When I was twelve years old, I played Platoon with a younger kid from my neighborhood. That's right: the brutal and tragic 1986 anti-war film directed by Oliver Stone, based on his own harrowing experiences in Vietnam—one summer afternoon, this grisly depiction of a disturbing and immortal war served as inspiration for my game of pretend. Clearly I missed the (not at all subtle) message. Or, rather, the message was irrelevant; what mattered was that it was believable. Platoon is gritty and dirty and utterly convincing—too gritty and dirty and convincing for a twelve-year-old, but alas. When we played the game—which constituted nothing more than running around a park with toy guns, diving into ditches, hiding behind trees, and communicating via nonsensical gesticulating—it wasn't that the movie made me want to kill. It merely gave credibility to my imagination, grounding it in something that I now had reference for. |
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