MasterChugs Theater: ‘Born on the Fourth of July’

Oliver Stone’s Born on the Fourth of July is not an adaptation of the memoir by Vietnam veteran Ron Kovic, though that’s what the credits indicate. It’s most certainly based on it, but it’s not necessarily an adaptation of the memoir. It’s an indulgent style showcase for Stone, who, with his longtime cinematographer Robert Richardson, employs every act of film trickery imaginable that doesn’t involve CGI effects.

Tom Cruise is thoroughly convincing in each phase — from the sweet, shy, starry-eyed teenager with romantic notions of fighting for his country and becoming a war hero; to a quickly disillusioned Marine struggling with the conflicts between warfare and his Catholic morals; to a proud, wounded veteran determined to have a positive attitude in the face of unfriendly ’60s protesters and his family’s sadness; to a self-pitying paraplegic; and finally, to an active spokesperson fighting against U.S. involvement in the Vietnam war.

The first part of the film is a bit over the top: the soundtrack is incredibly hokey and the family dynamics are so idyllic that I longed to hear a curse word, to see a cat have a tin can tied to its tail, an alcoholic parent stumbling over furniture — anything. One could argue that these scenes are filmed as nostalgic memories of a lost utopia, or one could just conclude that they’re overdone. It’s difficult to imagine that someone’s reality could be as squeaky-clean as a Leave It to Beaver episode, but maybe some people of Kevin’s generation would swear that that’s exactly how it was.

Once in Vietnam, this goody-goody-two-shoes background serves to make the war scenes even more harrowing. Cruise seems more innocent, vulnerable, and just plain younger than the boys in The Deer Hunter, so much so that the exigencies of combat seem even crueler. Stone’s film is a well-executed drama that involves a man fighting to find himself and to come to terms with the choices he has made.

This elegiac idealism, where young men cry when they lose wrestling matches and where God only cares for the man who serves his country, is subverted when Kovic must fight in the lands surrounding the Cua Viet River. Here, accidents are bound to happen, and the confusion of war rips apart innocent lives. This middle-section of the film moves quickly and ends with Kovic lying in a military hospital. Crippled and shell-shocked, he clings to his shattering idealism and demands that people give him the respect he believes he deserves.

The Stone we have learned to love and hate emerges fully in the third section of the film, in which he is in complete control of Kovic’s transformation. Stone nicely contrasts Kovic’s liberalizing deterioration with the changing political climate that marked the shifting of power between the Kennedy and Nixon administrations. Kovic desperately tries to believe that there is logic to the pain he suffers, but concludes that he was nothing more than a pawn in an ill-conceived political scheme.

Once Kovic is forced to think about the state of American politics, it’s completely downhill from there – even if the journey becomes a tad overlong. From a battlefield of dying Americans and Vietnamese to the homeland battle against misplaced idealism, Kovic’s journey continues as a battle toward godlessness. From young dreamer to broken soldier, Kovic’s journey is startling and ironic; a vision that could only have been imparted by hands as gentle and powerful as those of Oliver Stone.

Happy Fourth of July, everyone.