Spike Lee, redundantly setting the record straight about black participation in the Second World War, flatters himself on doing what Glory did for the Civil War, although without the inherent significance. The racial issues here feel tacked-on rather than built-in. Even so, if setting the record straight were an artistic criterion, he might have had something to be proud of. Instead, he has set the record straight diffusely, flabbily, lumberingly, boringly. He may hold his own in a war of words with Clint Eastwood (where were the blacks at Iwo Jima?), but he’d be annihilated in a war of cinema. And the inclusion of an Eastwood look-alike and sound-alike as a racist brass hat reduces the war to the playground: Yeah, well, yo’ mama wears combat boots. Derek Luke, Michael Ealy, Laz Alonso, Omar Benson Miller, Valentina Cervi, Joseph Gordon-Levitt. (2008) — Duncan Shepherd
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