One Paragraph Movie Review: Full Metal Jacket

One hundred and sixty-fifth film: Full Metal Jacket. Regardless of the storylines of his movies, I want Stanley Kubrick to paint directly onto my eyes forever. Everything he touches looks utterly incredible, and in this movie he’s just showing off by making its two halves look utterly different but equally stunning. The sameness and spotless angles of the training facility, ruled over by the insane and gloriously obscene Sergeant Hartman, contrasts deeply with the strewn concrete smudginess and rough guts of Vietnam in the second half. It’s all brutal, but one bit is hospital-corners, crew-cut brutal and the other is sweaty and jagged. Somehow there’s a warmth all the way through, probably due to the twee cliché of blokes bonding under duress, but possibly partly due to the world’s best-crafted and delivered insults tumbling from Sergeant Hartman’s face. I’m sure once this movie settles into my brain I’ll start making symbolic links and discovering metaphors, but for now I’m just basking in the blokey glow of a couple of hours that start with a haircut and finish with the theme from The Mickey Mouse Show. I love it long time. Four and three-quarter hidden jelly donuts out of five.