Peace out

Think what you may about Mel Gibson, he’s a splendid filmmaker. I genuinely believe that an artist should be weighed separately from his art. Not for the artist’s sake but for art’s. Art doesn’t have to carry the burden of its maker’s earthly weaknesses. This is apropos Gibson’s recent film Hacksaw Ridge (2016) and his penchant for sticking to details. Anybody who has seen Braveheart (1995), The Passion of the Christ (2004) or Apocalypto (2006) would know what i’m suggesting here. His style of cinema is raw and in the cheekbones. There is no time for pretense. Each passing frame is nourished with hope as well as destitution. Every flesh wound visible, every groan audible. Tears flow in his movies and laughter echoes before the end. Most importantly, there is a set journey and being a great guide, he will show you unbeknownst places within the 120 minutes (or so) limit. That has been his modus operandi so far and Hacksaw Ridge doesn’t disappoint. Although the pacifist hero is meant to be celebrated through the film, you end up enduring the pain of World War II instead. After all, soldiers aren’t entering a war. Young men — thoroughly blinded by patriotism — are. They aren’t going to die for their country. They are going to get killed for their country. Exactly where the difference of perception lies. Call it draft or service. And when that happens, you wish you had somebody who would look out for you. Especially when everybody else has stopped looking. This is precisely when our based-on-real-life protagonist enters and (tries to) steals the show. But then, a director like Gibson wouldn’t let you go without staring into the darkness of human realities; the facades called bullets and cannons, the horrors and oh yes, hollowed skulls and shattered limbs.

OK, i’ll shut up now. Watch it for the dying art in you.