Hollywood doesn't get much better than when William Holden and Cliff Robertson are handed a script based on real risktakers in World War II. 'The Devil's Brigade', released in 1968, centers on the First Special Service Force, a legendary unit of American and Canadian soldiers during World War II. Set in the intense backdrop of 1942 amid the whiff of gunpowder and bravery, these men were tasked with outrageous missions, making today’s keyboard warriors cower in their air-conditioned safe spaces. Filmed with a stirring authenticity that is sorely missing in today’s CGI-laden epics, this flick took its audience back to when men operated on guts and grit, not anxiety meds and safe spaces.
The film starts in the picturesque yet rugged landscapes of Utah, where Major General Robert T. Frederick, played by Holden, is tasked with training a group of motley soldiers. These aren’t your standard issue military types; they’re tough-as-nails misfits that most modern Hollywood directors would be too terrified to portray. The prospects are dim, and the mission is almost tantamount to a suicide mission, intending to bridge that damned hard gap between strategy and brute force.
You can't script this sort of defiance today. Oh wait, they can, but it comes loaded with agenda-driven fluff that waters down what should be a straightforward war story. Our current sensibilities are too muddied with overthinking and political correctness to appreciate the robust narrative that is 'The Devil's Brigade'.
Ah, but what’s a film without antagonists who think they’re protagonists? In strode the Nazis. Hollywood loves them—easy targets for showing valor without offending anyone except maybe those with bunker mentalities. Our intrepid crew is sent behind enemy lines to complete their damn-near-impossible tasks. They don’t wear rose-colored glasses nor wave white flags; their colors are red, white, and blue, streaked with courage under fire. Perfectly American.
Holden's performance as Major General Frederick was not just a nod to star power but a nod to a time when leadership meant something. He commanded respect, not through government edicts but through charisma and sheer willpower. Unlike today’s leadership schisms, his character unified a motley crew. You hear that, fragmented millennials, glued to your smartphones? Unity against a common enemy that knew no hashtags, and surviving without Tweeting about it!
Cliff Robertson brings soulful bravado as Lt. Col. Ben Vandervoort. The bromance of sorts between Holden and Robertson’s characters illustrates brotherhood over individualism, an idea that over-caffeinated college students today could never uphold without breaking out in hives. The Wild West mavericks and city hooligans had to coalesce into a disciplined unit that ultimately taught them more about the unity of purpose and not just pandering to another identity politics soapbox.
Despite positively resonating with the audience in its time, the film dodges modern day kitsch by maintaining its staunch patriotism. The Special Forces were a harbinger of America’s commitment to freedom—conviction embodied in human form. Not today's mad scramble to turn combat boots into emojis.
And let’s talk action sequences. No crutches of CGI, just sheer force of nature and raw, unfiltered determination. None of those zero-consequence punches and recycled monologues about world peace under socialist utopia—isn’t that right, liberals?
The film didn't earn an Oscar, but it certainly earned its place in the annals of films that ignored sensibilities to depict bravery and honor. Actions over words. Honor over headlines. If you’re unfazed by its lack of award nods, be fazed by its brass-balled take on a transformative time in history. It shows that action defines grit. Recognition did not fuel the actors or characters—purpose did.
An antidote for today’s compassion-overdose who cry 'violence is never the answer'—really? Tell that to the soldiers of the First Special Service Force who allowed us the privilege to voice such incantations.
In the world of The Devil's Brigade, there was no time for wallowing and wailing, only the precision that brutal warfare demands. And if the movie was a little messy, a little raw, that's okay. War isn't pretty, and neither is the truth. Time to honor the past and learn from more than just textbooks rewritten each year to appease a progressively needy agenda. It’s a proud misfit's tale grounded in the fire of war.