Despite the unnecessary length, cavernous plot holes, and sluggish pacing, The Deer Hunter is still a powerful film. Strong performances, keen direction of actors, masterful cinematography, and a poignant score keep things afloat. And long after the movie ends, my mind has completed the circles by filling several (often great) gaps in the narrative, I’ve concocted motivations for vague or unexplained incidents, I’ve truncated the slow passages, and I’ve excused unlikable characters. What I’m left with is the indelible memory of three average, steel-town workers and their loved ones whose lives are forever altered by the horrors of war.

Robert De Niro as Mike, Oscar-winner Christopher Walken as Nick, and John Savage as Steven work the graveyard shift at a local steel mill in Clairton, Pennsylvania. Their simple and relatively happy life is primarily comprised of drinking beer and whisky, shooting pool, and deer hunting. The story opens with this trio and their buddies “Stosh” (John Cazale in his final film role), John (George Dzundza), and “Axel” (Chuck Aspegren) finishing a shift and heading to their favorite bar on the dawn of Steven’s wedding day. It’s actually a dual celebration. Steven is marrying Angela (Rutanya Alda) in a few hours, and their reception is doubling as a going-away party for Mike, Nick, and the groom himself, who are all leaving for active duty in Vietnam the following day.

Christopher Walken (Nick), Robert De Niro (Mike), and John Savage (Steven).

The first hour (one-third of this movie’s bloated, three-hour running time) depicts their last hurrah: a Russian Orthodox wedding, the inebriated after-party, and a final deer hunt. Engaging backstories and setups aside, it outstays its welcome, but if you’re in no particular rush, there’s an interesting story here. Angela is trying to hide her premarital pregnancy as she stands before the mirror modeling her wedding dress. Steven’s mother (Shirley Stoler) disapproves of the marriage, voicing her strong opinion to anyone who’ll listen. Angela’s maid of honor Linda (Meryl Streep in her first Oscar-nominated performance) lives with her abusive, alcoholic father. After he beats her, she packs a suitcase and shows up on Mike and Nick’s doorstep, hoping she can rent their trailer home while they are away. They agree, and we learn that both men are in love with her. Nick proposes to Linda at the reception, and she accepts.

I’ve gotta be honest about the deer-hunting scene and hunting in general. I despise it. If you hunt to survive and need the meat for sustenance, that’s one thing. But it’s a revolting “sport” to take pride and glee in killing innocent animals with rifles, especially while laughing about it as they do in this movie. It enrages me. I don’t like people or characters who do this, which means I am no longer invested on an emotional level with what happens to these steel-working buddies. Despite several tense and horrific scenes in the remaining two-thirds of the movie, the stakes aren’t high enough anymore. Live, die, whatever. You’re repugnant human beings.

As I said, time and distance soften my anger and help erase The Deer Hunter‘s many faults. It plays better in memory than it does while watching it. The cast is appealing and the acting excellent, a major factor in its redemption.

Nick makes Mike promise that he won’t “leave him over there” in Vietnam, and after the hunt, the boys retreat to their favorite bar for one last round while John sits at an old piano and begins to play a nocturne by Chopin. The others listen without a word. It’s a somber, unexpected moment that adds some much-needed pathos to these characters and their surroundings.

We then cut to the war, already in progress—no setup or transition. A village is torched with flame-throwers while women and babies are massacred in the most brutal fashion. Mike, Nick, and Steven are reunited unexpectedly, so some amount of time has passed. In hindsight, the confusion of these disorienting events adds to the nightmare. The boys are soon captured by the North Vietnamese, and what follows is the most memorable and horrific scene in the film. The Americans and South Vietnamese are submerged in cages, then dragged out, one by one, and forced to play Russian Roulette against each other while their Northern captors bet on who will survive. A point of fact: there is no evidence that Russian Roulette was ever used as a torture device during the war. Call it artistic license, if you will—an ambiguous, fictional metaphor for the randomness of life and death in this hellish environment.

Robert De Niro and Christopher Walken in a deadly game of Russian Roulette.

I remember watching this sequence for the first time, and the sheer intensity of it was almost too much to bear. It doesn’t get much easier in repeated viewings. The acting from all, especially John Savage when his mind snaps, is both heartbreaking and terrifying. It’s a shame he wasn’t recognized by the Academy along with De Niro and Walken. His performance is equally deserving.

The three men do escape but not without irreparable harm. Steven loses his legs in the process, Nick goes AWOL once he comes across an underground world of high-stakes gamblers who bet on Russian Roulette, and Mike is discharged from service but never the same. When he takes a cab to his trailer home in Pennsylvania, he sees a party with a crowd of people eagerly awaiting his arrival, complete with a huge “welcome” banner. He makes the driver detour to a nearby motel instead. It’s too much for him. In his friends’ eyes, nothing has changed. They should all go back to the way things were—which isn’t possible. Mike soon tracks down Steven at a VA hospital, unaware that he is now a double amputee. Steven is heavily sedated and decimated by the war, but he manages to show Mike a dresser drawer full of cash. It was sent to him anonymously in installments. Mike is certain the money comes from Nick overseas, and he decides to make a trip back to Vietnam in search of their missing buddy, fulfilling his pre-war promise. What he finds when he gets there is a shell of a man who doesn’t recognize him. A man barely recognizable himself, controlled and celebrated by a crime ring of bloodthirsty gamblers. This is the scene that earned Walken his Oscar. Nick and Mike are pitted against each other for a round of Russian Roulette, and in front of the whole crowd, Mike observes Nick’s luck as it runs out. He dies by his own hand from a bullet to the brain.

Robert De Niro as Mike, unable to shoot the deer on his return trip.

Following Nick’s graveside funeral in Pennsylvania, Mike and his friends gather at the bar for a wake. John fixes breakfast and bursts into tears. He starts to sing “God Bless America” and the others soon join him. No explanation or insight is offered, and depending on your perspective, it could be interpreted as a blistering commentary on the sad state of affairs, with the joke on us. It could also be seen as a respectful and somber tribute to our country and the lives that perished on her behalf. Is it irony or reverence? In situations like this, leaving the question unanswered makes the scene more powerful. Circles don’t always have to be closed. The audience decides for themselves what it means.

The Deer Hunter is a flawed movie that leaves a huge impact. The message is received, at least by me, and this film lingers with me long after I see it.

The Deer Hunter