over who the bad guy is. In Christopher Nolans movie Dunkirk, the difference

between good and evil is shown through humanity. The good guys are a group of

British soldiers. Nolan showcases their humanity through suspenseful scenes focused

on these soldiers evading the ominous german army. Often, these soldiers were

cramped up in a dimly lit boat, where their body language is the only dialogue in the

scene. Their emotions surface to their facial expressions,their concern for their own

survival, as well as the well being of each other characterize the royal army as brave,

caring, and most of all: Human. Nolan portrays the germans in a completely different
stroke. We dont get dialogue from the german trenches or a clear rival for the main

characters to fight. Instead, we get inhumanity--shown through a fighter plane

annihilating a platoon of british soldiers stranded on the beach, waiting for their ex

machina. This enemy is shown as a stealthy U-boat, lurking beneath the water, waiting

for the right time to strike its prey, a British evacuation ship. This vessel was just

previously shown crammed with British soldiers all releasing a sigh of relief as they think

they escaped to fight another day. That day ended with all of them at the bottom of the

British channel. The foe is mechanical and metallic, they are breaking through the walls

of cities, cutting through waves of the ocean, and striking from the air. These strikes

seemed orchestrated in synchronization, down to each tick of a stopwatch. This

contrasts to the rapid flutter of heartbeats as the allies dart for safety wherever they can

find it.

These overarching themes also justify the American ideals of fighting for peace,

freedom, and equality. One can argue that this is a form of propaganda, as directors put

a face to an arbitrary idea, that only true historians can disprove. However, the video

game industry is just as guilty. One can argue that it is worse, as kids actively shoot at

terrorists in games like Call of Duty and Counter Strike. These ideals can be dangerous

as it can lead to the next generation of Americans fearing a race of people due to a

hateful minority, just like we were afraid of the germans, Japanese, and now the middle

east.

The historical fiction genre captivates my inner desire to see a battlefield

firsthand, but told through a quasi-fictional lens. This allows for a little wiggle room, time
leaves blanks in history and these authors or directors fill in their own blanks. It

shouldn't be seen as an detriment to facts that a director is using his creative license,

because in history, the winner tells the story of what happened. Facts can be omitted.

Lies can be covered up, and public opinion can slowly be coerced in the direction of the

winner for times to come.

Since the time before I was too young to form memories, my family has taken me

to D.C., Boston, or North Carolina every summer. These family vacations were filled

with an itinerary identical to a classical tourist agenda. Overcrowded beaches with

vendors selling overpriced flip-flops, pristine parks with the grass buzz-cut perfectly to

ankle height, and somber museums filled with eager parents ready to educate their

indifferent children. However as the years went on, I came to realize where my family

exited the beaten path in these towns. Our pilgrimage to these places were always

bookended with paying respects to our fallen soldiers, especially our many fallen

relatives. Boston we see (too many greats)grandpa Samuel Whittemore, who has a

earned monument to his name in Arlington after being stabbed 23 times, shot, and left

for dead by two british soldiers in the revolutionary war. Except he to survived and kept

fighting until dying of natural causes at age 96. Just outside of Fort Bragg, North

Carolina lays my actual grandfather in a veterans cemetery--no heroic battle stories, just

lifelong service. During our periodic trip to D.C. we visit the tomb of the unknown soldier:

a tomb that that embodies all the soldiers that have died in combat and did not receive a

proper burial. Our stop here is to remember my cousin Anthony, a front-line marine who

lost his life to a suicide bomber in Afghanistan. His body was never identified.
 My denial of reality was creative; He surely must have faked his death to start a

new life with a new background. He must have reinvented himself: his hair, his walk, his

laugh, his language, in order to join the background noise of the region. He must have

infiltrated terrorist cells worldwide and toppled them from within. When I saw the Taliban

falling in the middle east, I thought of Anthony. It must be him. It has to be him. Stories

shouldnt be allowed to stop at age twenty two. No mother should ever have to attend

her childs funeral. That is a sort of pain only few will ever have to feel. Coping with the

loss of a young man is an immeasurable challenge, especially the first of our generation

to go. Death no longer seems like an abstract force that only affects the elderly, and

those death tolls we see in the news are no longer just numbers. Each life truly has an

end, and the haunting idea our days are numbered only can only inspire one to live a

fulfilled life.

The sum of these parts of my familys history has molded my tastes and

preferences toward historical fiction and action movies, as you can probably guess: I

see my family members in each movie, and their heroism is magnified through the

hollywood lens. I read into each detail, each line, and stretch to conjecture a memory of

my cousin or my great-whatever-grandpa. Matt Damon plays Anthony the best. His

Jason Bourne character is exactly how I idealize my cousin. His cleverness, strength,

and independence were hallmark traits of Anthony. The camera drags me through the

thick of the action. Through the muddy trenches, through the scarred fields, and through

the smoky skies I am continuously captivated by the masterpieces of this genre and am

thankful for the adventures I have been taken on.