Apocalypse Now is gorgeous. Its budget doesn’t go to waste, with the long shots of helicopters looking almost like ants surrounded by terrain and water being cinema at its core; lush, ambitious, and excessive. This is exactly the problem. The film is light on a critique of war, but is clearly going for being against it, despite not always being clear on that. While we see many deaths, they are either from dubious characters or no names. If you are to look at the deaths as inherently anti-war, then every war film is, which is obviously not the case for many romantic installments of the genre. In one scene, some American soldiers act like unhinged fools. Other scenes depict more cruel behavior. While the film includes these moments to tell us what it’s about, the story doesn’t care to humanize its victims or treat them outside of the lens of the protagonist, someone who seems disinterested in the whole matter. On top of that, the filmic look of the picture removes from the ability to empathize as it treats everything as a spectacle, pieces of a giant event instead of covering real people. Regardless of the implications of such violence and spectacle, you can’t deny how good it looks. Around ninety minutes in, the leads leave a battleground in the dark as colorful explosions and gunfire go off, feeling like fireworks. Whether or not this works for the story is up for interpretation. It can be seen as overly theatrical, or like it’s suggesting that this brutality is inherently American and disguised with patriotism.
Beyond this, the intended tone, or should I say shift of tone, certainly could have been portrayed better. We start with a declaration that we won’t be getting realism because of the surreal vibe of the opening sequence. We start on the Doors’ unsettling “The End”, with the psychedelic qualities fitting with the dreamlike nature of part of the movie. The silent and distant explosions make them feel like a memory. Our first look at the main character comes when he is overlaid on top of these explosions upside down. Martin Sheen as Captain Benjamin L. Willard is brought to us immediately disoriented and consumed by unnoticed and uncaring destruction. In the film itself he barely seems to comprehend or take seriously his or anyone else’s mortality, as if he is not all there. A visual comparison between helicopter blades and a ceiling fan crucially shows that no matter where Willard goes he can’t get his past experiences out of his mind.
The quiet subtlety of these shots makes them so impactful, so unfortunately they’re followed with many grotesque displays of Willard screaming and covered in blood, like we need it spelled out in large letters that he’s under stress. Here, we’re thrown into something aggressively human, the suffering of the main character. The juxtaposition between the two is extremely sharp. While this could be looked at as a positive, the entire point of the film, and part of the justification of its long run time, is to show a gradual dissociation from reality. Throughout the film, the protagonist is pulled further and further away from any sort of comfort. The climax is set in an area of rich colors and intense moodiness. The motif of the further you go, the more lawless everyone becomes is a bit muted due to one of the more famous shots of the film being a massacre early on. Even the opening scene of Willard, while not fatal, shows deep emotional tragedy, which would be more impactful if seen later. Would anything be lost if we jumped from the opening to Willard being told of his mission? The film as a whole is far more concerned with the set pieces and not detailing a true change with Willard, usually not bothering with his emotional state. His appearance in the very end is filmed as if to suggest the end of a long and complex tale that has changed him to his core. This is suggested due to the empowering lighting and dank atmosphere, as if it connects to a new state of mind the character has. However, the more significant problem with this picture is the narration.
Lines like, “And if his [Kurtz’] story really is a confession, then so is mine” take what could be an underlying theme and instead just throws it in our faces. The narration also tends to wax lyrical, as if Willard is a poet impersonating how a soldier would write. The strengths of the story are in what’s unsaid. Early on, the achievements of Marlon Brando’s character Colonel Kurtz are spoken with a slight unease, as if the military men discussing him are unsettled by the fact that someone so honorable and noble could fall so far into insanity. In turn, Willard is almost emotionless, not seeming to care. This tells us about Kurtz, Willard, and some military leaders with mostly vocal inflections, unlike something like, “charging a man with murder in this place was like handing out speeding tickets in the Indy 500”. That only serves to give the narrow lead character more to say. Other than to draw a comparison between him and Kurtz, what does the wordy narration even tell us? We learn a lot about Kurtz’ past through Willard reading about him, but nothing that helps or changes Willard’s journey, or informs us on what is in store for when we see Kurtz. The intention seems to be to have Kurtz weigh over the various scenes, but we see so little of Willard’s feelings that Kurtz effectively doesn’t matter. If the intention is to draw comparison between the two, we don’t learn much of Willard’s past. He seemingly is not nearly as distinguished as Kurtz.
One of the worst verbalizations is, “How many people had I already killed? There was those six that I know about for sure. Close enough to blow their last breath in my face. But this time it was an American and an officer. That wasn’t supposed to make any difference to me, but it did.” This is just telling instead of showing. The score here is almost manipulative in trying to enhance the intended emotions the audience should feel, pushing these words past breaking point. While filmmaking can be inherently manipulative, it shouldn’t be done so nakedly. Willard explains himself to death comically often. Further reducing the impact of scenes of American soldiers being brutalists is the line, “No wonder Kurtz put a weed up command’s ass. The war was being run by a bunch of four-star clowns who were going to end up giving the whole circus away.” Why spend so long letting their behavior seep in if it’s going to be spoon fed to the audience like this? Even outside the narration, the on-the-nose dialogue and scenes pop up at many points, like when Willard shows up somewhere and asks someone firing a gun, “Who’s the commanding officer here?” He receives, “Ain’t you?” Later he admits to being afraid of something. This is delivered the same as the rest of the cold narration. Imagine how much more powerful this could have been if his fear was either shown through a certain behavioral choice or through a confession of sorts? Considering his otherwise unphased attitude, what is the point of his fear?
Marlon Brando’s weight is unsuccessfully hidden by the relentless shadow. While there is the positive impact of making his character seem especially reclusive and unknowable, this intense darkness would’ve made a stronger impact if the earlier scenes of intense darkness were removed. We’d be seeing something we never saw before. Brando’s dialogue is plagued with similar issues as Willard’s narration, like when he calls the protagonist an errand boy, implying that Willard had thought more of himself. Despite all his talking, we don’t get much of what Willard thinks of himself, but his heart and mind obviously never reeks of patriotism or righteousness. He is blank to murder, so why would Kurtz’ comment have any impact?
Willard at the beginning being given a taste of what goes on with Brando’s character and then his mission are very reminiscent of military or spy films of old where a character is recruited for a dangerous mission, with descriptions letting the audience know what they’re in for and that the antagonist is dangerous. Especially when considering its use in World War II films where the American hero was extremely uncomplicated and righteous, this old trope is immediately put on its head considering the messy state Willard was shown to be in and Kurtz’ decorations. You could almost imagine Kurtz as having previously been the hero of an old World War II film. This scene and the first with Willard seem made for each other, showcasing many contrasting themes. A broken man who has no place going back in the battlefield, especially because he was traumatized by said battlefield, having to do so. You have supposedly highly intelligent individuals who don’t seem to understand the brutality of the situation. Most importantly, despite the fact that Willard is being trusted and Kurtz is being demonized, both are clearly cut from a moderately similar cloth. Kurtz is just as broken a man as Willard. Kurtz’ ramblings are on record while Willard’s are probably just in his head. That is the key takeaway of the opening, though sadly their comparison would mostly be drawn through dialogue instead of seeing similar behaviors.
SPOILERS
William Kilgore, played by Robert Duvall, is among the least faint critiques of America. The women and children being mowed down by the American helicopters are at one point called “Savages” by him due to defeating one of the copters. One person in particular is targeted and killed running and screaming, being treated not unlike a video game villain, with the gruesomeness betraying those that would look at her as less than human. All this man cares about is surfing, with his actual job an afterthought to him, as well as the lives of those he ends or at least harms. The famous phrase “Charlie Don’t Surf” seems to function as both a future piece of pop culture that can be used outside of the context of the story and as an internal justification to not care about his victims, as they don’t partake in this supposed American pastime. Even the group we follow are brutalists… George Phillips “The Chief”, played by Albert Hall, responds to light sticks being thrown at him and his crew by firing his machine gun at the source. In a surprising moment of reason, Willard tells him not to do that. This is foreign considering how often he doesn’t involve himself in that which is not his business. Eventually, Chief is struck with a spear fatally. Two interpretations that can be drawn from this are that the throwing of sticks was meant to catch them off guard, or that their intentions were innocent until they started getting fired on. No matter what, Chief’s actions didn’t ultimately do him any favors and not different from what was ultimately done to him.
While the roles of Willard’s companions on the boat have led to many different views on the story. On the face of it, Chief is uncomplicated in his anger and opposition to Willard. He even tries to kill Willard as his dying act, like it is the most important thing in the world. The purpose of this seems to be for revenge instead of an ideological difference, like that is what matters about the character. One of the better scenes of the film is when Laurence Fishburne’s character of Tyrone “Mr. Clean” Miller is killed. Everyone gets to perform a bit, especially Chief, who is stunned. Both of these characters are mostly defined by their demises, as if the take away is perhaps that both the bossy and the teenaged are not to be spared. Another takeaway is that they matter as imprints on two of the main elements of the film they are involved with, the war and Willard. However, the only arguable effect they have on him is in detaching him more from society, which he already was. With Chief, it is suggested that going against Willard is what does him in, like he is not to be threatened.
As memorable scenes that will lead viewers to reflect on and discuss the war, these are more effective, but seem to matter little to the story. Seeing as both of these characters are black and the most violent of the leads, this isn’t the best look. Note that the brutal Kilgore and Kurtz are both white, but we don’t see them nearly as much. On top of this, if you look at the main character as someone to relate to, then these black and prominent characters look worse by comparison. Neither makes it all the way to the climax, matching the stereotype of black characters dying relatively early in movies, and one is portrayed as brutal in a way the others aren’t due to his attempt on Willard’s life, even if in a way that obviously wouldn’t work. Considering the opening and ending’s focus on the lead, and all the monologuing and narrating that puts us in his mind, it seems probable we are supposed to relate to him and thus see Chief trying to kill him as somewhat comparable to if he tried to kill the audience. By this logic, Chief’s end could be seen as a clue that his death is supposed to be acceptable because he wanted to kill us.
The main clue that Willard connects to Kurtz in the final act is that he has camouflage-esque paint on himself, green eyes, and in other ways seems taken into the abstract and colorful world, shown when he is bathed in darkness, unlike in most of the rest of the movie. Willard emerging from the swamp is gorgeously cinematic, especially when lightning strikes, illuminating his face. It’s rightfully one of the most iconic parts of the movie and emphasizes this main theme. It seems designed to be pictured in a book on film analysis. The actual confrontation with Kurtz is disappointing. Instead of comparing the two more closely, we mostly hear Brando ramble as he literally refused to learn the script or take any of this seriously. “If I had ten divisions of those men our troubles here would be over very quickly. You have to have men who are moral… and at the same time who are able to utilize their primordial instincts to kill without feeling… without passion… without judgment… without judgment. Because it’s judgment that defeats us.” Brando is clearly stumbling over his words during this speech. This is also ridiculous considering that in this war and many previous ones, America committed numerous war crimes and other dehumanizing acts. The soldiers in this film, such as Willard, are portrayed as savages. Kurtz’ killings, like of Chef, don’t even have the pretense of serving a purpose. Is the intended connection between Kurtz and Willard supposed to simply be that they both are traumatized and seemingly despise America, despite doing similar acts of violence? Was that the payoff of the build up? We don’t even get a clear view of what Willard thinks of the country. Even in other ways, the two are quite different, like how we never learn what Willard wants to do with himself after the war, while Kurtz does to at least a degree. Some proposed endings for the film and the ending of the book this story comes from rectify this, so it wasn’t strictly desired for Willard’s fate to be mysterious.
The most crucial difference between the two is the crosscutting from the death of a buffalo to the death of Kurtz, which is reminiscent of the death of Mr. Clean and the dog Lance B. Johnson, played by Sam Bottoms, adopts going missing. Both compare a soldier who in theory is supposed to be honored and respected with an animal. Note that Willard personally is not compared to an animal. He even seems beyond the other characters due to his distance from the actions that take place and ultimately leaving unharmed physically and possibly not anymore emotionally damaged. We don’t see signs of him being traumatized by his escapade looking for Kurtz. Willard emerging from the mud is like a baptism that leads him to fulfilling his goal all movie, extinguishing both the main generator of the threat the military was worried about and the American ideal Kurtz used to represent. Kurtz’ cult ultimately bowing to Willard logically is confusing, but works at communicating that Willard is not just a person. He’s killed a figure viewed as holy by both them and in a different way America. The thing that America looks up to is God. Seeing as Willard is above this American figure, he is above everyone else. He’s been embraced by this society as a new God. Him rejecting it could be viewed as him being a humble God. Chief’s attempt on his life in turn could make him a Judas-like role.
Of the five characters that go on Willard’s journey to find Kurtz, Lance is the only one to live other than Willard himself. While all five show some degree of jadedness, the survivors are to a greater degree. Lance is often high on LSD and is thus attracted to the psychedelic and similarly unworldly society Kurtz has created. Having someone we follow to embrace Kurtz’ cult is probably the reason why he was written to survive, matching the “Richard Colby” character, but taking the text on its own he is the only one that seems to respect Willard in any way by bowing to him with the others at the end. Taking LSD has also been considered by some to take the user to a higher level of existence, where maybe he would “see” Willard as a holy figure, or at least see beyond the war. They feel there’s more important things than to stress over their surroundings when they’re at a different level of being. Admittedly, Mr. Clean and Chef weren’t really given a chance to either look up to Willard or hate him, but they also weren’t LSD users or enlightened in the way Lance may be. There is a mild continuity error where Lance doesn’t seem to care about Mr. Clean’s death, but later shows solace for the Chief’s eventual death. The reason for this could be that this symbolically shows Willard upstaging Chief and being the one with authority here, so Lance is commemorating this turnover.
OVERVIEW
The ending is clearly trying to be open to interpretation, which implies that the movie, or at least the ending, isn’t trying to say anything specific, contrasting the more “realistic” approach of most of the movie, with its graphic violence and shots of victims screaming. By the finale, the deceased are treated as props which serve to develop Willard, not having the personality or visceral nature of other deaths. While this can be interpreted in many ways, as I’ve done here, this along with the tonal shifts make for a story too muddled to be strictly pro-war, anti-war, or much of anything. The inconsistent tone is noticeable with a role like Chef, played by Frederic Forrest, who can’t decide if he wants to be comic relief or a representation of the story’s main themes. Apocalypse Now still benefits from being something that can cause discussion, which was probably its main point anyways, and bringing a cinematic grandness that most war films can’t pinch the pennies for, as more of an experience than most movies can hope to be.
The Filme Diary 