In a personal Memorial Day tradition of several decades, last night I watched a war film, this one, "Unbroken," new enough to have to be rented. I had read the book and wasn't sure I wanted to see the graphics of torture in the Japanese prison camps, but I did want to see the later development of redemption, not because it is anything new to film, but because the book on which the movie was based was a genuine, researched biography that included commentary by the subject, Louis Zapparini (excuse my spelling), himself. In the book, the real-life man lived a mythological life, so perfect in its workings that it is hard to believe. But it was true.
My son was upset by the torture of the prisoners of war, as I expected. Louis had gone down with his fellows in a B-24 bomber in the south Pacific, had endured 45 days in an open raft with next to no water or food, and then had been captured by the Japanese and subjected to their cruelties for the remaining two years of the war. When the film showed the fire bombing of Tokyo next to one of his prison camps, I shouted to my son, "There's Grampa!" for my father had been a gunner on the B-29's that destroyed Tokyo. He was, I have to say for his sake, appalled at the deaths that he helped bring, even though it was warranted by the standards of war. After one mission, he told me that General Curtis LeMay, who would one day run for president, had stood in front of him and the other men and bragged-congratulated them for having "killed over 100,000 people last night!" Most of the men, including my father, had turned green will nausea and guilt.
In the book, Louis returned emotionally crippled from the war, spending the next several years with PTSD, with terrifying real-feeling flashbacks of his imprisonment. He became an alcoholic and nearly lost his wife to divorce - before his crucial turning point. In the movie, however, a scene that was described in the book is underscored in epic proportions. It relates to his time in the raft, when he promised God that he would do anything He wanted if He would only save him. And so, in the movie, the active commander of the camp, a sergeant who was such a zealous sadist that even his commanding officers backed off and let him rule, confronted Louis, who he had a particular desire to crush. He made Louis pick up a large rafter and hold it over his head, threatening to have him shot if he dropped it. And so he held it for hours, the other prisoners watching and praying, until finally the sadist sergeant himself was broken, loosing face before the prisoners and his own men for not being able to subdue Louis, who, not by accident, looked very much like a persecuted Christ at Calvary. This was his big moment, his breakthrough for God and Man. In the movie, that is.
In the book, his redemption happened after years of depression and alcoholism after the war. His wife, then about to file for divorce, gave Louis a chance to stop the proceedings by going to see a new charismatic preacher who had come to L.A, - a guy by the name of Billy Graham. Louis had stalked out of the first meeting and the second, but the third time was the charm - he then remembered his vow to God in the raft, and really, really saw the light. He quit drinking that day, saved his marriage, and went on to talk of this experience to others for the rest of his life. He raised money for charities, and started his own, taking disadvantaged kids into the California wilderness for rock climbing and camping and so on. In a phrase, he gave over his life to helping others in the spirit of God, and said so. Everyone else who knew him agreed. He died while the book was being finished, at the age of 97.
The movie mentioned a bit of this in a few paragraphs at the end, leaving the viewer unaware of the true nature of his change. It had not been achieved in a crowning moment of courage, but had come at a considerably larger price, as hard as that is to imagine, from a form of torture that acted on the soul instead of the body. The change, too, happened at that depth, and continued for a lifetime. In fact, he realized that he had never really been happy until that change, even before his ordeals. He had gone to Hell to get to heaven. The analogy to the trials of Christ, although misdirected, was true over all.
It is breathtaking to read, but also made me think - oh God, no, not me - don't choose me! For most religious mythologies, one has to suffer greatly to achieve true wisdom. But no one wants to pay the price, not even Jesus, who asked his Father to take the cup from his lips before his own trials began (and then followed by stating that if it were the Father's will, then so be it). No, we don't want it, but sometimes we get it. Louis was so chosen and lived a long and meaningful life. But I for one would still beg to have that bitter drink taken from my lips. FK
My son was upset by the torture of the prisoners of war, as I expected. Louis had gone down with his fellows in a B-24 bomber in the south Pacific, had endured 45 days in an open raft with next to no water or food, and then had been captured by the Japanese and subjected to their cruelties for the remaining two years of the war. When the film showed the fire bombing of Tokyo next to one of his prison camps, I shouted to my son, "There's Grampa!" for my father had been a gunner on the B-29's that destroyed Tokyo. He was, I have to say for his sake, appalled at the deaths that he helped bring, even though it was warranted by the standards of war. After one mission, he told me that General Curtis LeMay, who would one day run for president, had stood in front of him and the other men and bragged-congratulated them for having "killed over 100,000 people last night!" Most of the men, including my father, had turned green will nausea and guilt.
In the book, Louis returned emotionally crippled from the war, spending the next several years with PTSD, with terrifying real-feeling flashbacks of his imprisonment. He became an alcoholic and nearly lost his wife to divorce - before his crucial turning point. In the movie, however, a scene that was described in the book is underscored in epic proportions. It relates to his time in the raft, when he promised God that he would do anything He wanted if He would only save him. And so, in the movie, the active commander of the camp, a sergeant who was such a zealous sadist that even his commanding officers backed off and let him rule, confronted Louis, who he had a particular desire to crush. He made Louis pick up a large rafter and hold it over his head, threatening to have him shot if he dropped it. And so he held it for hours, the other prisoners watching and praying, until finally the sadist sergeant himself was broken, loosing face before the prisoners and his own men for not being able to subdue Louis, who, not by accident, looked very much like a persecuted Christ at Calvary. This was his big moment, his breakthrough for God and Man. In the movie, that is.
In the book, his redemption happened after years of depression and alcoholism after the war. His wife, then about to file for divorce, gave Louis a chance to stop the proceedings by going to see a new charismatic preacher who had come to L.A, - a guy by the name of Billy Graham. Louis had stalked out of the first meeting and the second, but the third time was the charm - he then remembered his vow to God in the raft, and really, really saw the light. He quit drinking that day, saved his marriage, and went on to talk of this experience to others for the rest of his life. He raised money for charities, and started his own, taking disadvantaged kids into the California wilderness for rock climbing and camping and so on. In a phrase, he gave over his life to helping others in the spirit of God, and said so. Everyone else who knew him agreed. He died while the book was being finished, at the age of 97.
The movie mentioned a bit of this in a few paragraphs at the end, leaving the viewer unaware of the true nature of his change. It had not been achieved in a crowning moment of courage, but had come at a considerably larger price, as hard as that is to imagine, from a form of torture that acted on the soul instead of the body. The change, too, happened at that depth, and continued for a lifetime. In fact, he realized that he had never really been happy until that change, even before his ordeals. He had gone to Hell to get to heaven. The analogy to the trials of Christ, although misdirected, was true over all.
It is breathtaking to read, but also made me think - oh God, no, not me - don't choose me! For most religious mythologies, one has to suffer greatly to achieve true wisdom. But no one wants to pay the price, not even Jesus, who asked his Father to take the cup from his lips before his own trials began (and then followed by stating that if it were the Father's will, then so be it). No, we don't want it, but sometimes we get it. Louis was so chosen and lived a long and meaningful life. But I for one would still beg to have that bitter drink taken from my lips. FK
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