Whenever filmmakers, particularly Americans, depict the Vietnam War, it’s usually for one of two reasons. Either it’s to emphasise the trauma of the soldiers who fought it, or to offer an alternate history power fantasy, a chance to reclaim some semblance of victory through the veneer of fiction. Spike Lee’s latest joint, however, offers something different. A predominantly black version of a recurrently whitewashed chapter of American history. A figurative and literal unearthing of the past not to rewrite it, but to expose those that have already done so.
The story on its face is reminiscent of old-school adventure flicks, telling the story of four G.I.s who, decades after serving in Vietnam, return to retrieve the remains of their former commander along with a buried cache of gold. The inevitable fissures between their friendships form as their green eyes start showing, showing money as a force that comes between people. But if that was all this film had say, it certainly wouldn’t warrant the potentially-indulgent running time of two-and-a-half-hours. But it isn’t, and so it does.
Spike Lee’s depiction of the Vietnam War, both as it happened and in retrospect, is the culmination of Black American history up to that point, connecting the dots from MLK/Malcolm to Bobby Seale to Trump vs. BLM today. He tells the story of black soldiers, sent out by a country that neglected them, to fight a war it had no business being involved in, in the hope of claiming a piece of that Dream for themselves. A hope that to this day remains unfulfilled. War is shown as being like any other business: Built off the backs of black labour, although far too many conveniently leave out that part.
And when tied into the more modern perspective, it updates one of the Internet’s favourite quotes about war (“War never changes”) to show stone-cold reality: War never ends. The living stained by their memories, the dead left forgotten in mass graves. Both carry their involvement forevermore, and even long after the generals have stepped down, the conflict remains. Despite all the bloodshed, all the sleepless nights, all the OxyContin funnelled through Veteran Affairs, their place within the collective open wound that is America’s involvement in the war is treated as history, rather than a still-current issue. And for many, like the black soldiers that served, not even that much. They were told the sky’s the limit, then the powers that be turned around and said that there’s footprints on the Moon.
Lee also views the War’s effect on all countries involved, both America and Vietnam along with a relatively smaller showing from the French. The divide it created between North and South Vietnam, the still-present friction it caused between Americans and the Vietnamese, not to mention its place within the larger context of America’s cultural perception on the world stage. And it’s far from the only example in American history; look at the last four years’ worth of clowning America has copped over the election of Trump. That really helped assuage stereotypes that the United States is the reality TV capital of the world, huh?(!)
The spectre of Trump’s presidency looms over the narrative almost as much as that of Chadwick Boseman as the fallen commander, something epitomised by Delroy Lindo’s absolutely crushing performance as Paul. He's introduced as something of a piss-take of the Blacks For Trump movement, but in true Spike Lee fashion, he sidesteps politically-motivated caricature and becomes the single most complex character in the entire film. The crystalisation of all the horror, all the hatred, all the bullshit that the American government has dealt Black Americans, directly addressing the audience in how, regardless of how you view his politics, he is the product of America. “You made me malignant”, to use his own words.
Okay, enough about the thematic content, because I just gotta get into the film craft here, which is among the best Spike has ever produced. The way he, cinematographer Newton Thomas Sigel, and editor Adam Gough use the literal frame of the film to tell its narrative is quite astounding. Using letterboxed widescreen for the main group’s return to Vietnam, pillarboxed 16mm film grain for their initial tour alongside Boseman’s Stormin’ Norman (the action scenes in which are excellent), then merging them both to present their relived trauma in full-screen clarity as they search for their personal Treasure Of Sierra Madre.
This is easily one of the best examples of ‘form follows function’ I think I’ve ever covered on here, and when backed by Terence Blanchard’s vintage soundtrack, equal parts souring adventure music and classic Marvin Gaye tunes, it makes for a lengthy ride that’s as taut as a rope used in a last-ditch effort to avoid death by landmine. I swear, you can feel the tension as soon as these dudes pull out a metal detector.
A dramatic document of the Vietnam War’s place in Black history, Spike Lee exposes an international open wound to show the damage that has been done, and that is still being done, to those that the history books disregarded. It doesn’t exactly surprise with any of the points it makes (truth be told, Spike Lee telegraphs an awful lot of his statements early on), but that doesn’t affect the impact they make when they get brought out into the open. Like buried treasure, knowing that it’s there doesn’t make digging it up any less exciting. It’s a thrilling, heart-breaking, occasionally funny, and tense experience that carves out its own place in the VW canon.
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