Written and Directed by Michael Cimino

Starring
- Robert De Niro as Michael Vronsky
- John Cazale as Stanley 'Stosh'
- John Savage as Steven
- Christopher Walken as Nick
- Meryl Streep as Linda

The Vietnam experience is usually reduced to one of two opposing philosophies: either the United States embarked on a noble mission, only to be undercut by gutless pacifists and hippie idealists, or it was a tragic mistake in foreign policy, a sinister combination of hubris, profiteering, and Cold War paranoia. These warring camps were also transferred to the screen, as rarely did Hollywood attempt to go beyond the obvious and the political. One of the few exceptions to this rule, 1978's The Deer Hunter, could be interpreted as an ode to Nixon's "Silent Majority" or a romantic notion of blue collar warriors, but in reality it is largely mute on ideological questions, as its primary concern is with the effect of war on the human spirit, in this case typified by expressions of community.

Director Michael Cimino, now solely remembered for the industry joke Heaven's Gate [Ed Note: Let's not forget his worst film, Desperate Hours], has crafted a film that exists on a plane of pure emotion, as the characters involved are inarticulate, somber, and troubled. Unlike Jon Voight's fiery turn in Coming Home, the characters of The Deer Hunter fight because that is what is expected of an American, although a one-on-one confrontation would fail to yield any further explanation. These are simple men to a certain extent, as they work, fuck, drink, and kill because they have interpreted it as their duty. This does not make them bad men, nor does it make them tragic figures, for Cimino is not concerned with symbols of sorrow. Instead, war, like the extended wedding sequence that opens the film, is ritual; a carefully crafted series of actions and movements that have meaning, but few of the participants have penetrated the surface to truly understand. Words like freedom, liberty, capitalism, or communism might stir something within each of these men, but they are little more than abstractions; sources of rage only because someone, somewhere has said that they are being taken away or forced upon another. I doubt any of the characters had thought about civil rights or individualism before being called to war, but it is enough that the words they hear from afar talk about their possible absence.

Cimino's masterstroke involves dividing the film into three distinct acts -- the wedding, the war, and the aftermath/funeral. Some might argue that the first act is far too long and does little to acquaint us with these men, but I would argue it does the exact opposite. Instead of overt introductions and "poetic" dialogue, we merely watch daily life, which is often repetitive and banal. By watching an average day, complete with a few moments at the steel furnace, a snippet in the locker room, a few words at the bar, and assorted macho bravado, we understand what these men value in ways that political language would diminish and make unreal. For the vast majority of human beings in similar situations, the rush of world events often makes little sense, and we trust that our leaders (subconsciously thought to be more qualified) will do the right thing. Perhaps, then, the men of The Deer Hunter are a bit naïve and therefore pawns in a large game (which might make us believe that this is a "liberal" film that blasts manipulation of the masses), but Cimino refrains from judgment or even fawning sympathy. His men, as with most men, are neither villains nor heroes. They simply try to get by, make a living, and have a few moments of joy amidst their struggles.

The second act has received the majority of the criticism regarding the film, as it uses Russian Roulette to convey the madness of war. This is the lone example of Cimino descending into obvious symbolism, although it has been said that he meant it literally. If that is the case, some argue, Cimino is using a lie to dehumanize the Vietnamese and display the naked brutality of the Other. There are no records or testimonies that prove these "games" existed, either in prison camps or on the streets of Saigon, so their inclusion must be intended to level an attack or reveal a deeper truth about the nature of violence. I support the latter idea, only because it makes little sense that Cimino would strip the film of political ideas except for a few, emotionally charged scenes. To give us a monster as an enemy would be to argue that the film is taking sides, something I believe it takes great strides to avoid. Yes, it is impossible not to feel great rage during these scenes, but only a hateful ideologue would despise a race or nationality at this time, rather than the human instinct that put those men there to begin with.

The third act involves a homecoming, a return, and finally, a funeral. There is something to be said for the fact that Michael's (Robert De Niro) mission to find his friend is unrealistic and unnecessary, but it works as a way to convey the bonds of friendship. Yes, it seems unlikely that one man could navigate a city of millions to locate a buddy, but it would be a mistake to dismiss the film for this one leap of logic. Michael is pulled back to Vietnam not because he wants to be a hero and hear the triumphant music swell, but rather because, like his "reasons" for going to war in the first place, he has an unspoken duty to a friend. That, and he made a promise on their final night before being shipped out. That is not "courage," but rather something these men do without thinking, almost as instinct. It is simply a part of who they are.

It must also be said that the funeral is one of the most quietly devastating scenes ever seen in a film about war, largely because it avoids grandstanding. There are no hateful words thrown at the "enemy," nor are there syrupy speeches. Instead, the people involved act as most of us would. They are quiet, shy, and make small talk to avoid the real matter at hand. And when a lone voice begins to sing "God Bless America," it is not a jingoistic, self-righteous anthem, but rather the only way these people know how to convey their emotions at that moment. When in doubt, it seems to say, rely on the familiar. Once again, ritual. The subtle power of this scene does much to contradict the popular notion that the film ends on a note of God and Country. These aren't muscular Christians barking their war cry, but rather confused, saddened friends trying best to remember a lost member of their inner circle.

The Deer Hunter, then, is a film that refuses to be dated as it is about the fragility of man in the face of overwhelming loss. We meet these people, they are changed, and as a result must find a way to continue. Consequently, this film is one of the best of all war-related films as it refuses to give us a "position" or any easy answers. At its best, it is a story of these lives as they are lived; their pain, their emotions, and their capacity to endure. And that is why it will live on. For as long as men must die, we will, at least in part, look to the cinema for a way out of the despair.