PG | 2 h 52 min | Drama | 1970
American Gen. George S. Patton Jr. (George C. Scott) and British Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery (Michael Bates), nicknamed Monty, are at loggerheads over who’ll get the glory in World War II. The Allies respect both officers. But Patton’s habit of shooting his mouth off at Nazi Germans, communist Russians, imperial Japanese, and cowardly Americans, in equal measure, backfires; he’s behind, or on par with, Monty in the glory stakes, and rarely ahead.
This war-within-a-war shifts from North Africa to Britain, then to strategic destinations in Europe: Italy, France, Belgium and, eventually, Germany. More considerate American officers, Gen. Omar Bradley (Karl Malden), and Maj. Gen. Walter Bedell Smith (Edward Binns) chafe at Patton’s troublesome tongue, even if they cheer his triumphs.
Then, fate prizes the slamming door of opportunity ajar for Patton: New orders give him a chance to free the 101st Airborne Division trapped in Belgium. Patton kicks that door wide open. A newsreel commentator praises his Third Army for helping relieve 18,000 Allied defenders the day after Christmas, moving farther and faster and engaging more divisions “in less time than any other army” in American history.
As his Third Army secures crucial wins, Patton reminds aides that this is where years of training and discipline pay off. He claims that “no other outfit in the world would pull out of a winter battle, move 100 miles, [then] go into a major attack, with no rest, no sleep, no hot food. God, I’m proud of these men!” he boasts.
Stimulating Spectacle
The film’s striking opening, frames Patton against a mammoth Stars and Stripes banner. He’s addressing troops. They’re off-camera, perhaps because director Franklin J. Schaffner believes there are so few takers for Patton’s tough message. His audience might as well be imaginary. In a way, Patton’s talking to himself. Schaffner provokes film audiences: Will you listen to, or stonewall, such a man?
To Schaffner, battles require all sorts of leaders and resources. One Allied officer lists losses in North Africa: armored vehicles, mortars, machine guns, rifles, pistols. He doesn’t mention battle tanks. He doesn’t need to. The abiding image throughout the film is of a tank that doesn’t stop; it just rolls up hillocks, down dunes, past fences, above ridges, across bridges, through brick walls. The likes of Patton are vital to armies. Without them bulldozing otherwise unyielding obstacles, more compliant, judicious officers wouldn’t succeed. The likes of Patton make an army more than the sum of its parts.
Patton’s idea of himself as an unstoppable force extends to troops, down to the last man. If he’s as unidirectional as a tank, his soldiers must be as certain as bullets. Why on earth, he seems to wonder, would a bullet stop mid-trajectory en route to a handpicked military target? Patton assumes that those wielding power, through metaphorical guns, political or military, have thought things through before ordering battle. But once fired from such barrels, soldiers, as bullets, have no business chickening out.
Not everyone agrees. So Patton’s slapping of a soldier claiming “battle fatigue” creates an uproar, forcing Patton to publicly apologize. Ironically, he regularly defies orders himself, something he doesn’t expect from soldiers. That dissonance erodes his hard-won credibility.
Patton hasn’t time for irony, or patience, for nuance. But he’s saying that a soldier’s duty is to be courageous by showing courage first. It’s as if he’s asking detractors to imagine judges refusing to judge, lawyers refusing to argue, or policemen refusing to arrest based on their fears and feelings. He doesn’t want soldiers to love him, but to fight for him. He warns: if “they don’t look like soldiers, and they don’t act like soldiers, why should they be expected to fight like soldiers?” So, he punishes soldiers walking around helmetless, or with soiled shoes or uniforms. Or those with self-inflicted wounds that scream victimhood. To him, patriotism doesn’t request courage, it demands it. It’ll settle for nothing else.
Schaffner makes an obvious point: Generals aren’t saints. But also, a less obvious one: They’re fighting men, who must lead others, wholeheartedly or not, into battle, as frequently as duty calls, not only to protect territory and life, but to defend a way of life. That requires hard-nosed professionalism. Some possess it all the time, others some of the time, still others none of the time. Thank God, Schaffner seems to say, Patton possessed it, most of the time.
