Soldier’s Girl (Frank Pierson, 2003) A-

A Soldier’s Girl makes us pay attention. It comes off as both a lambasting of ignorance and an embrace of endless yet unsure love, always warm-hearted and even-handed in its intentions and its execution. The strange thing about the tragedy at the center of the film is that it doesn’t exactly feel like it’s coming – at least, when it does, it doesn’t. It is a testament to Ron Nyswaner’s perceptive, fully-rounded script, and the way Frank Pierson directs his actors, as if they were slowly becoming more aware, scared, and somehow comfortable (thus the irony of the story) with each other.

I feel better talking about the film in terms of its characters, who felt as real as any I can recall. The tragic hero is Barry Winchell, grippingly played by a never scene-stealing Troy Garity, who is forced to come to grips with army life and a new strain of unshakeable feeling all at once. Sometimes it seems to be too much for him. We stay with him because as he stresses the importance of a “private life,” that life gradually unravels, with Winchell holding onto his dignity somewhere between “this is what I want” and “why would you talk about it?” He approximates the force of the film: there is both a Hitchcockian sense of embarrassment in his unwillingness to admit to his sexuality but he pretty much actively refuses to give into the kind of personality he is expected to when faced by others. That embarrassment is just one of many “side feelings” the film seems ready to admit to and stand up to, and appears all the more courageous and honest for.

Another one of those dangling pieces of extraordinary ambivalence is Shawn Hatosy’s Justin Fisher, Winchell’s roommate. Fisher is a would-be cliche: the hypocrite who takes guys to gay bars and calls them fags; gets really pissed off and says sorry a few seconds later; gets drunk, gets involved, then gets mad afterwards. But Hatosy is playing the kind of idiot we can all understand, who tries to grasp some kind of behavioral consistency, failing endlessly. I didn’t exactly like Fisher, but when I listened to what he had to say I did with the wish that someone like him might begin to understand his failings beyond the temporary ability to trick someone into thinking they’re smart. And there is the somewhat semi-autistic young soldier who joins up with him – couldn’t find the name anywhere, sorry – who is ignorant in such an intriguingly different way. This is a guy who is always operating somewhere between cowardice and grandstanding, who knows nothing except the fear he instills in others. He’s the emotional equivalent of a see-saw; the kind of logic the film is directly opposed to. And it’s another great performance.

Then there is what may be the seductively beating heart here, Calpernia Adams (Lee Pace), a man/woman who sees no reason to keep calling herself a man... ever, and doesn’t want to confront Winchell about the issue because it would interrupt the, well, bliss. Nonetheless, Calpernia feels like the most emotionally honest of all, keying into Winchell’s intuitions as best she can, trying to reward and discourage his attitudes in equal measure, the loving book-ends at the night-club tantalizingly open-ended in what they imply about how we understand her. Adams was in the army too... and when this is revealed it signals a death of Winchell’s intense need to preserve his self-image. Well, sort of.

When looked at aside Boys Don’t Cry, it looks different, too: Teena Brandon engaged in behavior that was inherently rebellious, and Winchell’s infatuation with Calpernia here is very gradual and anxious and emotionally ambiguous. It’s the story of a man who found what he didn’t know he was looking for. It’s the kind of discovery we should all be grateful for, and sad to leave behind, however reluctant individual encounters may feel.

1.31.03

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