In his illustrious career, Spike Lee has written and directed films about it all. They span myriad genres and subjects, ranging from historical biopics to serial killer thrillers, hoop dreams, bank heists, race relations in Brooklyn (about 15 times) and phone sex operators.
Now, with more than 20 films under his belt, Lee is tackling World War II with “Miracle at St. Anna” – only it’s more of an arm tackle. With “Miracle at St. Anna,” Lee set out to make a war epic on par with “Tora! Tora! Tora!,” “Patton,” “The Longest Day” and “Saving Private Ryan,” and by all accounts it is epic – it’s epically long, epically boring and I epically want my money back.
“Miracle at St. Anna” recalls the story, as dictated by James McBride’s novel, of four soldiers in the all-black 92nd Infantry Division who try to save a young boy in a small Tuscan village in Italy, and as a result get stuck behind enemy lines. It is based on the events of the Sant’Anna di Stazzema massacre in August 1944, during the Italian Campaign of World War II. And that’s pretty much all you really have to know.
As I was startled awake by the music of the ending credits, I adjusted my eyes, put on my jacket, walked to my car, and couldn’t help but think that damn, was there anybody editing this thing? “St. Anna” clocks in at a long, meandering, ball-achingly dull two hours and forty minutes. This isn’t so much a Spike Lee joint as it is a Spike Lee blunt – and it’s filled with seeds and stems. Plagued with dead ends, irrelevant subplots, and unnecessary and uninteresting character and plot development, every minute feels longer than the last. And for a movie that wants so badly to infuse and portray passion and humanity in war, it’s strikingly detached, unengaged and apathetic.
Spike Lee is an undeniable national treasure. He has earned his stripes by making a couple of the most important films of the last three decades, and his lengthy resume features very few to no missteps. Lee has done it all and he’s done it with gusto, but “St. Anna” is merely him using his tenured reputation to freely interject his creative licenses to the point where his own stylistic trademarks and eccentricities smother any chance this war movie had of being worth half a shit. It’s self-indulgent to say the least, and if I were to send Spike Lee an open letter on behalf of all movie patrons I would say: “Hey, thanks Spike, but no thanks. Just because you made ‘Do the Right Thing’ and ‘Malcom X’ doesn’t mean that you have the right to make us sit through three hours of you making love to yourself. Shame on you Spike; it’s time you take a time-out. Now go back to your Knicks game and think about what you did.”
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