A Soldier's Story

Norman Jewinson's 1967 "In the Heat of the Night" delved into racial prejudices through the unlikely partnership between a White Southern cop (Rod Steiger) and a Black officer played by Sidney Poitier. His name was Virgil Tibbs and his non-welcomed involvement in a murder investigation revealed interesting facets of his personality not entirely devoid of prejudices. The Best Picture winner spoke many powerful statements about racism, while sticking to the basic formula of a mystery thriller, it wasn't just groundbreaking but entertaining.

I needed to start with a long preamble to assert that Jewison's "A Soldier's Story" certainly carries the same noble intentions but never really manages to elevate itself to the level of its glorious predecessor. The film grabs the viewer's attention thanks to the wonderful characterization of a complex character named Sergeant Waters, played by Adolph Caesar, some stand-out performances from Harold E. Rollins Jr. and a young and promising Denzel Washington, not to mention a well-written screenplay from Pullitzer-winning playwright Charles Fuller (he adapted his own play to the big screen) but there's a problem with the film: it forgot to be one.

We gather that the whole 'whodunit' structure is only an excuse for a character study, but the latter succeeds at the expenses of the former. That's the trick with play adaptations, dialogue is the raw material so they end up loaded with insights that confine to stage lecturing without that emotional kick only the big screen can provide. "A Soldier's Story" reveals some disturbing truths about Black soldiers' mindset in the segregated South and the way self-hatred inhabits the hearts of those torn between duty and their feeling of a tacit oppression but there's never anything crucial at stakes. Even Reginald Rose's play "12 Angry Men" had the life of the accused boy pending on the jury.

But in "A Solider's Story", Waters is dead already. Sure we want to know the truth about his killer, but in fact the real mystery is the victim himself. And Waters is quite a character, I never knew whether to be in awe of or despise him. When we first meet him, he's drowning his sorrow in a Louisiana jazz club, his state of total inebriation betrays a visceral admission of failure, such an overwhelming one that his death was the closest thing to a deliverance; hence his last burst of nerve when he's being beaten later. He's got the time to shout "they still hate you" and laugh manically before a .45 automatic bullet finally silences him. Naturally, we don't know who shot him but the Klan suspicion is way too obvious to fool us. From the start I suspected the killer would be one of his own soldiers and the film one of these stories where everyone has a motive.

Captain Davenport, lawyer by training, is assigned to lead the investigation and he's got three days to conduct the mission; he's played by the late Rollins. He's commanding and charismatic with his shady sunglasses that convey the same mix of threat and dignity as Colonel Mathieu in "Battle of Algiers". His presence inspires the respect and admiration of other Black soldiers and the bafflement of White officers, when it's not sheer disdain, as demonstrated by Colonel Taylor (Dennis Lipscomb). Rollins is the implacable force that confidently drives the plot, the Virgil Tibbs I would say. And his method is straight-to-the-point, investigating the case by interrogating different soldiers who were under Waters' iron-handed commandment.

First there's Private Wilkie, a disgraced former sergeant played by Art Evans. Then C.G. Memphis (Larry Riley) as the Southern gentle fellow who only inspired Waters' disgust, reminding him of the 'yes boss' sellouts of his youth. And there's First Class Petterson, Washington as the rebel who had the guts to stand against Waters and fought him with bare fists. As the flashbacks reveal the tormented relationships Waters had with his troop, we see the ramifications sneaking toward an unfamiliar territory. The "black vs. white" canvas vanishes, unveiling the very demons that inhabited Black people in a context where race still mattered. And for that I command the script and the play by Fuller, and the performances too.

But I also sympathize with Ebert's statement about the rather loose mystery structure, the film waits for the right moments to reveal the clues while in "In Heat of the Night", the narrative was linear and we were never one step behind the protagonists. To put it simply: there's a suicide that is never mentioned until there's twenty minutes left before the ending and a precious information about the weapons could have accelerated the whole investigation. Of course, we had to get through all these testimonies for the sake of the "message" but just because a film has powerful things to share with the viewers doesn't mean they should have a convenient timing as if they were following plot requirements more than sheer logic.

I wish I wouldn't have to point out these technicalities because the film deserved better. And so did Caesar who was simply outstanding with his intimidating tone that only a few facial tics could contradict, showing how full of petty resentment he was. Sure he could pretend to be big despite being towered by each soldier (wasn't he after all the one who made Danny Glover look like a pathetic Daddy's boy in "The Color Purple"?) but Waters is the kind of characters that are so well-written and complex that they end up revealing the complexities of the others. He's the spine of the film, inspiring that quote at the very end (I'm paraphrasing) "who gives you the right to tell you who's the right or wrong Black person" from a tearful Davenport.

But that's the kind of grand ending that needed a film of higher caliber. Interestingly, I thought the same of its Best Picture co-nominee "Places in the Heart", too wrapped up in its noble intentions that it couldn't transcend them.