M*A*S*H
While another military film won the Best Picture for 1970 (that would be “Patton”), it was Robert Altman’s “M*A*S*H” that arguably had the stronger impact on the cinema of the time. Apart from being most people’s introduction to one of the most innovative and idiosyncratic filmmakers of all-time, the film also represented a distinct shift in the way war was portrayed on-screen. Up until that point, war movies were cut from a distinctly jingoistic cloth, with reverence and a patriotic spirit. “M*A*S*H,” on the other hand, wasn’t afraid to bring a wicked sense of humor to fight off the malaise of war. “Patton” was a remnant of the old ways of combat filmmaking; “M*A*S*H” was looking to the future.
The film is best known in larger popular culture, of course, because of the long-running television show it inspired, but for movie fans, it’s an indispensable achievement from Altman, the master of off-beat character studies and large canvases who directed masterpiece after masterpiece, from “M*A*S*H*” and “Nashville” to “The Player” and “Short Cuts” to “Cookie’s Fortune” to his final, wonderful, film, “A Prairie Home Companion.” Each film follows the same artistic M.O.: intertwining stories; large casts; subversive stories; and an overlapping of dialogue and interactions using a unique way of miking actors (developed by Altman) that allows every actor to be heard, creating a fascinating level of depth in the soundtrack.
For those who may not know, the film is based on the book by Richard Hooker, and follows the sometimes absurd exploits of the surgeons and soldiers of the 4077 M*A*S*H unit during the Korean War. The film centers around the comedic adventures of Hawkeye Pierce (Donald Sutherland), Trapper John McIntyre (Elliot Gould), and Duke Forrest (Tom Skerritt) as they beat back the boredom and blood of everyday life at a military hospital with hijinks and bawdy humor, starting with Hawkeye and Duke stealing a Colonel’s jeep to head to the 4077, where they proceed to wreak havoc on the lives of straight-laced soldiers like Major Frank Burns (Robert Duvall) and head nurse, ‘Hot Lips’ O’Houlihan (Sally Kellerman). Their influence stretches far indeed, as they: set up a football game; fly to Japan to save a Congressman’s child, and get in some golf; broadcast some raunchy dealings with Burns and ‘Hot Lips’; and set up an elaborate “last supper” for a fellow soldier who doesn’t know how to tell his three fiancees back home that he “plays for the other team.” I wonder how many people left for Vietnam, or any combat since, and expected war to be like this?
The opening song will be familiar to anyone who watched the TV show. Written by Altman’s son, Mike, and composer Johnny Mandel, “Suicide is Painless” (which won an Oscar, and is one of the best songs for a film of all-time) is a perfect evocation of the ways war can change a person. In addition to playing over the credits, it’s played on-screen during the ceremony Hawkeye and Trapper John throw Capt. ‘Painless’ Waldowski (John Schuck), giving the scene a heart-rendering effect that illustrates the death of one life, and the beginning of a new one for Waldowski. I can’t imagine the impact the song had at the time on viewers, with our country embroiled in one of the most bitter anti-war fights in our history because of Vietnam. In a film in which the only gunshots signal the end of quarters during a football game, these bars of music fit right in with the folk ballads of the time that illustrated the dissent of the younger generation that made “M*A*S*H” a box-office hit, and influenced the political dialogue of the time.
What makes “M*A*S*H” a landmark in cinema, however, remains Altman’s subversive wit, and his always-mysterious methods of working with actors. More than any of his fellow directors from that “golden age” (Scorsese, Coppola, Spielberg, Lucas), Altman had a way with actors that brought out the best in every performer he ever worked with, from Gould and Sutherland and so many others in this film to Lily Tomlin in “Nashville”; Julianne Moore in “Short Cuts”; Tim Robbins in “The Player”; Emily Watson in “Gosford Park”; and even Lindsey Lohan in “A Prairie Home Companion.” He rarely hit the financial highs of “M*A*S*H” again, but in the 36 years after his breakthrough film (which remains a cultural touchstone), Altman never lost his skills as a storyteller and the ultimate “actor’s director.” The five-plus years since his death has missed that singular voice in American cinema.
