JARHEAD Reviewed By J.P. Mangalindan

We're used to Saving Private Ryan, The Thin Red Line, gritty epic films that crescendo with deafening, bombastic intensity and shake us to the very core with the visceral. So, with a war drama like Jarhead, it's refreshing that not only are actual battles few, they’re ultimately anticlimactic.

The human drama that underscores Anthony Swofford’s bestselling account of his time as an active Marine remains at the forefront of Sam Mendes’ sensitive and beautiful adaptation.

Swofford, played winningly by Jake Gyllenhaal, is, like many men joining the Marines, a man with a mission. Other than a girlfriend, he doesn’t have much going for him; his goal by joining the corps is to find purpose in his everyday life. With the onset of the Iraqi war, Swofford finds himself swept up and shipped out as part of Operation Desert Shield. He comes to face with many things — death and personal demons — but little to no action.

Where are the long stretches of panoramic shots, minefields and bullets flying? Where are the bloody limbs? Jarhead doesn’t have much of that. It’s a war film that’s not as much about war as it is about the human condition in such circumstances — sending off young recruits to face possible death and how they cope; it examines this existential form of Russian Roulette without neatly tying the loose ends for an orthodox finale.

As Swofford, Gyllenhaal exhibits acting chops that put his male peers (I won't name names) to shame. His multi-faced portrayal is simultaneously endearing but flawed with the immaturity of youth. When he pulls a Christmas stunt most women aren’t likely to forget anytime soon (think male stripper meets Santa Claus) or he pulls a gun on a comrade, you never question his motives, even if you occasionally doubt his ability to lead his fellow men, including Peter Saarsgard as the emotionally tortured Troy.

There are scenes of absolute beauty in Jarhead: the long trek through the oil-laden deserts of Iraq is frightening, but gorgeous to behold as plumes of smoke and geysers of oil shower the night with their evocations of barren hopelessness and death. Mendes should be commended for capturing some of the most picturesque, emotional charged imagery in recent cinema. The charm in Jarhead lies in its ability to focus solely on flawed human nature and the inevitable emotional havoc wrought by war without needing to heavily explore the active elements of war itself. It’s no easy feat, but Mendes does it, and in doing so, has accomplished his best film since American Beauty. Hoo-ha.