The Grime and Grit of War

So, I watched “Cross of Iron” last night, directed by Sam Peckinpah. You know, the guy who’s famous for all those slow-mo blood splatters. It’s a war film, set on the Eastern Front during World War II. And wow, it hits like a sledgehammer. I reckon it’s one of those rare flicks that doesn’t glorify the war but digs deep into the filth and despair. Felt a bit like watching a bad day at the Försäkringskassan.

James Coburn stars as Steiner, this German sergeant who’s trying to survive, but he’s more disillusioned than my uncle after the third Swedish hockey loss that year. Coburn’s got this rugged presence that’s both intense and a bit wearisome—kind of like the smell of burning surströmming in the kitchen.

Then there’s Maximilian Schell as Stransky, the aristocratic officer who’s more interested in getting his Iron Cross than learning how to hold a rifle. It’s a bit like watching someone collect stamps while the house is on fire.

Here’s a little memory that flicked on like a Swedish IKEA lamp: back in the 90s, I visited my granddad and stumbled upon his stash of WWII medals. As a kid, I was excited, like finding candy canes in the Christmas tree. But the old man looked at them not like treasures but as relics of lost friends. “Cross of Iron” brings that feeling to life—it’s like the medals are heavier than they look.

But, I gotta admit, some parts of the movie are as slow as a nordic train in winter. And that’s saying something. Peckinpah’s style’s a bit much sometimes, but when it works, it’s vivid and haunting. It’s a war film for those who like a side of existential crisis with their combat scenes.

Grab a seat and some popcorn, but don’t expect an easy ride—this one’s full of mud and moral murkiness.

Check the trailer below