An Epic of Potent Patriotism

BY PETER TONGUETTE

‘ PATTON’ ( 1970), BY FRANKLIN J. SCHAFFNER

ALTHOUGH IT IS AMONG the most elaborately mounted World War II epics ever filmed, Franklin J. Schaffner’s “Patton” begins with an image of abstract simplicity: an American flag that fills the screen from top to bottom. The audience scarcely has time to note it before suddenly being made aware of its scale: From the bottom of the screen, a uniformed figure calmly emerges as he ascends a platform, then stops and holds a salute. Seen against the backdrop of the flag, the figure is minuscule. Then the camera moves in for a series of closeups: the side of his ring-bedecked hand in mid-salute, framing his focused eyes; the ribbons hanging from his chest; and then the decisive confirmation of his identity—a holstered pistol bearing the initials “G.S.P.”

Such is the startling, riveting, wholly unexpected opening of “Patton.” Played by George C. Scott, who won an Oscar for his performance, Gen. George S. Patton Jr. proceeds to give an address adapted from a rousingly robust speech the general delivered in real life in 1944. “Americans traditionally love to fight,” Patton says in this bravura opening.

“All real Americans love the sting of battle.” Schaffner films Patton from a variety of angles—in wide shots, in close-ups—but no matter the vantage point, our eyes remained fixed on the infinite-seeming flag.

To open a film in such a manner in April 1970 was a bold affront to the cultural mood of the time: continuing opposition to the Vietnam War and a cynical attitude toward displays of patriotism. That, surely, was the point. In the antiwar, antiestablishment environment of 55 years ago, “Patton” dared to remind audiences of the virtue of the Allies’ fight in World War II and the personal attributes of one of its chief warriors.

The film begins in 1943 amid the Allies’ defeat in the Battle of Kasserine Pass in Tunisia, the Americans’ first serious engagement against the Germans. Arriving to take over the American command and tasked with improving the fighting ability of the troops, Patton institutes small but significant measures: He insists that breakfast service be cut off early; that everyone wear a helmet, even if it means the doctors drilling holes for their stethoscopes; and that soldiers suffering from PTSD be denied care— orders barked by Scott with rhetorical relish. The film validates most of Patton’s measures by showcasing, in meticulously staged re-creations of combat, his victories on the battlefield, nowhere more so than in the film’s climactic scenes of the Battle of the Bulge in 1944, when his by now well-trained, well-disciplined forces pivot from an engagement in France and drive north to relieve Americans besieged at Bastogne, Belgium.

Schaffner, himself a World War II veteran whose actors, even on other films, referred to him as “the general,” presents battle scenes with compositional clarity and editorial precision. When Patton’s men fight advancing German troops and tanks, the viewer is never in doubt as to the position and strength of either party.

Yet “Patton” is not a study of campaigns but a portrait of a man.

Screenwriters Francis Ford Coppola and Edmund H. North collapse the story of World War II into a character study of one of its most gifted and grandiose practitioners. In this, the filmmakers follow their subject, who is heard boiling down battles to the specific men against whom he is fighting. “Rommel is out there somewhere, waiting for me,” Patton says at one point, referring to German Field Marshal Erwin Rommel.

The film stresses the idiosyncrasies and conceits of Patton, who is shown sleeping in his clothes, reciting original poetry, summoning a chaplain to concoct a “weather prayer” for more favorable battle conditions, and at the site of the siege of Carthage expressing his conviction that he had been a participant in that ancient battle. His knowledge of the exploits of armies of centuries gone by is equaled by his sureness in his own ambition.

“All my life,” he says, regarding himself in a mirror, “I’ve wanted to lead a lot of men in a desperate battle.”

The film expertly attends to Patton’s plans, effectuated and overruled, to defeat the Nazis, but mainly to the extent that they reveal his character: This Patton esteems virtue, loathes slovenliness and spoils for a fight. The episode in which Patton slaps a soldier suffering from PTSD whom he judges to be merely cowardly brings about a reprimand and temporary suspension from active participation in the war. But because the film is biography, not history, we accept such excesses as a feature of his nature.

With his pursed lips, protruding chest and, when not concealed by a helmet, receding white hair, Scott takes control of the film from the opening shot onward. The actor has no shortage of bellicosity, but his performance endures for its quieter moments, such as when Patton strokes the head of a fallen soldier or kneels in prayer to steel himself for a public apology for the slapping episode.

Schaffner was bold to open his movie with the flag, but his most daring gambit was to elicit sympathy for a figure of such unapologetic martial values. “Patton” comes neither to celebrate nor to condemn war, but to understand a man who waged it well.

Mr. Tonguette is a contributing writer at the Washington Examiner.

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