Uncommon Valor

At the end of the Vietnam War, loose ends abound with distressing familiarity, notably American Prisoners or War left behind, including one Colonel Jason Rhodes's (Gene Hackman) only son (Todd Allen as Frank Rhodes). 

Negotiations ploddingly proceed with no concrete results diplomatically forthcoming, grieving loved ones left with nothing to hold onto but sterile rhetoric and ineffective bureaucracy.

Rhodes grows tired of the process and decides to find an alternative solution, taking off for Bangkok posthaste in a valiant effort to locate his son.

Disappointment flourishes eruditely as the years interminably pass, until a definitive lead finally reckons with commanding tactile vehemence.

A team of dedicated soldiers soon gathers to train for the mission, even if they lack the army's support and must rely on private funding.

Colonel Rhodes's son has been found but government reps seek to halt the proceedings, by continuously harassing his honourable efforts and eventually confiscating his gear in southern Asia.

The only way to refinance their mission is to spend every dime they have.

And move forward together as one. 

Back into the heart of the jungle.

Their situation is certainly uncommon but how does one qualify valour's exceptionality?, it seems it's not fair to refer to one's bravery as common if directly engaged in hostile combat. 

It rather seems that difference applies starting with an initial exceptional value, valour distinguishing itself as generally exceptional and nothing less immutably moving forward.

Nonetheless, the soldiers in this film do go beyond the exceptional, and pursue überintense exceptionality as thoroughly demonstrated by one Mr. Wilkes (Fred Ward). 

In fact, the entire team along with their daring courageous local support, distinguishes themselves multilaterally when directly challenged by volatile resistance.

They discuss the enduring friendships which cohesively convinced them to heed the call, bonds distinctively forged like none other amidst daunting peril and shocking uncertainty (as discussed in the film). 

I find the best practice is to advocate against the eruption of war in general, but when madmen do lose control and start them peeps have to be ready to formidably respond.

To see the reduction of someone's life to an acceptable loss is most distasteful. 

Who profits from bellicose engagements?

Should they not be objectively penalized?

Unbroken

Opposites react in Angelina Jolie's Unbroken, as true strength resiliently responds to the abject whims of contemptuous jealousy, the byproduct of feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing, a modest olympic runner's withdrawn yet irrepressible spirit unwillingly begetting torture, as a lowly pathetic subordinate seeks to cowardly assert himself.

The film's straightforward, a solid accessible account of wartime atrocities unpretentiously layered with both camaraderie amidst suffering and religious sentiment to feature forgiving frequencies while vilifying the wicked.

I find thinking about forgiveness as opposed to revenge leads to peace of mind, you just have to watch out for people who exploit the forgiving for their own ends, and approach each situation on a case by case basis.

I thought the film progressed well, smoothly using the flashback to build character in the beginning, finding ways to keep the narrative flowing while plane wreck survivors are lost at sea, accentuating the terrors of war, lauding independence in the face of brutality.

It's perhaps 15 minutes too long, perhaps because they were truthfully following the actual events of the story, the best scene still coming near the end, stronger minor character development in the last 45 minutes would have worked to its advantage.

That seems to be the way many films are set up, the hero, the villain, no devil in the details, centralized contained conflict.

Information networks have already been established within the POW camp when Louis Zamperini (Jack O'Connell), the Torrance Tornado, arrives, and the film doesn't focus on escape.

They are located near Tokyo which would have made escape somewhat futile.

If not commanding in its absurdity.

The Railway Man

Insurmountable trauma, disturbingly deconstructing any stable sense of self, recurring, regenerating, relapsing, biding its time, crocodiling in crucible, beyond sublimatic recourse, entrenched and ravenous, purloined to renew, its helpless, caustic, blight.

Eric Lomax (Colin Firth/Jeremy Irvine) survived systematic torture in a Japanese prisoner of war camp during World War II to return to Britain a free man, yet the horrific memories have left him sealed and solitary.

Love's invigorating warmth can't help him overcome, and his desperate wife Patti (Nicole Kidman) seeks the aid of his comrades of war to find a sustainable solution.

As luck would have it, the whereabouts of one of his assaulter's accomplices have been discovered, such knowledge providing him with the potential to pursue a just cause.

Hesitant and confused, The Railway Man struggles with this burden, before submitting to the inevitable, and retributively withstanding.

It jumps between the present and the past, the length of the wartime scenes compounding Mr. Lomax's illness, suggesting that he is capable of circumventing its madness for a time, before its destabilizing will pathologically lurches.

I prefer it when filmmakers regularly intercut psychologically debilitating lesions but Jonathan Teplitzky's method speaks to Mr. Lomax's strength, and brilliance.

The Railway Man is a rational film, examining the affects of war on a highly logical mind.

It therefore lacks the emotional depth I'm used to seeing in films exploring the aftershocks of war, triumphing in its temperance, resolving through reason.