How Saving Private Ryan changed the war movie | Little White Lies

In Praise Of

How Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan changed the war movie

20 Sep 2023

Words by Sam Moore

Group of soldiers in military gear and helmets, many faces visible, standing closely together.
Group of soldiers in military gear and helmets, many faces visible, standing closely together.
Twen­ty-five years on, Steven Spiel­berg’s World War Two epic com­plete­ly rev­o­lu­tionised the way Hol­ly­wood thought about depict­ing con­flict on screen.

When Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan first screened 25 years ago, crit­ics and war vet­er­ans alike cit­ed it as the most real­is­tic por­tray­al of war ever seen on film. This was not the World War II of The Guns of Navarone or The Great Escape; Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan – par­tic­u­lar­ly its D‑Day land­ing sequence – aimed to emu­late the ter­ror, fear and unimag­in­able vio­lence of war through a real­ism-led approach to its cinematography.

Despite the com­plex­i­ty of Steven Spielberg’s approach to the war scenes, pre-pro­duc­tion on Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan was sig­nif­i­cant­ly trun­cat­ed by the direc­tor expe­ri­enc­ing a par­tic­u­lar­ly pro­lif­ic streak, shoot­ing Juras­sic Park sequel The Lost World and his­tor­i­cal dra­ma Amis­tad back to back. Spiel­berg and cin­e­matog­ra­ph­er Janusz Kamin­s­ki (who he had just worked with on Schindler’s List) were heav­i­ly influ­enced by the con­tem­po­rary war pho­tog­ra­phy of George Stevens and Robert Capa, as well as the pro­pa­gan­da films of Leni Riefen­stahl, and the accounts giv­en by actu­al vet­er­ans, includ­ing Spielberg’s own father Arnold who was draft­ed into the mil­i­tary in 1942.

In the past, Spiel­berg – who was born the year after his father returned from the war – has been open about how the Sec­ond World War loomed large in his con­scious­ness. His father would tell war sto­ries and vet­er­ans would fre­quent his house as a child, while the fam­i­ly had an awful rela­tion­ship with the Holo­caust, hav­ing lost an esti­mat­ed 20 rel­a­tives in the genocide.

Because of Spielberg’s close con­nec­tion to the war, he knew the ways in which he didn’t want to make a war movie. The Sec­ond World War was more than a shad­ow on Spielberg’s career. He’d already made five films set in the peri­od – albeit rad­i­cal­ly dif­fer­ent ones that ranged from adven­ture epics to Holo­caust biopics – but Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan felt like the director’s defin­i­tive state­ment on the sub­ject as he sought to get as close to recre­at­ing war as possible.

There was a prece­dent of sorts for Spielberg’s boots on the ground, Let’s do war as close as we can to the real thing’ approach. 1962’s The Longest Day was famous­ly filmed on actu­al WW2 bat­tle­fields and Leslie Norman’s 1958 Dunkirk deployed some 2000 extras, but Spiel­berg yearned to take the audi­ence inside war like nev­er before. There were small details he learned from vet­er­ans – GI’s vom­it­ing as they approached the beach from sea­sick­ness and fear; dead fish float­ing on top of the water; the blue ocean stained red with blood – that would com­plete­ly immerse view­ers and set the stan­dard going for­ward for war films.

France’s Oma­ha Beach was recre­at­ed in Ire­land over about four weeks to the cost of $12 mil­lion, with a cast and crew of around 1500 peo­ple, to cre­ate the D‑Day Land­ing sequence. Spiel­berg and his vast team had rough­ly a kilo­me­tre of the shore to them­selves and essen­tial­ly rebuilt wartime Nor­mandy com­plete with bat­tle­ments, con­crete bunkers and defence nests.

Spiel­berg shows much of the land­ing from a soldier’s point of view (a tech­nique that would lat­er heav­i­ly influ­ence video games includ­ing Spielberg’s own brain­child the Medal of Hon­or series as well as the huge­ly suc­cess­ful Call of Duty fran­chise). For the first time, we see war through the ter­ri­fied eyes of the men who were there. The sub­jec­tive tech­nique sees the cam­era fre­quent­ly dis­ap­pear under­wa­ter as the march to the beach is made. The cam­era lit­er­al­ly goes up and down beneath the ocean, a tech­nique achieved by mount­ing a cam­era on a crane on the back of a flatbed truck which was then dri­ven into the sea. Spiel­berg also makes use of sev­er­al hand­held cam­eras in this sequence, all of them manoeu­vring in a coor­di­nat­ed fash­ion around the life­like set, immers­ing the view­er in the fog of war.

Soldiers standing amidst rubble and damaged buildings in a war-torn city street.

Spielberg’s recre­ation of the assault made use of actu­al Hig­gins boats used in the land­ings and to achieve the all-con­sum­ing effect of war, they rigged a sec­tion of the beach the size of a large field with blood squibs and mor­tar explo­sives, shoot­ing usu­al­ly just one or two long takes. Fake blood would often unin­ten­tion­al­ly splat­ter against the cam­era but they kept on shoot­ing, believ­ing it enhanced the real­ism, espe­cial­ly with the effects crew burn­ing bar­rels of diesel to cre­ate flumes of black smoke in the air. The move­ments of the many hun­dreds of actors had to be chore­o­graphed to the most minute detail because of the mor­tars placed across the beach (amaz­ing­ly the only on-set injury was an extra whose foot was run over). 

The shot where Tom Han­ks makes the dash to the cliff edge was filmed in exact­ly that man­ner. Spiel­berg called action and hun­dreds of extras sprung to life, explo­sives were det­o­nat­ed, and the most famous actor in the world sprint­ed across a beach fol­lowed by a cam­era­man car­ry­ing a 34-pound cam­era on his shoul­der. It was one of the first scenes shot and was com­plet­ed in one take, set­ting the tone for the rest of the shoot.

This proved to be pret­ty gru­elling if you hap­pened to be a cam­era oper­a­tor. Most of the film, espe­cial­ly the action sequences, was filmed using hand­held cam­eras and these cam­eras were not light. Spiel­berg also want­ed the cam­era at awk­ward heights such as near the ground, which meant the oper­a­tors were often run­ning around a beach, drag­ging a cam­era close to the floor while try­ing to avoid actu­al explo­sions, and also pro­tect­ing the equip­ment from the sand. It was a her­culean chal­lenge of filmmaking.

On a pure­ly tech­ni­cal lev­el, Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan upend­ed the war movie. It became a bench­mark for depic­tions of war in the same way Juras­sic Park was for spe­cial effects or Rag­ing Bull was for box­ing. Com­bined with wide praise from vet­er­ans for the film’s accu­ra­cy, you had a pic­ture that would loom large over the next 25 years of war movies.

Rid­ley Scott embraced Spielberg’s immer­sive tech­niques with Black Hawk Down, implant­i­ng Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan’s vis­cer­al open­ing 20 min­utes across two and a half hours in Soma­lia. Christo­pher Nolan has also been vocal about the debt his own WWII epic Dunkirk owes the film, ask­ing Spiel­berg for advice on how to approach shoot­ing, espe­cial­ly with regards to hav­ing an unseen ene­my (both movies fea­ture very few Nazis). 

Sav­ing Pri­vate Ryan’s influ­ence can also be seen in Sam Mendes’ Oscar-win­ning 1917. As the now viral behind-the-scenes footage of film­ing shows, Mendes embraced Spielberg’s prac­ti­cal approach to film­mak­ing with the final sequence requir­ing actor George Mack­ay to run 300 metres with 500 extras in the back­ground and explo­sions being set off everywhere. 

Cin­e­mat­ic tech­nol­o­gy has evolved and heavy CGI usage has become the stan­dard for large-scale war films, but to this day noth­ing beats a man and a movie cam­era run­ning around on an Irish beach.

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