Arts & Manners

Brian De Palma, who makes films in which women are brutally murdered, and David Rabe, a Vietnam veteran who writes plays about that war, have teamed up as director and screenwriter for Casualties of War, about an American platoon in Vietnam that kidnaps, gangrapes, and finally kills a pretty, teen-aged Vietnamese farm girl. The film is based on Daniel Lang’s 1969 New Yorker article, later published as a book. This is the true story as told by Private “Sven Eriksson” (only the names have been changed), the one member of the five-man squad opposed to the rape, who tried to stop it but couldn’t, tried to save the girl’s life but failed, suffered terrible pangs of conscience but, against overwhelming pressure from above, managed at least to bring his comrades to trial. It is an ugly and important story, and although I admire De Palma for telling it—some of it very well—I deplore the way he ultimately flubs it.

The film is already stirring up controversy. Movie critics are vehemently divided, veterans’ organizations have lodged angry protests in Washington, David Rabe has registered his unhappiness with what De Palma did to his script. There should be discussion of the movie and the events that prompted it, and it is good that the tale on film will get out among people who, alas, do not read. But it is disheartening that De Palma saw fit to fudge the ending—or was his arm twisted by Dawn Steel, the president of Columbia Pictures? Could that steely executive have insisted on giving the customers some release, some hope, some heavenly choirs?

JS

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John Simon

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Brian De Palma, who makes films in which women are brutally murdered, and David Rabe, a Vietnam veteran who writes plays about that war, have teamed up as director and screenwriter for Casualties of War, about an American platoon in Vietnam that kidnaps, gangrapes, and finally kills a pretty, teen-aged Vietnamese farm girl. The film is based on Daniel Lang’s 1969 New Yorker article, later published as a book. This is the true story as told by Private “Sven Eriksson” (only the names have been changed), the one member of the five-man squad opposed to the rape, who tried to stop it but couldn’t, tried to save the girl’s life but failed, suffered terrible pangs of conscience but, against overwhelming pressure from above, managed at least to bring his comrades to trial. It is an ugly and important story, and although I admire De Palma for telling it—some of it very well—I deplore the way he ultimately flubs it.

The film is already stirring up controversy. Movie critics are vehemently divided, veterans’ organizations have lodged angry protests in Washington, David Rabe has registered his unhappiness with what De Palma did to his script. There should be discussion of the movie and the events that prompted it, and it is good that the tale on film will get out among people who, alas, do not read. But it is disheartening that De Palma saw fit to fudge the ending—or was his arm twisted by Dawn Steel, the president of Columbia Pictures? Could that steely executive have insisted on giving the customers some release, some hope, some heavenly choirs?