Hollywood’s Second World War films were mostly rubbish – this one stopped the rot

There is a distinguished tradition of the British being rather sniffy about American films depicting the Second World War. It started with Objective, Burma!, a ludicrous 1945 film starring Errol Flynn (who should have known better) that showed Americans wiping the Japanese off the face of Burma. In fact, an estimated 90 per cent of troops in that theatre were British or Commonwealth. When it was shown in London shortly after VJ day, protests became so violent that the film was withdrawn.

Things were never quite so bad again, but it became a cliché that in American war films, John Wayne, Audie Murphy or Alan Ladd would simply whip out a revolver and force large numbers of German or Japanese troops to surrender. Against such a cultural backdrop, the understatement and grim realism of The Cruel Sea, The Dam Busters and Carve Her Name with Pride created films in a different league.

There were distinguished exceptions, but it took until 1970 for a really titanic American film about the war: Patton, about the maverick General George S Patton, a man of limitless courage, but also of incontinent temperament. Oliver Stone, who thought he knew a thing or two about making war films, but who perhaps did not quite grasp the historical context of the Second World War, said Patton glorified war.

It certainly does not: it shows it is a horrible business and, provided one understands the wickedness of the enemy and the justice of the fight (Patton fought the Germans, first in North Africa and then through France to the Battle of the Bulge), a necessary one. As Patton tells his troops in the film: “Now I want you to remember that no b—–d ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb b—–d die for his country.” Patton was unquestionably a man who loved war, and was good at prosecuting it. Others among us who are less belligerent may find that attitude unpleasant, but when one is up against a ruthless enemy, it is good to have some in charge who takes that view.

The film was directed by Franklin J Schaffner, who had had a good war himself, as a naval officer. He would go on to direct Papillon and The Boys from Brazil. The main writing credit went to Francis Ford Coppola, whose next project was to make The Godfather. Coppola’s script is magnificent. It establishes the main characters distinctly, creates a profound sense of realism, and contains not a spare word. The film is very nearly three hours long, and they fly by. At the 1971 Oscars, in the days when those awards went mostly on merit and not as the outcome of some nauseating box-ticking exercise, it won seven and was nominated for three others. The categories in which it triumphed were best picture, best actor, best director and best screenplay, as well as best sound, best art direction and best film editing.

The film’s success was a team effort (the atmosphere created by the cinematography, direction and sound is overwhelming), but above all by its star, George C Scott. Scott was only 41 when he made Patton, but convincingly plays a man in his late 50s. He already had a reputation as a cerebral actor, with a serious stage career behind him as well as two previous Oscar nominations. He knew the military from inside, having served for four years immediately post-war in the United States Marines, and he had warmed up for his role as Patton six years earlier by playing the dementedly fanatical General Buck Turgidson in Kubrick’s Dr Strangelove. Turgidson was a comic figure; Patton, he played dead seriously. Scott read a number of books on his subject and interviewed several people who knew him well before embarking on his performance. He and the script fitted each other perfectly: never was an actor so not miscast. After a few minutes of watching him as Patton, the viewer simply believes that he is Patton.

So dominating is that performance that one overlooks the superb supporting role played by Karl Malden as General Omar Bradley, the perfect foil to Scott’s character, whose principal function in the film is to seek to persuade Patton to keep his mouth shut and avoid trouble. He deserved an Oscar, too; ironically, Scott refused to receive his on the grounds that acting was not a competition, and that it was absurd to compare one performance with another because of the differences between the characters each actor had to play. He had a point and, in his bloody-mindedness about it, bore a distinct resemblance to the man he portrayed.

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