It gives me no pleasure to say this, as Raoul Walsh is one of my favorite American directors, but war movies do not come slower than this somnolent slog. It's not that it's inordinately long...two and a half hours, to be exact. War movies tend to be on the lengthy side. It's that there is no actual, friggin COMBAT until two hours and ten minutes in! What we have in its place are sanitized scenes of boot camp (no wonder the Marines were so cooperative), intimate and detailed examinations of several of the soldiers none too interesting love lives (although a couple of the gals, like Dorothy Malone and Anne Francis, are hot) and dull, talky "conflict" in Leon Uris' dull, talky script from his novel between James Whitmore and Van Heflin over less than compelling issues like whether Heflin should inject himself into his men's dull love lives. So by the time the physical fighting starts I had long ago checked out and would have pulled the plug if it were not for my regard for Walsh. Give it a C plus.
PS...Happy to report that this director would do a much better job, three years later, of bringing Mailer to the screen than he did Uris.
PS...Happy to report that this director would do a much better job, three years later, of bringing Mailer to the screen than he did Uris.