Warfare

A few years ago I quoted Stephen Hunter’s review of Windtalkers, a bad movie for which Hunter offered good insight. In comparing the arch, balletic, frenetic action of that movie to real footage of men in combat, Hunter wrote of how the latter always “amazed” him: “The soldiers appear so informal and undramatic. They never seem to be in any heroic poses; their minds, if you can infer from their body postures, are concerned with very small things, like ‘Let’s get over there’ or ‘Let’s get down’ or ‘Gosh, I wish I wasn’t here.’ They are beyond rhetoric or exhortation.”

I have thought of that passage many times over the years, but it came to mind especially clearly and strongly when watching Warfare over the weekend. A new movie co-directed by Alex Garland and former Navy SEAL turned film military advisor Ray Mendoza, Warfare is the nearest a movie has ever come to fitting Hunter’s description of real-life combat footage.

Part of that is surely down to Mendoza himself. The movie, which is apparently the result of conversations with Garland during the making of Civil War, is based on his experiences during the Battle of Ramadi in the fall of 2006. Mendoza appears as a character, a young SEAL radio operator, though he is by no means the central protagonist. Warfare is an ensemble picture, and the team—radioman Ray, observation post commander Erik, sniper/corpsman Elliott, petty officer Sam, Marine fire support officer Mac, callow new guy Tommy—shares the spotlight.

Briefly, because I really don’t want to give anything away, Warfare recreates a single incident from Mendoza’s time in Ramadi almost in real time. Having commandeered a house shared by two Iraqi families, whom the SEALs confine to a downstairs bedroom, Mendoza’s team observes a busy street in a hostile neighborhood. An opening title tells us they’re operating in support of a Marine unit elsewhere in the city, and though combat can be heard elsewhere and it occasionally diverts the SEALs’ air support, we never see it.

While watching as a growing group of MAMs (military-age males) gathers in a busy market down the street, the SEALs are hit by a grenade and rifle fire and have a furious shootout with enemies they can’t see. Following a second deadly surprise attack, the SEALs are trapped in the house trying to stabilize their wounded while the insurgents from down the road launch their assault. They need air support, their fellow SEALs from other observation posts nearby, and medical evacuation by road—before they’re overrun, and before their friends die of shock or blood loss.

Another quotation that came to mind, this time from Clausewitz: “Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult.” Utterly unromanticized, detail-oriented, and agonizing in execution, Warfare makes you feel that in your bones.

In addition to eschewing a main character, Warfare scraps most of the other conventions not only of war movies but of movies in general. Other than a brief, comedic prologue, the film follows the classical unities, taking place entirely in and around a single house over the course of an hour and a half of a single day of the battle. No one talks about the girl they left behind or what they plan to do when they get back home and no one finds an excuse to explain to a buddy—for the benefit of the eavesdropping audience—what military jargon means or why they’re doing what they’re doing. The characters receive no more characterization than what we can observe of them, and we must infer the reasons for their actions from their results (or the lack thereof).

With so little Hollywood convention to rely upon, Warfare’s brilliance rests on two things: the performances, which are great across the board—I really forgot I was watching actors for a long time—and its technical excellence, especially its cinematography and sound design. There is no musical score; all sound is diegetic, sourced within the world of the story, and though we have all seen soldiers in war movies briefly lose their hearing after an explosion, in Warfare it takes a long time to come back. An uncomfortably long time. And when it does, you might prefer not hearing.

Warfare is exclusively about the experience, the “What was it like?” of the Iraq War, and refreshingly takes no political stance whatsoever. It concerns these men in this house, and what they have to do to fight and survive. If they are “beyond rhetoric and exhortation,” they are also beyond policy and partisan talking points. (This has, predictably, upset some people.) Like their experience of war, Warfare is blunt, direct, stripped down, and teaches no obvious lesson. To do so would be to cheapen and uncomplicate what these men lived through. Warfare brought Ernst Jünger’s entomologist eye to mind: like Storm of Steel, it seems to say War is a thing that is. Here is the specimen I observed.

Warfare is a one-of-a-kind movie, a small gem that deserves a wide viewership and all the praise it’s gotten. It is, in short, exactly what it says in the title, with no embellishments or flourishes. Per Hunter, it is “informal and undramatic,” and though the men fight bravely they do not do so in “heroic poses.” They do what their training and duty and their affection for their friends—never stated or explained but obvious through their actions—require them to do, and several times they do things so dangerous that the word hero, which seems irrelevant in the moment, only occurs to us afterward.

More if you’re interested

While I’ve read a lot about the two battles of Fallujah in 2004, most of what I know about Ramadi comes from the excellent memoir Joker One, by Donovan Campbell, who commanded a Marine infantry platoon in the city at the same time Fallujah was dominating the news. This was two years before Warfare takes place, but would be a worthwhile read whether your see the Warfare or not. Here’s my Amazon review from fifteen years ago.

Addendum, May 1: Since posting this review earlier this week I’ve come across two more good items. First, here’s Kyle Smith’s review for the Wall Street Journal, which says much of what I was trying to praise, only better. Second, here’s a long interview hosted by Jocko Willink with the two real guys wounded in the fight depicted in Warfare. It’s powerful.

The Levanter

Among his many skills, Eric Ambler excelled at two of the basic varieties of thriller: the breakneck and the slow burn. In one, the pace picks up quickly and puts the characters through an unrelenting series of escalating obstacles. In the other, a single obstacle may steadily build in threat and intensity until a final catastrophe. Both rely on a mastery of pacing. Ambler had it, and The Levanter offers a good example of the latter, the slow burn.

A later work in Ambler’s long career, The Levanter takes place over about two months in 1970. Three different characters narrate portions of the story: Lewis Prescott, an American reporter who has stumbled into the events after the fact; Teresa Malandra, the secretary and mistress of an English industrialist; and Michael Howell, the industrialist himself, third-generation heir of Agence Howell, a manufacturing and shipping firm with connections all over the Mediterranean and Middle East.

When the story begins, Howell has successfully navigated several of the perils of decolonization in Syria, working with the emerging socialist government to avoid losing his family’s business to various nationalization schemes. This involves working closely with corrupt government officials, including Syrian military intelligence and a government go-between with connections to Second-World powers: Maoist China, East Germany, the Soviet Union.

Busy enough keeping the family business afloat and its reputation untarnished following a series of failed production schemes imposed by the government, Howell is surprised to discover, thanks to Teresa, large unexplained orders of chemicals buried in the company accounts. With government pressure and hostility building, he decides to investigate the moment he finds out. This means a late night trip with Teresa to one of the plants dedicated to producing consumer batteries.

Howell finds the factory, which is supposed to be closed, open, brightly lit, and with teams of men working on producing fulminate of mercury—explosives. Armed men accost him and Teresa, and when the night watchman arrives he reveals himself as Salah Ghaled, the notorious leader of a hardline Palestinian terrorist organization too extreme even for Arafat and the PLO.

Ghaled and his men need Howell alive. His men are making detonators for bombs and trying to get incomplete Soviet rockets into a usable condition. Howell will be useful for them. Ghaled forces him and Teresa to swear their allegiance to his organization and to sign confessions of complicity in the murder of a former member—an internal hit Ghaled publicly blames on the Israelis. He then has Howell order the manufacture of missing parts and arrange shipping aboard a company cargo ship. Thrust deeper into Ghaled’s plot, little by little Howell pieces together what Ghaled is planning.

On Herzl Day, an upcoming Israeli national holiday, Ghaled aims to detonate dozens of remotely armed bombs hidden in Tel Aviv. Hence the detonators. He plans to coordinate the bombing with his rockets, launched from offshore and aimed at the coast, a strip of popular beach lined with hotels, restaurants, and homes. The Agence Howell ship will carry him on to Egypt the same day, where he will hold a press conference claiming responsibility and making the usual Palestinian talking points. Howell is horrified.

He also realizes that, since not only Ghaled but other key members of his organization all got jobs at Agence Howell through government influence, his government contacts are in on the plot. He cannot turn to the authorities. In desperation he uses a business trip to inform Israeli intelligence, but his contact is skeptical and offers little help unless Howell can provide more information than he has. If Ghaled is to be stopped, it may be up to Howell himself.

The other Ambler slow-burn thriller that The Levanter resembles most is Cause for Alarm, in which an English engineer working in Mussolini’s Italy just before the outbreak of World War II slowly uncovers sinister goings-on within the tidy order of his factory. In both novels, Ambler puts a lot of effort into making the industrial and commercial setting feel believable well before introducing espionage and terrorism. There’s a lot of looking through ledgers and blueprints, making sure products are up to spec, and arranging shipping and payments. This would be dull in any other writer’s hands. Ambler, through a careful, steady drip of foreshadowing and underestimated threats, instead uses such workaday details to build suspense.

Where The Levanter bests Cause for Alarm, though, is in its use of setting. Ambler exceled at evoking the real-life cosmopolitan, polyglot worlds of international crossroads, from the Aegean and the Balkans in The Mask of Dimitrios to postwar Malaysia and Indonesia in Passage of Arms. The Levanter, with ties to both the Cold War and the unending multidirectional conflicts of the Middle East, is no exception. Ghaled, one of Ambler’s most vivid and believable villains, is a European-educated Palestinian Islamist who is as resentful toward the PLO, the Baathists, and the Jordanian monarchy as he is hostile toward Israel. His education and Marxist ideology are European and his weapons Russian, Chinese, and East German. The Agence Howell has dealings all over the Eastern Mediterranean and its ships and factories have multiethnic crews and captains. Teresa is Italian and Howell himself, despite his seemingly English name and business sense, is mostly Armenian and Cypriot. He and Ghaled are, in dramatically different senses, both men without a country, the one a businessman and the other a zealot.

In addition to a realistic and authentically complicated setting, The Levanter is also cleverly written. I mentioned above that it is narrated by Howell, Teresa, and Prescott, an American reporter who otherwise plays no role in the events of the story. The muddle of Howell’s predicament, the leverage Ghaled and the Syrian government use against him, and the outcome of the story lead to media controversy, a controversy fully exploited by Palestinian activists. The novel is Howell’s attempt, with Prescott’s encouragement, to set the record straight. His testy, finger-wagging narration proves both fun to read and disturbing—how would I, or any of us, were we forced into a bind like this, ever hope to exonerate ourselves?

The Levanter is not Ambler’s best or most exciting thriller, but it is one of his most involving and, above all, one of the most plausible. The overwhelming feeling it imparts throughout is that if something like this were to happen, this is exactly how it would happen. Its emphasis is not on action and gadgetry, though both play a role, but on cunning, desperation, bloodlust, and the weakness of human nature. Though set in 1970, the world it takes place in and the characters who people it still feel recognizable and all too real.