On a lazy Sunday evening after a day at work, I went over to a friend’s place to chill out and watch the second episode of the new HBO miniseries, “The Pacific.” I wanted an entertaining yet introspective view on the trials of the United States troops fighting against the Japanese in World War II. Instead, what I got was 50 minutes of slaughter and contrived camaraderie.
If I learned anything from “The Pacific,” it was that the Japanese troops are relentless. About half-an-hour in, right after a mushy-gushy scene of troop bonding, there came a good fifteen minutes of the First Marine Division plowing through one Japanese troop after another with any form of artillery at its disposal.
In an ultra-masculine way, there was something fascinating about it. But after ten minutes of yelling and shooting, it was obvious the directors were beating a dead horse. The show had become an extended scene of a video game, and it reminded me of high school afternoons spent playing Medal of Honor: Pacific Assault.
By the time the shot had faded out and panned over the heaps of dead bodies, I felt exhausted and confused. I couldn’t determine whether “The Pacific” was trying to glorify war or portray the sacrifices our soldiers make to protect our freedoms.
Besides leaving the lives they know and love for destitute landscapes of warfare, soldiers are often forced to internalize the guilt that stems from the greatest sin of all &- to take another life &- and turn it into a mantra. I was struck by the horror of the troops’ choice: to kill, or be killed. It was a necessary logic I will never be able to fully rationalize, and in many ways, I respect anyone who can.
Nevertheless, “The Pacific” sometimes gave subtle nudges toward the questionable morality of compulsory murder. After the blood of a dead friend is wiped from his brow, an avid Marine Corps member goes on a savage jungle rampage. As he unapologetically dishes out head-shots to any Japanese he confronts, his fellow troops, who prefer pistol whips and punches, give him an odd look as if to say, “Dude . . .” He looks back as if to say, “You gotta do what you gotta do.”
And it’s true. “The Pacific” accurately portrayed the blunt, inglorious nature of warfare.
But not always. The rest of the show seemed like it was pulled from the script of MTV’s “Bromance.” It was straight dude porn with 95 percent of the show consisting of the troops cracking jokes, slappin’ ass and playing with guns. The other five percent was made up of flashbacks of home tinged with sentimental monologue. I didn’t know if the producers were trying to overemphasize the redeeming qualities of troop solidarity or if this was really how things worked on the battlefield.
More importantly, to what degree can we consider fictional accounts of historical material real?
About a week before the first episode of “The Pacific” aired, Time Magazine ran a cover story deeming Tom Hanks, one of the show’s leading producers, “America’s Historian in Chief.” From “Saving Private Ryan” to “Band of Brothers,” “Charlie Wilson’s War” to “You’ve Got Mail,” Hanks’ repertoire of military-related roles is extensive to say the least. Hanks, Time claims, “has become American history’s highest-profile professor, bringing a nuanced view of the past into the homes and lives of countless millions.”
As “The Pacific” ended and the show “How to Make it in America” started, I wondered what that nuance was, and how exactly movies and television alter our subjective perceptions of objective reality.
“How to Make it in America” is like “Entourage” with slightly poorer kids that live in New York instead of Los Angeles. The characters are hip as all hell, and any good dude-bro would kill to be living their lives.
The show follows two aspiring jean designers, Ben Epstein and Cam Calderon, as they overcome numerous hurdles trying to get rich and successful in the concrete wilderness of NYC. I’m no fortune-teller, but five bucks says they “make it.”
The fact of the matter is, watching a Jewish kid and a Hispanic fellow make bad investments before falling into a spiral of substance abuse wouldn’t be as entertaining as watching a Jew and a Latino making freaking awesome investments before falling into a spiral of substance abuse. Accurate depictions of reality just aren’t as interesting as fantasy.
For me, watching too much Hollywood entertainment is like choosing the mystery-flavored Dum Dum only to find out it’s watermelon-flavored and disgusting. The idea is so enthralling, yet the reality is disappointing.
Nevertheless, Hollywood entertainment feeds me my daily dose of hope, and the more TV I watch, the more hope I have.
This is an account occasionally used by the Daily Free Press editors to post archived posts from previous iterations of the site or otherwise for special circumstance publications. See authorship info on the byline at the top of the page.
