Saving Private Ryan (1998)

Directed by Steven Spielberg
Written by Robert Rodat
Starring Tom Hanks, Tom Sizemore, Edward Burns, Barry Pepper, Adam Goldberg, Vin Diesel, Giovanni Ribisi, Jeremy Davies, Matt Damon, Ted Danson, Paul Giamatti, Dennis Farina, Nathan Fillion, Bryan Cranston, Harve Presnell

I had just settled in to watch Saving Private Ryan for the first time in probably ten years. Like many movies in my collection, it has quietly travelled with me across the continent and back, standing alongside its brothers on one shelf or another, always ready for duty but never getting the call. Thanks to this little project, all of these films will finally have another day in the sun.

And so the movie began, with its distinctive shot of the U.S. flag waving with sunlight shining through and its awkward framing story. This was followed soon thereafter by the most justly famous section of the movie, the invasion at Normandy beach. I enjoy most of the journey that the movie takes us on, but my favorite moment occurs early. I won’t give it away, but my spontaneous reaction to it today was saying “Goddamn it!” and then laughing out loud.

After the opening fireworks had settled, the exposition scene was just starting to get the main storyline moving. And that was when I got the telephone call from Tom Hanks.

“Hello, Mister … I’m sorry, I’m not sure how to pronounce that.”

I started to answer, but Hanks cut me off.

“You know, for marketing research purposes it really doesn’t matter. Actually I’m going to save a little time here and go ahead and check a few of these boxes. Age bracket -- B … income -- we’ll be generous and call that one a D ... single … Virgo … and your favorite color is -- periwinkle.

“OK, so that’s the preliminary stuff. The reason I’m calling today, Mister -- you know, why don’t I just call you Skip? It’s informal, it’s fun, it’s easier to remember and it definitely rolls off the tongue nicer than that mess of consonants you got going on there. Skip, the reason for the call is that the surveillance chip embedded in your DVD player shows that you are watching one of my films, specifically Saving Private Ryan. I believe you should be at the scene where Harve Presnell is reading Lincoln’s letter right about … now.

“I want you to go ahead and pause that. If you’ve got some popcorn, you could make some. I should be there in about five minutes. Also, do you like RC cola? Because I get a discount on it and I was going to get a two-liter. You want to go halvsies on it?”

I decided to hold off on making the popcorn for a few minutes, which worked out for the best. Tom didn’t arrive at the house until nine minutes after the call, owing to a busy store and a clerk who had been a pain to haggle with. I showed him in, paid the $.39 which was my share of the cola minus Tom’s share of the popcorn, and we resumed the film from where I’d left off.

“Don’t mind me, Skip,” Tom said through a mouthful of popcorn while he took photographs of my DVD shelves. “I’m just doing demographic research. Hey, do you have any Heckle and Jeckle cartoons?”

I shook my head, and then had a sinking feeling as I realized what he was bound to ask at some point.

A dying Vin Diesel was on screen, trying to hand a blood-covered note to one of his fellow soldiers. “Huh. Whatever happened to that guy?” said Tom. Some of his popcorn was flying out of his mouth in little pieces and landing on my tatami mats. I made a mental note to sweep them later.

Tom’s eyes were once again roaming my well-organized movie collection. “Let’s see, no Fast and Furious, no Chronicles of Riddick. Guess you’re not much of a Vin Diesel fan.” He noted this in his research. And then it happened.

“Holy crap! Where is your copy of Forrest Gump? Did you loan it out to someone?”

I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes.

Tom stood up slowly. His jaw was slightly opened, and I noted he was drooling a little. “Philadelphia … Big … Cast Away?” He was now frantically moving his hands over the spines of my DVDs, looking for a Tom Hanks movie, any Tom Hanks movie. He looked at his notes again. “But … your demographic … you should own Road to Perdition! Or maybe, --”

He scratched through some numbers and, I think, carried a one.

“Splash! Or Bachelor Party! One of them has to be here!”

I muttered something about kind of wanting to see Joe Versus the Volcano again, but it didn’t seem to comfort him.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Skip. Here I’ve spent the last three decades entertaining you. And don’t try to deny it. I have the receipts from when you saw Catch Me if You Can and The Terminal in theaters. So I know I’ve made some kind of connection with you. You’re not going to let the ice melt in that RC, are you?”

Not wanting to upset him further, I took a long sip. And then I saw it, on the fourth shelf from the top, the remake of The Ladykillers starring Tom Hanks. I started to tell Tom, but he interrupted.

“I know. I saw it there too. But we both know that one doesn’t count.”

On screen, machine guns were firing. But it wasn’t enough to drown out the awkward silence in the room.

Tom took a deep swig from his RC and put the glass down on the mantelpiece. He gathered up his research materials and started to say something to me. But the hurt in his eyes said it all. He opened the door and sighed.

I’m sorry, Tom, I was saying to him. But he was already gone.

Sword of the Beast (1965)

Directed by Hideo Gosha
Written by Hideo Gosha, Eizaburo Shiba
Starring Mikijiro Hira, Go Kato, Shima Iwashita, Toshie Kimura

The beast had been wandering for centuries. Once it was the ruler of this land, and its influence had even spread to realms beyond. The beast knew this much. Beyond that it knew how to forage to survive. But in truth, it would have died many years ago had its body still required sustenance to carry on. For this was a dead land.

There had been a time when the beast would have never imagined a need to seek its own food. He had only to move his head and bellow, and men would sacrifice their young and their beautiful maidens. The beast would consume them whole and pass their bones.

Later the meat had not been as tender. Only the elder ones remembered and recognized his power, and they sacrificed from within their own ranks. When the last of them had exhausted their short lives, the beast’s howls would go unrewarded. The angry beast would infect the men with plagues, cause their homes to catch fire, and would swell the ocean to rise up and wash away their towns. But the stupid men never thought to feed him.

Now there were few signs that the land had ever been civilized. The beast spent his days patrolling a dead forest. Sometimes something new would sprout from the ground, but then a spontaneous fire would erupt and scorch the earth. Occasionally, the beast would pick up the scent of a man, but it was always distant and possibly only imagined.

But today the beast encountered an odor that had been all but forgotten to him. A demon was in his land. In better times, the beast had taught demons to stay away from his food. Demons corrupted men’s souls and soured the meat. This the beast would not tolerate.

But the meat and the souls were long gone from this land. What business would a demon have here now?

The beast did not care for the taste of demon and did not have the motivation to fight. Nevertheless he felt protective of the land that was still his, depleted though it was. He would have to deal with the intruder.

He did not have to search for long. At the edge of what had once been a treeline was a lake that had been created by the blood of men and the piss of the beast. On the other side of the lake the beast’s one good eye followed a pillar of black smoke down to its source, and there saw the demon, sitting stone still by a campfire and meditating.

The beast took his time walking around the lake. He had not spoken in a thousand years, but in any case communication with demons scarcely required it. Like many of the ancient races, demons could instinctively read souls. What made them skilled predators was their ability to just as instinctively pervert them.

The demon stood up slowly as the beast approached. He beckoned for him to join him by the camp. The beast instead stopped in his tracks, and the demon addressed him.

You are the master of this land. I am a young demon, and I do not know you, but I can tell that this is true. I hope you will forgive my trespass. I am waiting for someone.

You will not wait here. If someone is coming, I will greet them with my jowls and welcome them into the pit of my stomach. I would offer you the same, but you are unappetizing. Leave my land and do not return.

I am sorry, old one, but I will not leave yet. What will you do about it?

The beast had not been so brazenly defied in all its existence. It was confused more than anything else. Had the beast a little more intelligence, he might have recognized that confusion as the moment he lost the battle.

I am old, that is true. I do not fight as fiercely as I once did. But I am more than capable of tearing a little demon into many pieces.

I believe you, old one. So why did you so graciously offer me the option of leaving here whole?

I … do not know.

Oh, but you do. You cannot deceive a demon, as you well know. I see what is in your soul.

The beast knew he was trapped. If he retreated, his hold on the land would end, and he would become mortal. His body was far too old to survive such a transition. And though a moment before he could have destroyed the demon with ease, it was too late. The demon had found his soul. It was corrupted by tendrils that caressed and weakened his spirit. Even if he had been able to focus enough to mount an attack, killing the demon would kill himself.

Your spirit has been dying for too many years, old one. Thankfully your bones are still strong. I may be able to fashion a weapon from them.

Above his campfire the demon had mounted a spit. The beast was drawn to it.

Climb onto it, old one. Use those jowls one more time and swallow it whole. That should not be too difficult for you.

The fire was roaring strongly now. The beast found it oddly inviting. Perhaps this was not such a bad way to leave this land. He opened his jaws wide around the spit and pulled himself forward.

The Hidden Fortress (1958)

Directed by Akira Kurosawa
Written by Ryuzo Kikushima, Hideo Oguni, Shinobu Hashimoto, Akira Kurosawa
Starring Toshiro Mifune, Minoru Chiaki, Kamatari Fujiwara, Misa Uehara

Mifune was born with a katana in his hand. He emerged fully grown from the womb, performing a c-section from the inside. After severing his umbilical cord, his first action was field surgery to save his mother’s life.

He spent his first years farming. He had a natural ability with the soil. There was a form of communication between them. His crops grew tall and plentiful.

When his mother died, Mifune’s grief became an earthquake that ravaged the farm. The bond between him and the land was broken. He salvaged enough food for a long journey, and picked up his sword.

He encountered no person on the day he left home, but his travels did not go unnoticed. A pack of wolves surrounded him. Mifune bowed and asked for safe passage. The leader of the wolves attacked and became Mifune’s winter coat and a quiver. A snake tried to bite him, and provided Mifune a belt and string for his bow.

On the first night he made camp, a demon visited Mifune by the fire. It was interested to know how Mifune had come by the blade he carried. Mifune answered that he was born with it, and offered no more in the way of conversation. The demon’s presence annoyed him.

The demon told him that the blade was cursed. He could sense the presence of a demon more powerful than himself bound within it. It was this that had drawn him to Mifune’s camp.

This angered Mifune. He called the demon a liar and challenged him, but the demon smiled and refused. He would stand no chance against Mifune’s blade, he said. He then walked into the fire and rode the smoke upwards and was gone.

Mifune did not sleep that night, nor for several nights after.

He did not know how long he had been travelling. His senses were keen, even sharpened, by the lack of sleeping. But the measurement of time had been lost. As dawn broke one morning, he saw the outlines of a town.

The smells of the city were different from those of the farm he had known for most of his life. The concentration of people and the poor living conditions made it a foul place that assaulted and overwhelmed him. He vomited twice before his body could adjust.

Mifune walked from building to building and observed. He carried no money and had little in the way of social skills. The townspeople were clearly frightened by his appearance. Some would skitter away, but just as many adopted defensive postures and kept their eyes on him.

He encountered an older man who had lost his legs and was begging in the street. Mifune asked to sit a while with him and rest. The beggar was glad for the company.

The beggar began telling Mifune things about the town. What it was called, how it began, and who its prominent citizens were. But the travel had taken its toll, and Mifune was soon asleep.

He was awakened when his sword was snatched from his hand. Mifune was on his feet in a second. He barely got a look at the thief before the crowd closed in around him and blocked his view.

Mifune fought them well, but he was only one man, weakened by travel and lack of rest. He was beaten badly and eventually succumbed to unconsciousness when a rock struck his head hard. Mifune had just enough sense to register that the throw had come from the direction of the beggar before everything faded into blood red.

It was some time before he realized his spirit was now walking without his body. He was beside a nearly dry river bed. Only a trickle of dirty water ran past him. A dam built of corpses and manure was blocking the water upstream.

A strong campfire was burning ahead, with a beast Mifune could not identify turning on a spit above it. Stoking the flames was a familiar demon. As Mifune approached, the demon addressed him.

You are brave to visit this world, living man. Without your blade you are powerless against me. And you did not treat me with hospitality when we last met.

Mifune did not reply. Instead he pulled a piece of meat from the roasting creature and ate. It was burnt and rancid.

You will find no nourishment in the flesh of that creature. At one time it was a god, but its name has long since been forgotten, even by itself. It asked me to kill it, and I granted its wish.

What do you wish, living man?

Nothing from you, said Mifune, and started to walk past the demon. The demon grabbed him by the throat and lifted him with one hand.

You are not welcome here. You will return and face me again, and on that day I will destroy you. But you have more demons to face before me.

The demon threw Mifune over the dam of corpses, over the foul reddish-brown lake past it, over the charred remnants of a forest, over a ruined castle, and over the edge of anything Mifune could comprehend. He fell and fell into nothing.

He felt an impact and his body jolted. The sudden movement sent up flares of pain from his broken ribs. An inhuman sound was forced from his lungs, and he began breathing in quick, forced gasps.

It took some time before he was able to stop shaking long enough to stand. When he had regained control of his body, Mifune took in his surroundings. He was at the bottom of a gully in a forest, but it was too dark to determine more than that.

Mifune began gathering material for a small campfire. Morning would come soon. Then he would retrieve his sword.