Breaker Morant

In tribute to the recently departed Edward Woodward, I rewatched Bruce Bereford's Breaker Morant (1980) today. As an examination of the cruelty and moral ambiguities of modern warfare, the ephemeral nature of military justice, and the injustice of empire, it's scarcely been topped, thanks to fine direction and a phenomenal cast. Above all else, though, it's a damned entertaining and believable film, a stirring mixture of war picture and courtroom drama.

In the waning days of the Boer War, a trio of British soldiers - ne'er-do-well Englishmen Harry "Breaker" Morant (Edward Woodward) and Australians Handcock (Bryan Brown) and Witton (Lewis Fitz-Gerald) - of the Bushveldt Carbineers (a crack special forces unit assigned to hunt down Boer commandos) are charged with murdering a group of Boer prisoners and, more importantly, a German missionary (Bruno Kenz). With the war winding to a close, and Germany looking for an excuse to intervene, the British government is hoping for a speedy conviction to avoid a political mess. But the soldiers' determined attorney, Major Thomas (Jack Thompson), proves a tough nut to crack, and he attempts to show that in killing the Boers, Morant and his men were merely following the directives of British war policy issued by Lord Horatio Kitchener (Alan Cassell).

Breaker Morant bears more than a passing resemblance to Stanley Kubrick's Paths of Glory (1957), but is far more subtle and nuanced than that film. Kubrick's film stacked the deck against the military establishment: the three soldiers to executed were unquestionably innocent of anything, and are callously sacrificed to the whims of politically-ambitious officers. Although a good enough film to an extent, Glory is often stilted, theatrical and heavy-handed in making its points, particularly its dud ending. The issue here isn't so much a critique of military justice, as a cry against the cruelty and waste of war in general, made with the broadest strokes possible.

Breaker Morant is no less angry but it makes its points more believably. A key point that the film makes is that Morant and his men are unquestionably guilty; the question, rather, is whether or not they are responsible for their actions. The film is replete in moral ambiguity; it does not condone what Morant and his men do, but makes it understandable. After all, they lost their beloved Captain (Terence Donovan) in a Boer ambush, and Morant's men are far from the first or last soldiers to take out anger on enemy combatants. As Thomas says in his closing summary, it's not that these are abnormal, violent men, but normal men in abnormal conditions.

In any war, especially a guerilla war with no frontline or uniformed combatants (as we see on the Boer raid against the town where Morant and Co. are being held), atrocities like the Carbineers' are a daily occurence. When they're made official policy, they are even more likely to occur, and Morant and his men are put on trial, in effect, for obeying orders. In a war which (along with the Spanish in Cuba and America in the Philippines) saw the first use of concentration camps and frequent summary executions of commandos, killing Morant and his men for their fairly minor infraction is the height of hypocrisy. (Ironically, they are acquitted of killing the missionary - the one crime they are unquestionably guilty of.) The reasons are purely political; with Germany threatening to enter the war and the Boers nearing the point of capitulation, sacrificing some rogue colonials and an outcast officer is a small price to pay.

The characters are believably drawn. Morant is a complex mixture of war-weariness, romanticism and anger throughout the film. Handcock is a vulgar yet charming rogue with little remorse for his crime; Witton seems a typically naive shavetail at first but becomes more complex as the film goes on. The only major flaw in the major characters is that Major Thomas, believably portrayed as a bumbling novice in his early scenes, quickly turns into an accomplished lawyer able to chew through. The supporting cast of Brits are mostly self-righteous, bloody-minded fools of the sort all too common in this type of film (see also Gallipoli).

The film excells in its modest courtroom dynamics due to strong writing and acting; the trial scenes provide real drama and tension even if the verdict is pre-ordained. Beresford handles the relatively modest action scenes with aplomb, and the film has some genuinely gorgeous Australian landscapes subbing for South Africa. The movie has some genuinely striking scenes, most notably the oddly touching execution which lacks the theatrical pomposity of the aforementioned Kubrick film; it does loudly make a point, but it also works as a scene in itself.

Edward Woodward gives a fine performance, masterfully underplaying his tricky, morally ambiguous character. Jack Thompson (Australia) gets the showiest role, pulling off his impromptu defense attorney with the appropriate amount of righteous indignation. Bryan Brown and Lewis Fitz-Gerald are equally strong as the irreverent Handcock and the naive Witton. Though the British higher-ups are portrayed in as one-dimensional brutes, John Waters gives a nuanced portrayal of Captain Taylor, the prosecuting attorney, not necessarily conflicted but able to recognize Thomas (and his defendant's) predicament.

Breaker Morant is an excellent film, doing some of the best work in examining the moral ambiguities of war and justice. With guerilla conflicts continuing in Afghanistan, Iraq and elsewhere, the issue of morality in an immoral war is more pertinent than ever. Hopefully it won't take a Breaker Morant or William Calley to bring these incongruities to light.