Before John Wayne was a cliche, synonymous, even by the late 60s with an especially American kind of retrograde middle brow masculinity, he was first an

exemplar of that style, the archetype of it.

During a time when most Americans wanted to see themselves that way.

Sure, there were New York literary sophisticated

who scoffed at the simplistic morality of his films

and plenty of contemporary mid-century critics

called a rye f foul on the Hollywood idolization of broad

shouldered fists up heroes, but moviegoers aid up John Wayne and men and boys alike

imitated his style, a man who never cried, who never

lied, and who only punched a cattle when the cattle had earned a punch.

Sands of Iwo Jima was his 120th film if you can grock that.

Sergeant Stryker sounds like the name of a character from some dumb 80s airplane derived comedy that Adam saw on VHS from deep within his parents

velour sectional.

But the square-jawed caricature that Leslie Nielsen dined out on for two decades only worked because movie audiences got the references.

And those references were all to a bygone Hollywood, more or less owned by this loose-limbed

California beefcake.

This film is a trope fruitcake.

Even in its own time, there was nothing original about the story.

The Sergeant is too hard on his men, but it's because he wants them not to die.

But they can't know it because he wants them to be tough and they can't be tough unless they're abused.

And he can't abuse them properly unless they don't know how much he cares.

Also, he can't reveal his pain from his failed marriage and estranged kid because that would

...