The Story of G.I. Joe (1945)

There's a moment in George Clooney's The Monuments Men (2014), a World War II tale of a special squad efforting to preserve and rescue what's left of Europe's art treasures from the plundering Nazis, where part of their outfit, Lt. Campbell (Bill Murray) and Lt. Savitz (Bob Balaban), are stuck in the Ardennes at Christmas time.

And as the Battle of the Bulge rumbles all around them, Campbell receives a recording from home, alas, with no way to listen to it. His friend comes through, though, playing the record over the P.A. system for the whole encampment to hear.

Now. I admit, I teared up a bit during this scene, as Murray's daughter's Christmas Carol echoed through the woods and the ears of those so far away from home. But! I knew I was also crying a bit for the stirred up memories of Sgt. Warnicki from William Wellman's The Story of G.I. Joe (1945), too.

You see, Warnicki (Steele) also received a similar record while fighting in Italy, which holds the voice of his infant son, whom he's never met or heard speak.

On the surface, The Story of G.I. Joe (1945) is an autobiographical look at famed war correspondent Ernie Pyle. 

But just like with his books and essays, the film is not about Pyle, per se, but about Pyle serving as a witness to those men fighting the good fight -- not the where and the why, necessarily, but the frustrations and the 'hurry up and waiting' punctuated by sudden and terrible outbursts of violence and terror of the who.

Here, the reporter follows one particular outfit from their disastrous baptism of fire at the Kasserine Pass in North Africa to the invasion of Italy, which is loosely based on his Pulitzer Prize winning piece on the death of Captain Waskow and the impact it had on his men. (I highly recommend Pyle's book Brave Men for more such stories.)

(L-R) Burgess Meredith and Ernie Pyle.

Burgess Meridith is just great as the lyrical Pyle, who tries to personalize and put a face on these 'gravel agitators' in his columns for those back home; as is Robert Mitchum as the rapidly promoted Captain Walker.

But the film is stolen out from under them both by Freddie Steele's Sgt. Warnicki and his quest for a working phonograph, whose comical build up leaves the viewer a bit unprepared for the truly brutal and heart-rending climax of this plot thread at the foot of Monte Cassino.

For when he finally gets it working, and hears his son's greeting, the months of accumulated fatigue and grueling combat finally pushes one good man over the edge.

The resulting dust-up as his comrades try to contain him from taking the hill all by himself proves just as harrowing, with Warnicki beaten into the mud, a reverse-engineered take on civilization as he devolves back into the ooze that sprung us all.

Kudos to Steele for pulling off the detonation of this emotional time-bomb so effectively, which is even more amazing when you consider he wasn't even an actor.

Born Frederick Earle Burgett, at the age of 14, Steele took up boxing as a profession in his hometown of Tacoma, Washington; and after a decade's worth of bouts, 'The Tacoma Thumper' was recognized as the Middle-Weight Champion of the World from 1936-1938, compiling a record of 125-5, knocking out almost half of his opponents in the process.

Freddie Steele, alias the Tacoma Thumper. 

Steele's fighting career came to a premature end due to a series of auto accidents and other accumulated injuries and health issues. However, his celebrity status in the ring found him mixing in several Hollywood circles as well -- most notably, John Wayne's.

Known for his hard-hitting and fast footwork, Steele broke into showbiz when his feet doubled for Errol Flynn's in the fight scenes for Raoul Walsh's Gentleman Jim (1942). Several bit parts followed, including a few for Preston Sturges, who gave him his first credited role in Hail the Conquering Hero (1944).

He was absolutely hilarious in that, but Steele seemingly got his big break with William Wellman's other World War II epic as the hickish, tobacco-spitting, and tough as nails Warnicki.

He bore the facade of a simpleton, with unsuspected depth, character and courage. Mitchum's Walker might've been the brains of the outfit, but Warnicki was the glue. And it should be noted that it was his mental collapse that rallied the outfit long enough to achieve the victory that had been eluding the Allies for weeks.

It's amazing stuff that might've been fumbled in some other hands -- and it almost was.

Remember, Wellman was a pilot who served in the Army Air-Corps during the first World War and he hated the infantry; and therefore, refused all overtures from producer Lester Cowan flat until he spent some time with Pyle and learned how much the GIs truly revered him. (Pyle was so influential he campaigned for and succeeded in getting Congress to authorize extra combat pay for those serving in the front lines.)

Bill Mauldin.

The only other non-combatant similarly adored was cartoonist Bill Mauldin, another Pulitzer winner, whose iconic Willy and Joe strips were quite popular for their honesty, irreverence, and the resulting ire drawn from the brass for the same (-- scenes and scenarios which were pilfered mercilessly for this film).

And to add even more authenticity, the army allowed United Artists the use of many veterans from North Africa, Sicily, and the Italian campaigns as extras as they were transferred to the Pacific theater of operations.

Sadly, most of these men were later killed in action on Okinawa, including Pyle, who was killed not long after the film wrapped. His last words were asking another soldier if he was okay before a fatal bullet struck him down.

Along with his books and columns, The Story of G.I. Joe makes for a fine memorial for Pyle. It also served as Mitchum's big breakthrough movie, landing him his only Academy Award nomination for Best Supporting Actor. He lost to James Dunn for A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945). I've seen them both. Loved them both. But Mitchum was robbed. And frankly, Steele was better than both of them that year anyway.

Alas, unlike Mitchum, this breakout performance did little to advance Steele's acting career. His piercing eyes and chiseled features were offset by a flattened nose that resulted in a nasally, almost cartoonish rasp of a voice that would've never allowed him leading man status; but the potential for a rock-solid character actor was there, evidenced by a couple of memorable performances in albeit minor roles.

I especially liked him as the failed voice of reason for Raymond Burr's gang of hoods in Desperate (1947) and as part of a remarkable one-two punch combo as the muscle for bad guy Peter Lorre in The Black Angel (1946).

His last film was Lewis Selier's steamy film noir, Whiplash (1948). After which, he gave up on acting and moved back home to Washington, where he opened a saloon in Westport with his wife, Helen, which they ran together until he passed away in 1984 over complications from a stroke suffered four years earlier.

Perhaps it was just the right role molded for just the right person, but Sgt. Warnicki is one of my favorite characters from my second favorite war film -- the favorite being Wellman's other war movie I mentioned: Battleground (1949); a truly great film in the same vein, which also saw one of its character actors robbed of an Oscar statuette. (All apologies to Dean Jaeger, but James Whitmore was ah-mazing as Sgt. Kinnie.)

No matter what picture or genre, Wellman always had a thing for camaraderie, making this genre almost tailor made for his sensibilities. Like Pyle, he was less interested about why they were fighting and more interested in who was doing the fighting and the dynamics of who they were fighting with.

Rousing, inspiring, heart-wrenching, and perhaps most important of all, credible, which guys like Freddie Steele brought to the table in spades. And I can't recommend his performance and The Story of G.I. Joe enough, Fellow Programs.

Originally posted on March 10, 2014, at Micro-Brewed Reviews.

The Story of G.I. Joe (1945) Lester Cowan Productions :: United Artists / P: Lester Cowan / AP: David Hall / D: William A. Wellman / W: Leopold Atlas, Guy Endore, Philip Stevenson, Ben Bengal, Ernie Pyle (novels) / C: Russell Metty / E: Albrecht Joseph / M: Louis Applebaum, Ann Ronell / S: Burgess Meredith, Robert Mitchum, Freddie Steele, Wally Cassell, Jimmy Lloyd

Fury (2014)

As an amateur history buff, one of the most depressing, and infuriating, reads I've ever encountered was Death Traps (1998) by Belton Cooper, who gives a first-hand autobiographical account on the massive short-comings of the M4 Sherman when stacked up against the far superior German panzers during World War II. For the only advantage the American tank had was speed and mass-production; with the disadvantages being little to no armor, and not-near-effective-enough firepower.

And so, as the Sherman’s fired shells impotently bounced off of their opponents, the German 88mm guns usually made short-order of their American counterparts, making them, indeed, death-traps, with an appalling casualty rate for those trapped inside of them. And why that's so infuriating, is because it didn't have to be that way.

Seems as America entered its third year of the war, a critical -- and some would argue, criminal -- decision was made to forgo retooling for the production of the newly minted M26 Pershing tank and stick with the Sherman. This decision was backed by General George S. Patton, the leading American authority on tank warfare at the time, who favored the lighter and more mobile Sherman, feeling tanks were not supposed to fight other tanks but bypass them, and then attack the enemy infantry from the rear. 

And while General Eisenhower agreed with this assessment, judging by the evidence provided by Cooper, who had served in the 3rd Armored Division under Patton, this decision was a disaster that "lengthened the war and became a literal death sentence for thousands of Allied tank-crew members."

Now, all of this came crashing to the forefront when I finally sat down and watched David Ayer's Fury (2014), which focuses on one such tank crew; who, after surviving North Africa, D-Day, and the Bulge miraculously intact, finally suffer their first casualty as the Allies push across the Rhine and into Germany.

Of course his replacement, Ellison (Lerman), is both green and highly unqualified as an assistant tank driver, which rings somewhat true as, by 1945, whatever warm bodies that could be mustered were used to plug-up the holes on the front-lines. And while the shunned and misplaced file clerk goes through a trial by blood and fire, where subtlety and nuance are kinda ground-up underneath the advancing tank treads, sure, it all rings a little too close to the been there, done that, misplaced translator from Saving Private Ryan (1998).

But in Ellison’s defense, from the deified tank commander, Don 'Wardaddy' Collier (Pitt), to the bible-thumping Swan (LeBeouf), to the token minority, Gordo (Peña), and Travis the hick (Bernthal), the rest of the crew is an even bigger cache of cliches. However, the acting from all involved is really quite good and do the best they can to elevate what they're given by Ayer, who also wrote the script, canceling out some of these concerns.

Where the film positively excels, however, is when Ayers brings out the constant anxiety of the crews and the fear and the effectiveness of these tankers each time they go into battle. The combat scenes are incredibly staged, brutal and harrowing. And the sequence where a dreaded King Tiger tank ambushes them and wipes out a whole column, and the ensuing game of cat and mouse that follows to neutralize the damnable thing, epitomizes everything Cooper was lamenting about in his book, which is mentioned in the film’s credits as inspiration.

Also, in Fury’s quieter moments, I haven't seen a war film take the piss out of romanticizing service and de-glamorize combat this much since Carl Foreman's equally depressing, The Victors (1963). And though I did appreciate what Ayers was shooting for, something a little deeper, in the end, I think he kinda played out his "war is hell" cards with too heavy a hand.

And strangest of all, as we head into massive Spoiler Territory, everything Ayers and his veteran characters were preaching against, and the philosophy of caution that kept them alive thus far, is summarily ignored for a climax that is fairly ridiculous in its last stand, John Wayne-ishness as the lone tank and her crew suicidally defends a crossroads against an overwhelming battalion of SS troops.

Again, the final battle is executed quite brilliantly on a technical level, but ends just like you know it will. And here, Ayers blew a golden opportunity to add a poignant coda to his film, adding a bittersweet punch to the stomach on the sacrifice of the Fury's crew, which brings us full-circle and back to Cooper's book.

See, Cooper served in a unit that was in charge of recovering damaged and knocked-out tanks and making them serviceable again; another direly grim advantage the Americans had over the Germans, leaving no doubt that Fury, the tank, would've been patched up, hosed out, repainted, refitted, and back on the line with a brand new crew in less than two days after the climactic battle. Sad, but true.

Now, despite all of the gripes and missed opportunities, I'm happy to say the good outweighs the bad and I enjoyed this movie a whole lot. It was just frustrating, and a little counter-intuitive, and that keeps Fury from being as great as it could and should've been.

Originally posted on April 9, 2015, at Micro-Brewed Reviews.

Fury (2014) QED International :: LStar Capital :: Le Grisbi Productions :: Crave Films :: Huayi Brothers Media :: Columbia Pictures / EP: Anton Lessine, Alex Ott, Brad Pitt, Sasha Shapiro, Ben Waisbren / P: David Ayer, Bill Block, Jeremy Johns, John Lesher, Ethan Smith / AP: Owen Thornton / D: David Ayer / W: David Ayer / C: Roman Vasyanov / E: Jay Cassidy, Dody Dorn / M: Steven Price / S: Brad Pitt, Shia LaBeouf, Logan Lerman, Michael Peña, Jon Bernthal