I said the other day that I’d post all the half written posts I have loitering in my ‘drafts’ folder. This has been sat here since Oct 2014, it’s about time it saw the light of day. I’m writing this little intro before I read through it. I will try not to edit it, but the urge may over power me somewhat. I’ll let you know how I get on at the end.
Feel the Fury. I did, and more besides.
I hadn’t prepared myself for the out and out assault this film would have on my emotions. I hadn’t, until that day, left a cinema shaken to my core.
Now this isn’t to say that Fury isn’t a fantastic film. Cinematically it’s visually stunning, I’d like to say it’s accurate to the actual events. However as much as I hold an avid fascination with all things World War Two related, I’m no expert. I do believe that this portrayal of the last few months of the War are accurate, despite the criticism that Hollywood has received in the past for glorifying the part the American Forces played in the war. The raw emotion I felt, leaving the screen is proof to me that passion was poured into the making. I’ve read/heard reviews that Brad Pitt’s role is his best performance yet, and as a part time fan of his, I would agree. He’s done some fantastic films, but this left me speechless.
I decided to compose this after I saw ‘Fury’ a film based so very close to the end of WWII. When I first heard about it, I was instantly thrilled. I like a good action/war film. I also like Brad Pitt and had read/heard some reviews that it was his best performance yet. I was looking forward to it. Especially to those of you that know me and for those of you that don’t, I am a huge advocate of any medium that revolves around the second World War. Its a subject matter that I can’t get enough of, I never feel like I know enough about it. For me it’s like a gigantic never-ending puzzle that I’m more than happy to spend hours trying to solve.
However I digress, I hadn’t prepared myself for the total onslaught on my emotions that Fury would bring. From the very beginning I felt fear, tension, horror, anger, sadness and despair. Repeat. The story meets the remainder of an American Tank crew amidst the burning carcasses of the rest of their Regiment. At first I thought there’d be an equal mix of downtime where the mood would lighten and it’d be, maybe not quite comical but less intense. I was wrong. This isn’t to say it wasn’t good,’
That’s the point I stopped writing in 2014. There is a section where I repeat myself, I think this was the case of me re-writing a paragraph using phrases I liked. I do that. I’ll write a really good sentence and then have to completely reconstruct the whole paragraph around it. ( I haven’t edited it, just thought you’d like to know but it was really hard not to)
When I originally wrote this I struggled with really expressing the impact Fury had on me, It had such a profound effect, such an effect in fact that I don’t think I will ever watch it again. Chris has watched it again and assured me it’s easier watching it at home, which is understandable as the brutality and gore isn’t projected onto a large screen, you can leave the room for a smoke (him not me) and nurse a glass of whisky.
In short it was one continuous roller coaster ride, and not an enjoyable one, I alternately hid behind my scarf, gripping Chris’ hand wishing it to be over but also reveling in it’s visual mastery. I liken it to the time I was on a fairground ride and my harness, I’m adamant to this day was faulty. I spent the whole duration gripping the harness to me, gradually slipping out of it with just g-force holding me in. That was the most scared I’ve ever. I genuinely feared for my life and when I got off I was green apparently. So yes, I liken the experience of watching Fury to thinking I was going to hit the corrugated steal at high speed from a ride and quite possibly die.
Really I loved it, in some fucked up way purely because I felt so inconceivably ravaged emotionally and psychologically. I was drained but I still loved it because of the effect it had on me. It’s exactly the same as my love for ‘The Fault in our Stars’ by John Green which left me sobbing on my own late at night with just the dog to mop up my tears and yet I still profess my love for it.
I suppose in conclusion any piece of art; film, literature, music or canvas, that evokes such emotion that you struggle to express it in words, is of course, brilliant.