A less familiar but immeasurably meaningful chapter of Civil War history, a sort of precursory case of affirmative action, to do with the formation of the first black fighting unit in the United States. The unprecedented and unrepeatable circumstances of this story are special enough, unique enough, to refreshen even the oldest of war-movie conventions. (And when, since the death of John Ford, have we seen a Civil War movie, anyway?) The aspiration of director Edward Zwick (About Last Night, ambitious in its own way, but not nearly in this way) somewhat exceeds his grasp: the movie is shot in a soft mushy style, a little short of air and of space. (The panoramic view of the seaside bastion, Ft. Walker, is a magnificent exception.) But Zwick displays the needed courage; and some of the most moving moments are, as justice would have it, the riskiest: the initial handing-out of muskets to the 54th Regiment, with the recipients happily "playing soldier" and giving their commander a sobering reminder of carnage already witnessed and a premonition of carnage still to come; the arrival of the regiment in Georgia ("We run away slaves, but we come back fightin' men!") with the Boys Choir of Harlem pitching in on the soundtrack; the commander's long goodbye, with choral accompaniment once again, to his horse, birds, the world in general, before launching the sacrificial charge at the climax. That last moment, though it might be faulted for telegraphing what's to come, takes the time to allow contemplation of what it means to be in a war, to do one's part, without any expectation of still being around to see how it all turns out. A feeling wholly appropriate, surely, to a movie about the egalitarian ideal in America. With Matthew Broderick, Morgan Freeman, and Denzel Washington. (1989) — Duncan Shepherd
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