Bloodletting

 When I donate platelets, I surrender to the rigors of sitting still in front of a screen for two-plus hours. The very kind folks at the Red Cross Blood Center were clever enough to mount a bunch of thirty-six inch TVs in front of each recliner, making it easy to remain prone for the technicians to scrape the platelets from my nice healthy blood from one hose and return it back to me through another. I try not to dwell on the procedure too much since it has, over a period of years, become pretty routine. 

Still, the selection of a movie is the challenge. The running time needs to be longer than two hours so that you don't end up with some odd bit of time staring off into space and trying not to think about your precious bodily fluids being strained through the machine that makes periodic chirps and slurps. 

All of which is the introduction to the movie that I selected for my extraction distraction: The 2022 version of All Quiet On The Western Front. The initial factor was indeed the running time, which was two hours and twenty-seven minutes. The other consideration I had was "would my wife be sad that I didn't pick this one to watch together?" Let's see: Horror of War. I don't imagine this one would fit into any of our Date Night plans, so let it roll. 

I found myself transported to a familiar place. I was once again in the trenches of World War One, the War To End All Wars. Having seen the previous versions of this story, I didn't expect many surprises, but the reviews suggested that I would find this one up to snuff. The story of young Paul Baumer, an initially enthusiastic enlistee in the German Army is one that has been told twice previously on the screen. Once in 1930, which went on to receive the Best Picture Oscar for that year, and another for television in 1979 that won a Golden Globe and an Emmy. This most recent iteration was nominated for Best Picture in 2022, and ended up winning four Academy Awards for its nine nominations. 

But I wasn't there for the trophies. I was there for what is for me the quintessential anti-war film. Watching the young recruits slowly become more disillusioned and eventually killed continues to resonate with me. So much so that when the bell rang and my platelets had been locked away and bandages applied to the crooks of both of my arms, I still had nine minutes left. When it came time for me to leave and pick up my souvenir T-shirt, the Armistice had been signed, and the troops on both sides were waiting for the eleventh our of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. 

Spoiler Alert: But that wasn't good enough for the German generals. They commanded their soldiers make one last charge at the French lines. Another hundred meters of territory. In the last fifteen minutes of the war. A fine tuning of the novel's original ending, but it was earned. I had to rush home and watch the Paul's last moments. Just to see how it all turned out. 

Sadly, just like it always has. And for every war before or since. 

Maybe a nice romantic comedy for the next trip  to give blood.