Fury

Let me begin with thanks and apologies to the many people who continued to check in with this and my short story blog (martinwolt.blogspot.com) all month long for very infrequent rewards.

I, a short while ago, accepted a freelance writing gig that took me into the Colorado mountains, where internet proves scarce and movie theaters nonexistent.

My movie review blog suffered a consequential lack of movie reviews. However, I recently bounced from Colorado to Florida (to check in with family and friends and complete another job) so I can again see movies and write about them.

I recently saw the movie Fury, which provides its audience with a boy-becomes-“man” story via placement within a platoon of World War II tanks. Our protagonist spent the war as a typist. He, at the start of our film, never killed anyone and presumably never saw anyone die.

The war nears conclusion at Fury’s start. Our protagonist nearly coasted to its completion without a scratch. His new, tank-bound teammates begrudge him this. They also fear that his inexperience will result in their own deaths.

So, yeah, Fury also serves as a fish-out-of-water and a prove-yourself-within-a-new-group/setting story. Less seasoned writers might've taken a more formulaic approach at this point. However, Fury remains unpredictable, as any war movie should. War equals chaos.

Brad Pitt plays the role of our protagonist’s mentor. He also serves as the embodiment of all the spiritual harm that war causes. Our protagonist serves as the embodiment of innocence. After versus Before.

To establish these roles early, the movie offers a scene in which Pitt’s character forces a revolver into the protagonist’s hand and further forces him to pull the trigger and kill a German man on his knees while he begs for his life.

We meet three other characters inside Pitt's tank, each of which resembles a real person—but would've each felt more real had I learned more about their lives prior to their soldier-hood.

The war serves as the antagonist. Our hero says he would “rather die than kill someone.” He wishes to retain his innocence, but the war plans to frustrate his efforts.

I suppose I might walk a step further and say that humanity serves as the antagonist, as it is human nature to wage war against itself. I can’t decide if such an observation goes too deep or shallow.

Animal nature dictates violence, yet I could argue that war arrives less as a product of animals or even humans, but of men. Women do not hold the frequent habit of warfare (until we invent a passive-aggressive bullet).

The tank in Fury serves as an armor-plated, mobile womb, from which our protagonist will eventually suffer a symbolic death and rebirth.

Fury’s a great movie. It’s well worth your time and ought to move even the coldest of audiences. I would not recommend it for the younger kids.