Even though he publicly refused the nomination and the award itself, George C. Scott earns his Oscar for Best Actor in the first five minutes of Patton. All sentiments about competitive accolades aside (and I’m not saying he’s wrong), Scott’s performance is fascinating. The introduction to this complex character is unusual as well. After an off-screen sergeant shouts, “Ten-hut!” the decorated general climbs a set of unseen stairs to arrive at an empty platform. His sturdy frame is dwarfed by a massive American flag used as a backdrop. No studio logo precedes it, no music, no main titles of any kind to kick things off. Right away, we begin at a military assembly with us as the audience of soldiers. It’s a striking, indelible image, enhanced by atmospheric surround-sounds from the crowd, followed by an unforgettable monologue in this surreal setting.

“Be seated,” he says without delay. “Now, I want you to remember that no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. He won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country. All this stuff you’ve heard about America not wanting to fight, wanting to stay out of the war, is a lot of horse dung. Americans, traditionally, love to fight. All real Americans love the sting of battle.”

You can imagine the impact of those words on moviegoers at the height of the Vietnam War.

George C. Scott as Gen. George S. Patton Jr.

An accomplished stage actor, Scott insisted that he give the entire six-minute speech from start to finish for each of the eight takes that were filmed from various angles and distances. He was also assured by screenwriter Francis Ford Coppola that this would open the second half of the movie after voicing concern that it would be too over-the-top to introduce his character in such a way. I’ll agree it’s over-the-top, but it’s also an unforgettable and downright brilliant introduction. Additionally, we see from Patton’s medals and four stars that this initial assembly takes place at a later date than the following scene, when a two-starred Patton shows up in North Africa.

I admit that “war” is among my least favorite film genres. I lose interest in the mechanics, strategies, and reenactments, especially when pages of expository dialogue eclipse real character development. In other words, if it’s more about explosions, planning them, and discussing them, and less about the people themselves, I tune out. All Quiet on the Western Front is an exception to my aversion, and so is Patton. I lose track of the plot here, as far as what battle is happening where, but as a character study of this unique military leader who writes poetry and believes in reincarnation … that pulls me in every time.

I have sinned and I have suffered
Played the hero and the knave
Fought for belly, shame, or country
And for each have found a grave.

So as through a glass and darkly
The age long strife I see
Where I fought in many guises,
Many names — but always me.

—  Excerpt from the poem “Through a Glass Darkly” by Gen. George S. Patton, Jr.

When Patton surveys a battlefield, he describes in great detail what took place two thousand years ago, because, as he tells us, he was there. His playbook as a general comes from ancient Rome and Greece, not from any modern approach to military science. He is a strict disciplinarian, with no time for compassion or humanity as it relates to war, caught up in a big-picture perspective, having lived (as he believes) through many centuries of battles. At one point, Karl Malden as General Bradley remarks to Patton, “There’s one big difference between you and me, George. I do this job because I’ve been trained to do it. You do it because you love it.”

Tim Considine and George C. Scott.

A turning point occurs halfway through the film when Patton visits a field hospital. Among the wounded, he finds a shell-shocked soldier (Tim Considine) whose nervous condition has left him sobbing. Patton slaps the helmet from his head and calls him a coward in front of everyone. He demands that the young man be sent back to the front lines at once. Word of this appalling behavior reaches General Eisenhower (an unseen presence throughout the movie), who relieves Patton of his duty and orders him to publicly apologize to the soldier, everyone else present, and his entire command. As further retribution, Eisenhower sidelines the surly general during the D-Day invasion of Normandy. Later on, Patton remarks with candid remorse to Sergeant Meeks (James Edwards), “I wish I’d kissed the son-of-a-bitch.”

Patton begs for another command before the war is over, and Eisenhower places him with his former subordinate Gen. Bradley (Malden) where he shines in maneuvers through France and into Germany. It’s the masterful cinematography by Fred Koenekamp that holds my attention during these scenes. The movie was shot in 70mm “Dimension 150,” with fine, crisp details and strong colors. Fox has done an excellent job restoring the film for its Blu-ray release. The Oscar-winning art direction is superb as well, with ornate, empty palaces serving as military quarters, bombed-out villages, and atmospheric, underground barracks. Jerry Goldsmith’s score is worth noting, too. I love the echoing trumpets in alternating thirds, used as a recurring motif.

The expert cinematography and art direction in “Patton.”

Ultimately, Patton’s rude behavior and big mouth keep him from the rewards of a stellar military career. At a fundraiser in England, he leaves out Russia when speaking about how the allied forces from the United States and United Kingdom will dominate the new world order. He insults a Russian general at a dinner and later compares American political parties to the Nazi party. It’s no surprise Patton loses his command yet again, but he is kept on to oversee the rebuilding of Germany. In the closing scene, we witness him put out to pasture as he walks his bull terrier named Willie through the German countryside. His final observation is in voiceover:

“For over a thousand years, Roman conquerors returning from the wars enjoyed the honor of a triumph, a tumultuous parade. In the procession came trumpeters and musicians and strange animals from the conquered territories, together with carts laden with treasure and captured armaments. The conqueror rode in a triumphal chariot, the dazed prisoners walking in chains before him. Sometimes his children, robed in white, stood with him in the chariot or rode the trace horses. A slave stood behind the conqueror, holding a golden crown and whispering in his ear a warning … that all glory is fleeting.”

Patton