This shit is real

I've seen Full Metal Jacket multiple times before, with varying circumstances. When I first watched it however many years ago, it imparted a feeling of kickassedry, a "war is hell but explosions are fun" feeling that many summer blockbusters call upon (O MILFs and missiles, the joys of pubescent minds. O vanity, to think we've risen from that muck and mire.)

Much later, I ended up watching FMJ again with two friends who were in the military: one enlisted Marine and one West Point dropout. I had actually seen the movie with them before, during high school, before they had ever signed up to help Uncle Sam. They had been as gung-ho as I was, itching to kick ass and take names. The second time we watched it, though, both became really quiet and introspective. They didn't move, they didn't talk, hell, it seemed they didn't breathe. After much prodding and coaxing, they finally spoke:

"Man, that's what it's like, basic training. You don't exist as a person anymore, you don't eat, sleep, shit, or breathe unless they tell you to. Hell, some of the stuff on FMJ is cake compared to the real shit. Fuck man. I need a smoke."

We didn't talk about the military for a while after that. Now, every time I see that movie, I shudder. I know the scenes aren't complete hyperbole, outlandish rhetorical strategies used to shape the audience's minds (though they are that as well). The movie isn't a fictional fabrication, it's the real deal.

To adapt a line from Conrad (and subsequently Apocalypse Now):

The horror, the horror, indeed.