80. A Midnight Clear

The madness of war and the sensitivity of man form a deeply troubling, deeply touching combination in Keith Gordon's World War II-set A Midnight Clear. It's a special kind of war film, and one that was ignored during its initial release in 1992. Opening with an image of Gary Sinise shrieking into the snowy void of wartime France, Keith Gordon's second literary adaptation (taken from a novel by William Wharton) is bleak and cold and cinematic. His use of the dolly shot, whether spiraling around Sinise's wounded soul or closing in on the faces of his fellow soldiers, confronts us head-on with the dreamlike, introspective nature of pain.

How odd that A Midnight Clear moves in an unexpected direction: the squad of six is dispatched to an empty house in the woods, and when they encounter a German platoon they engage not in a bloodbath but a snowball fight. Infused with the Christmas spirit, these two military forces scheme a way for the Germans to surrender. (They hang their grenades like ornaments on a tree together, a sign of goodwill and, perhaps, inevitable doom.) Human error runs counter to good intentions, but Gordon takes great pains to avoid easy definitions of guilt or guile. What's most remarkable about A Midnight Clear is that it begins in psychosis, moves through kinship and bloodshed, and finally resolves itself in a gesture of hope. As the soldiers bathe like saints, then dress in white sheets and carry their dead through the snow, A Midnight Clear achieves something like transcendence, and grace. (Jeremiah Kipp)