None But the Brave

None But the Brave (1965) was among my most-watched childhood movies: AMC ran it almost weekly, and it made passable filler between Rio Bravo and Patton. However cool it seemed at the time, Frank Sinatra's only directorial effort is an embarrassing pacifist whine, pitched at the tritest level imaginable. Think John Boorman's Hell in Pacific re-envisioned by Stanley Kramer and you're there.

During the height of World War II, a squad of American Marines is shot down over a remote Pacific Island. Captain Bourke (Clint Walker) takes command over the objections of Lieutenant Blair (Tommy Sands). Bourke discovers they're not alone: an isolated Japanese garrison remains on the island, commanded by sensitive Lieutenant Kuroki (Tatsuya Mihashi). The two sides skirmish repeatedly until Kuroki enlists the American's doctor (Frank Sinatra) to operate on an injured soldier. Bourke and Kuroki initiate a truce which lasts until Bourke's men contact the US Navy.

The basic problem is None But the Brave simply isn't credible. WWII's Pacific Theater was a nasty race war, both sides viewing the other as subhuman. Japanese soldiers habitually massacred Allied civilians, bayoneted or beheaded captured troops and worked survivors to death in slave labor camps. Allied troops weren't shy about killing Japanese wholesale either, not helped by the latter's tendency towards banzai charges. Neither side took many prisoners; why house and feed enemy "vermin" when you can exterminate them?

Mind you, this isn't to imply moral equivalence between the Allies and Imperial Japan. But the fact remains, neither GIs nor Japanese had much interest in peaceful co-existence. Some conflicts can't be resolved by cigarettes and painting smiley faces on a leg stump (yes, that happens). Maybe an Eastern Front epic with the Waffen SS befriending NKVD Commissars would strain credulity further, but not much. Even as an allegory, Brave's set up feels unacceptably phony.

As a Japanese-American co-production when "Yellow Peril" resentment still lingered, Brave's intent is admirable. But Sinatra ruins our good will by ramming the theme down our throats. Early on, a scene of Kuroki chewing out his fanatical Sergeant (Takeshi Kato) is intercut with Bourke and Blair arguing. Kuroki's pedantic narration further underlines the message. Worst of all are two flashbacks that amuse rather than enlighten. Things end in a bloodbath followed by the most on-the-nose "message" ever committed to celluloid. Like many war movies, Brave has its cake and eats it too, presenting thrilling action while whining about the pointlessness of it all.

The best that can be said of Sinatra as director is that he doesn't hog the camera. Harold Lepstein captures beautiful Hawaiian scenery but the photography is rote, mechanical hackwork. Every scene seems to run a beat too long. Even the action feels sloppy: Sinatra films the skirmishes in close-up and medium shot, establishing no spatial geography between the Americans and Japanese. We never figure out where one side is in relation to the other, which would matter if we cared.

In front of the camera, Sinatra reverts to lazy Rat Pack mode, swilling booze, grinning incessantly and occasionally slapping somebody. Aside from his operation centerpiece, Old Blue Eyes might be comic relief. Clint Walker handles his He-Man leader competently, while Tasuya Mihashi gives a respectable turn as his Japanese counterpart. Stealing the show, in the worst possible way, is Tommy Sands. His bellowing Sergeant Rock caricature plays like a drunken hick R. Lee Ermey, generating gales of laughter with each slurred scream. You'll either find Sands hilarious or want to punch him in the throat.

None But the Brave is a sad mess. The innovative idea of an evenhanded war movie disappears amidst reams of cliches, position speeches and bad photography. All that remains are Sinatra's good intentions - and lousy direction.