I went to see Saving Private Ryan while in Toronto. When my Canadian friends brought up the idea I was surprised. Earlier discussions had shown them cynical about and disturbed by Hollywood's glossy take on America as represented in action films like Air Force One and Independence Day. Yet they felt compelled to see Saving Private Ryan.

What was it about this film that transcended not just geographical boundaries, but the also the high walls of anti-Hollywood hipness?

Well, for one thing, for those of my generation, Ryan smacks of the mythic. World War II was not "our" war, and most of us have never been to the countries where it was fought. And though both my Canadian friends and I also had German friends, these "former enemies" also seemed miles distant from the historical and geographical context of Saving Private Ryan. For our generation, World War II is, in many ways, essentially a story, not an historical event. Then, of course, there was also our past experience with Steven Spielberg's work. Movies like Schindler's List and Empire of the Sun certainly hinted that Ryan would be less about history than philosophy -- perhaps even theology, as in being a vehicle for some kind of spiritual experience.

But what about the film's much-heralded battle scenes? If Ryan wasn't going to be a Hollywood flag-waving epic exercise ala The Longest Day, then would it be simply a grim anti-war film? Most reviewers have understood Ryan as an anti-war film in the vein of All Quiet On The Western Front and it's easy to interpret it as such. Ryan's opening battle images are indeed powerful. Young soldiers vomit as they bounce along the waves toward the beaches of Normandy. Some cross themselves and say simple prayers. But most quietly steel themselves for the moment when the transport doors will fall open and all that stands before them and death is the open air and the bodies in front of them. And when the transport doors do fall open, many of the soldiers are shocked to find they're not close enough to the beach. Those who cannot swim drown as they are trampled by friends who are in turn shredded by the first blasts of enemy machine guns. Row after row of human beings explode. Particles of blood and brains and sinew swirl in the air like so many circling vultures, and the few whole human beings still able to run for cover find themselves blinded by smoke and deafened by artillery. Some go instantly mad, others become paralyzed with fear.

As part of the tragic irony of war we see one young soldier remove his helmet to stare dumbly at the groove of a passing bullet only to have the next bullet demolish his head. Another heroically drags a wounded comrade to safety, only to discover the lower part of his comrade's body has been blown away. For those accustomed to cheering cardboard movie-hero soldiers or -- worse -- voyeuristically enjoying the carnage, Ryan can be a somewhat shaming experience. This isn't a movie about war in the traditional sense.

But it's not a simple anti-war film either. While Spielberg has given public nods to (among others) Lewis Milestone's landmark anti-war effort All Quiet On The Western Front (1930) Spielberg points to very different goals in making this film. As to the violence he's embraced

"Omaha Beach was actually an 'X' setting," says Spielberg. "Even worse than 'NC-17,' and I just kind of feel that (I had) to tell the truth about this war at the end of the century, 54 years later. I wasn't going to add my film to a long list of pictures that make World War II 'the glamorous war,' 'the romantic war.'" Spielberg has also said, "If you cheapen it, if you make it more palatable, if you somehow diminish what went on there, I think you end up doing a great disservice to what the movie as a whole is trying to communicate."

The realistic war images of Saving Private Ryan are horrifically violent but they do not make it merely an anti-war film. Taken individually and out of their context all war images are anti-war images. There's no other sane response to such carnage. But after Spielberg's Normandy has offered up the worst vision of D-day modern special effects technology can bring to bear on an audience, we still have well over two hours of movie to sit through. Spielberg has set the stage for his story, not told it, and it's the story of Saving Private Ryan that ultimately makes the movie a compelling and very different war picture.

It's a story based partially on real life. The movie directly references New Yorker Fritz Niland, who was one of four siblings who saw action during the war. After two of Niland's brothers were killed during D-Day and another went missing in action and was presumed dead, (he actually survived) Fritz was quickly located in Normandy by Reverend Francis Sampson, an Army chaplain, and removed from combat.⁽¹⁾

In Saving Private Ryan, Captain John Miller (Tom Hanks) survives D-Day only to be given a new mission: to find and bring back Private James Ryan (Matt Damon), the youngest of four brothers, the other three of whom have died in combat. He sets out with a squad of men -- eight in all -- to locate Ryan, who has been parachuted off course somewhere behind enemy lines. It is here that Spielberg parts company with history to ask an important question that provides the film with it's driving force: why risk the lives of eight men to save just one?

It's a relentless question that begs the biggest question of all: Why does anyone matter? I and many of my peers have met that question at various times in our lives with cock-eyed optimism, the indifferent glance of cynicism or glazed-eyed despair. How Saving Private Ryan answers either question may not reflect a deliberate effort on the part of Steven Spielberg to wax theological, but it has a lot to say to us who have yet to face combat.

Spielberg's twist (having Private Ryan out there somewhere needing to be found) forces Captain Miller and his squad into hostile territory physically and ideologically. Are they willing to risk their lives for a stranger, much less an ideal?

As I watched them trek through the countryside arguing out the merits of their mission, I was reminded that the war was not a narrative story full of exciting events and philosophical closure to those who fought in it. Instead, it was long stretches of no sleep, little food, no way to bathe and mindlessly violent episodes that often seemed to have neither rhyme nor reason. Often it was simply death, for which no adequate explanation was ever offered.

At one point, faced with mutiny, Captain Miller justifies the mission to his men with a long and seemingly rambling monologue about home. His final image -- that of his wife bent over a garden of roses -- brings together, and makes sense of, what seem to be disconnected bits of emotional flotsam and jetsam. As each man holds his life dearer than Private Ryan's, he is further away from home. Roses await those who have been obedient to the cause of mercy and justice, home awaits those who want home and are willing to do what it takes to get there. If you want to be somewhere else -- go; but there's only one way home. The scene reminded me very much of a passage of Scripture:

"And Peter took Him aside and began to rebuke Him, saying, "God forbid it, Lord! This shall never happen to You." But He turned and said to Peter, "Get behind Me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to Me; for you are not setting your mind on God's interests, but man's." Then Jesus said to His disciples, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me. For whoever wishes to save his life shall lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake shall find it. (Matthew 16:22-25)

Spielberg's twist on history uses the squad's mission as a reminder that there is much more at stake than the fate of one man or his family. As the squad weighs the value of Private Ryan, they find the value of their own lives inextricably wound up in the balance. What would it say about them to abandon Private Ryan? Spielberg chooses to reinforce his theme of self-sacrifice by giving another hard twist to his story. It's a twist that deeply symbolizes the character of Private Ryan for those of my generation.

When Captain Miller and his squad finally do locate Ryan and his company, they're faced with a dilemma. Ryan, though shocked and saddened by his loss refuses to return home. Instead, he gives them a message to give to his mother. The essence of the message is that returning home now would render the death of his brothers meaningless. He must stay and fight. His company is undermanned, outgunned and badly in need of supplies and in a key strategic position. He will not abandon them simply to ensure his own safety.

The situation is further complicated by the immanent arrival of German troops and tanks. Ryan's mission is essentially a suicide mission. His stance ups the ante for Captain Miller and his men. Will they simply report back to base -- "Sorry, Sir. Private Ryan refused to return" -- having followed the letter of the law? Or will they pursue the spirit of the law, standing with Ryan until events allow for his honorable return home?

In leaving Ryan to his fate, they risk losing something much greater than their lives; they run the risk of losing the real war; the individual war within. Why risk the lives of eight men for one? Because some things are worth dying for. Some things cost the ultimate price and even then they come cheap in comparison to their ultimate worth.

That is as close to a spoiler as you'll find here, although much more could be said if I indulged in my desire to give away the ending. Rest assured that Saving Private Ryan will haunt you long after the battlefield smoke clears. I'll fault the film for some typical Spielbergian hollywood-ism. and more John Wayne heroics than reviewers have been forthright enough to point out. In my opinion, these problems lessen the overall impact of the film as a piece of art. But if some find Spielberg's ending to his film overly romantic, I would caution them to remember that there are those of us who need not only the graphic violence and realism of Saving Private Ryan but who also need the reminder that Veterans Day isn't just another day off school or work. Next time you pass a veteran's cemetery, take a harder look at those little crosses. Allow your eyes to linger over the names of all those strangers and think about all those rows of shoes you never walked in. Maybe pick a grave at random and ask yourself if you'd be willing to go out and look for that man if he was lost.

For while we were still helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will hardly die for a righteous man; though perhaps for the good man someone would dare even to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:5-7)

I found Saving Private Ryan to be a moving parable for my time. For those of us who have never fought on a battlefield, there's is still a very real war raging around us. Sometimes the war is an actual, physical conflict -- like in Belfast, the Middle east, or on gangland streets. More often, though, "our" war is spiritual. And our part in that war boils down to this: what will we sacrifice for the good of another? We all fight our own personal battles, serving our own personal causes. The question is whether our own personal cause is personal because it is ours to fight, or personal because it is nothing but our own interests.