The Bridge on the River Kwai

I cannot say what is biggest in The Bridge on the River Kwai: Colonel Nicholson’s pride in the bridge, director David Lean‘s budget for the film, or the nationalistic stereotyping within the film.

When he first arrives to the camp, Colonel Nicholson butts heads with the camp’s commander, Saito. Both men consider the other one to be mad, but as the film wears on, it becomes apparent that Colonel Nicholson cares more about the bridge than his Japanese counterpart. Nicholson eventually relents to all of Saito’s initial demands: the officers work alongside the soldiers, the infirm even help out however they can, and the men work longer hours than they did under Saito’s command. At the film’s close, Nicholson guns down Joyce in defense of an enemy bridge that the British just happened to build. National pride misapplied as such shows the perils of war and what they can do to one’s psyche.

Clocking in at just under three hours, The Bridge on the River Kwai can only be called one thing: EPIC. Lean wastes no time in showing off his budget; the film’s lengthy opening sequence showing the British detainees’ arrival at the camp is breathtaking in that masses of soldiers fill every shot. After Shears escapes the camp, we follow him through the southeast Asian tropics and see some of the most beautiful flora and fauna as he is treated like an officer at a military hospital. The film’s final scene is the culmination of Lean’s massive budget when Nicholson finally destroys the centerpiece of the film.

What struck me most about the film was the stereotypes pervading it. One only needs to watch the film to determine that it was made in the United States. Saito, a Japanese officer educated in London, speaks with a thick Japanese accent, talks of the Bushido code, shows little emotion, and spends his downtime dressed in a kimono. Nicholson, a British officer, talks of the Geneva conventions, walks with an air of superiority, and considers the construction of the bridge as his duty to the lesser, ”barbaric” Japanese people. The American Shears, on the other hand, has survived the oppressive Saito since the camp’s construction; he is the only man able to escape; and quite simply, he most often acts as the voice of reason in a film filled with huge egos. Even in the film, every other country owes a debt of gratitude to the Americans.

Overall, The Bridge on the River Kwai reflects a different time in Hollywood: a time when sets were still built by hand, when bigger was generally better, and when the rest of the world looked to America for her guiding hand.