Freed from the personality-snuffing basic training setting, Modine’s Joker finally lives up to his character’s name once he’s out in the field. Second, this is where our main characters finally come to life. First of all, the basic lust for battle is satisfied here and, let’s face it, half the reason we watch a war film is for the explosions and gun-fighting and violent death. It was in its second, less well-remembered half, however, that the film really surprised and rewarded my (hopefully) expanded adult mind. Watching it again, it certainly holds up as a masterful study in the dehumanizing nature of military training, which seeks to turn unique individuals into a unified body of killing machines.
This may be due to its comparative strength or its disturbing denouement (Between this and Dead Poet’s Society, my generation had to endure two traumatizing acts of on-screen suicide). I’ll admit, this is the part of the film I remembered more clearly from the late ‘80s birthday party circuit.