THE STEEL HELMET: Full(er) Metal Jacket

Samuel Fuller was a devout peddler of pulp. His films are characterized by their frequently lurid subject matter and “yank off the band aid” approach to tackling divisive themes without holding any punches against either side. At the same time, there’s an energy to his scripts, built around reconstructing common genres around his own sensibilities, whether it’s the feminist Western Forty Guns or the takedown of idyllic suburban America in The Naked Kiss. One of my favorites of his is the 1951 war drama The Steel Helmet, which was made in the midst of the Korean War, and boldly strips both sides of their medals to show men at their most vulnerable.

The film follows Sgt. Zack (Gene Evans), the last surviving member of his unit after an ambush by North Korean soldiers. While traversing the Korean countryside, he picks up a young South Korean boy who he affectionately names Short Round (Spielberg, were you a fan?) and a ragtag unit of surviving infantrymen. While seeking shelter in an abandoned Buddhist temple, they find they’re not actually alone, as both their enemies and their own insecurities begin to close in on them.

Fuller was a master of spinning his minimalist budgets into something much more extravagant than what you’d expect. Filmed in small lots around UCLA and in local California wilderness, Fuller’s ingenious use of fog machines and minimalist lighting evoke the jungles of Asia without ever leaving his own backyard. It also helps that Fuller had a keen sense of framing, mostly blocking scenes around his characters and leaving little space for the background. Not only does this obscure the non-location setting, but also develops a sense of contained anxiety, the tightness of the framing reflecting the inevitably of bloodshed slowly encroaching on their brief moments of peace.

War movies often struggle with balancing the various personalities on display, giving each larger than life character enough time in the spotlight while not slowing down the narrative. Whereas a film like The Dirty Dozen (to me at least) gets bogged down by not spending enough time with John Cassavetes and Telly Savalas, Fuller’s script is keen on making Evans’ Sgt. Zack the main hero. Like the titular helmet, Zack is cold, hard, and broken, his idealism long since stripped from and his internal desire reduce to the most primal level: stay alive. Yet like most broken, beaten cynics, there’s a flickering desire for some sort of happiness outside of the horrors of war roaring around him. His kinship with Short Round forms the emotional backbone of the film, evolving from belabored annoyance to genuine companionship. It’s sweet but never overly saccharine, as Zack’s gruff exterior only ever gives way briefly before quickly repairing itself, suggesting that he’s built so many layers to protect himself against any kind of genuine connection with others. After all, life is fleeting in war, so why let yourself get attached?

The film also tackles racial politics of the time, but as is usually the case with Fuller, it’s never black and white which character he sides with. Rather than simply saying “hey racism is bad!,” Fuller is much more interested in the internalization of racial identities and allegiances outside that racial group. In a brilliant scene of dialogue between a Korean major (Harold Fong) and Japanese American soldier (Richard Loo), the Korean remarks that “they hate us because of our eyes.” Evoking Japanese internment, he argues that to fight against Korea is to betray those who the U.S. had casually tossed aside in favor of fear mongering. Conversely, the Japanese American argues from the side of American idealism, believing in a dream that America is still a land for all, in spite of its frequent failings, and that he’d fight to the death to protect it from those who seek to destroy it. The Japanese American represents the dual identities of the average American minority: the racial and the national. The two frequently collide and clash, yet in the midst of war, they can be reconciled. There is no color on the battlefield other than blood red.

The Steel Helmet is arguably one of the best war films in that it has very little interest in actual war. The action is mostly relegated to brief diversions and the climax, opting instead to focus on internal battles whether its determining one’s identity or the fear of forming any attachment to those around us. It’s fascinating to see these kinds of universal struggles play out in wartime setting, yet I suppose it’s Fuller contention that battles we fight inside ourselves can be just as trying as those on the front lines.