Ken Burns and "The War"

This month filmmaker Ken Burns comes into our living rooms and tells another sprawling history lesson. Once again, Burns is all over our television screens with the seven-part PBS series "The War," making use of an astounding array of film footage: hours of rough battle scenes in scratchy black-and-white, newsreels, home movies, raw color film from the decks of aircraft carriers, heartbreaking scenes from the home front of birthday parties and dances -- "The War" uses a lot of film in its fifteen hours.

"The War" is, by far, his most visually-oriented epic to date. So why does it seem exhausted rather than exhaustive? For all the examples of brave infantrymen and sailors in battle (and the field photographers who filmed them), the shocking confusion of combat, as well as the endless and incredibly harrowing scenes of the dead and the dying, it would be hard to describe "The War" as dynamic, or even compelling, storytelling.

Burns has stated that his intention was to tell the story of World War II featuring those who fought on the fronts and waited at home, rather than the politicians the generals. He would tell the story of the twentieth century's watershed event from the bottom up, rather from the top down. As admirable as this goal is, the effect of such storytelling dilutes the impact of the events themselves -- and makes "The War" a confusing whole.

Maybe it's because there is such an enormous other story to tell: a global conflict revealing humanity's worst and best, uncertain outcomes, personal and tactical gambles that fail (a segment of "The War" is entitled "FUBAR"). Because the families who live and work on the home front receive the news in daily newspapers and broadcasts and weekly newsreels, as well as letters home, they hear of the war in distant, yet frightening echoes. "The War" tries to stitch these two threads together, and doesn't often succeed.