'Hacksaw Ridge' and the cinematic religion of Mel Gibson

It's easy to see why the script for Hacksaw Ridge would appeal to Mel Gibson. It's heavily infused with the themes that have resonated throughout his short but evocative filmography as a director -- sacrifice, visceral violence and heavy-handed religiosity.

As I suspected before I saw this unlikely Oscar contender, Hacksaw Ridge is about as subtle as a heart attack and it's so broad and old-fashioned at times that it nearly capsizes in its own hokiness. But Gibson does have an eye for striking visuals and this film is eminently watchable, even if every ten minutes or so it's also eye-roll-worthy.

For the uninitiated, the film tells the compelling true life story of Desmond Doss, a committed pacifist who nevertheless enlisted in the army to serve as a medic in World War II in the hopes that he would never actually have to kill anyone or even hold a gun.

Andrew Garfield is uniquely suited to this part. Even if he can't find his way around a natural southern accent, his big open face and aww shucks delivery helps the movie stay afloat during its early rough patches, which include a rushed cliched romance and a rushed cliched basic training sequence featuring a past-his-prime Vince Vaughn.

The presence of Vaughn, as well as Sam Worthington, suggests Hollywood now has at least a sociopolitical comfort level with Gibson, whose off-screen antics and persona hover over the film uncomfortably throughout.

While it's true that other polarizing auteurs like Roman Polanski and Woody Allen both indelibly put their stamp on every film they do, Gibson's crimes -- racial and anti-Semitic bigotry and domestic abuse -- feel fresher and less resolved. I'd like to say that I viewed this film on its own terms, but I didn't and probably couldn't.

Gibson in some ways reminds me of Clint Eastwood as a filmmaker (and I say this with the caveat of having never seen The Passion of the Christ). He has some of the same flaws and strengths. Both have a clarity of vision and a precision of execution that I admire and that harkens back to Hollywood's golden age, but at the same time Gibson and Eastwood share a penchant for simplicity and paper tiger antagonists even when the material cries out for sophistication and a more nuanced hand.

Had Hacksaw Ridge come out in the 1940s or 1950s, it would be considered deftly ahead of its time. But viewed with a modern eye,  it's really only the deftly staged and appropriately gruesome battle scenes that give the film more contemporary dimensions.

This is where Eastwood and Gibson's talent diverge for me. Eastwood has made some deep and nuanced films that work on more than one level, whereas Gibson's cinematic bloodlust is both his greatest asset but also seemingly the only thing he does best.

It's almost as if he is half a great filmmaker -- and perhaps this is why Apocalypto may be his most wholly satisfying film because it puts much more emphasis on movement than story and dialogue.

Reportedly, his newfound resurgence (behind the camera at least) has made him a favorite to direct the inevitable sequel to Suicide Squad (I wonder how Viola Davis and Will Smith feel about that!) and in a way that intrigues me.

First of all, almost any filmmaker would improve on the original, but also, Gibson might lend the material a much more attractive visual palette and craft action scenes that make sense, rather than serve to sell toys. Also, that film's comic book origins may be a better fit for Gibson's bellicose style of jingoistic storytelling.

As far as Hacksaw Ridge is concerned, it doesn't really come into its own until its second half where the narrative gives away to the carnage of war. Gibson likes lingering on severed limbs and there are some supremely nasty bits of business on the battlefield. Some of it is very striking and kinetic filmmaking, albeit devoid of much humanity (the Japanese are really not afforded any genuine characterization) besides Garfield's awestruck face.

This may be one case where the more mindless the material the better.