rifle. The sense of an impending threat is heightened through the heavy violin strings on the soundtrack, and we know the soldier has not escaped death yet—though he himself remains unaware. A tilt up the body of the interloper reveals a child’s face, but our momentary relief is checked when he leans over the soldier with a knife. As we wonder if this child is a North Korean out to finish the job, the music comes to a halt, and the child quickly cuts the soldier’s ropes rather than his throat. Fuller could have shot this scene through the perspective of the bound soldier, whom we will soon come to know as Zack, our protagonist. But by providing us at times with more information than Zack, Fuller encourages us to feel not only Zack’s relief at being saved, but also the anxiety of knowing he may as easily have been killed. This play between restricted and unrestricted narration continues throughout the film, binding the viewer less to Zack’s particular experience than to the overall tension inherent to war.
The irony resulting from the opening sequence—a potential North Korean killer is revealed to be a friendly and helpful South Korean child—is replayed throughout the film, as sequences with perceived threats unfold harmlessly while scenes seemingly empty of threat wind up being deadly. This pattern of alternating sequences of relative calm with moments of unexpected violence becomes the dominant structural strategy in the film, constantly catching viewers off guard and teaching us to imagine the uncertainty faced by soldiers in combat. In the rest of the first act, the pattern is repeated when a group of civilians praying at an altar pull rifles from their robes and open fire on Zack and Short Round; when snipers suddenly attack after Zack and Thompson initially part ways with the platoon; and then again on the road, after a protracted sequence of calm is followed by an explosion just as the rest of the men are sitting down and eating watermelon. That an American soldier is killed taking the dog tags off the corpse of a fellow infantryman makes the moment even more ironic—it is the soldier’s kindness that gets him killed. As the platoon establishes an observation post in the temple during the second act, a series of comic bits with Joe, the mule driver who does not talk, again establish a carefree tone. The lighthearted mood is then undercut when the North Korean kills Joe, initiating a new line of action as the soldiers hunt for the killer. Finally, after the North Korean is caught, the third act begins with Zack, Short Round, and the POW preparing to leave the temple. It would appear that the enemy threat to the soldiers has been removed, but cutaways to a sniper setting up outside the temple suggest that the platoon is unknowingly in for a final battle, establishing a mood of suspense. Nevertheless, even though the shot of the sniper informs us of a threat, the offscreen death of Short Round is deeply shocking, as the death of a child mascot, especially one so pure and good-hearted, goes so firmly against classical Hollywood conventions. But Fuller doesn’t let up: Zack’s subsequent shooting of the POW delivers another unexpected blow, raising the specter of American soldiers engaging in war crimes. These final acts of startling violence precipitate the massive bombardment of the temple by the enemy, the death of most of the platoon, and the unraveling of Sergeant Zack’s mind. The sudden and ironic shifts between moments of calm and violence in The Steel Helmet exemplify the stark contrasts in tone and action that pervade Fuller’s work. The unexpected appearance of violence shocks and surprises the viewer, who is left uncertain of when and where to expect the next threat. The narrative structure thereby offers viewers a distant sense of the tension felt by soldiers in war without requiring gunfire in the theater.
Gene Evans as Sergeant Zack in a publicity still from the opening scene in The Steel Helmet. Fuller heightens the suspense by intercutting shots of Zack’s slow crawl forward with images of an advancing Korean boy holding a gun. Note the hole in Zack’s helmet—where he was shot but unharmed—and the knife in the foreground, which will be activated at the end of the scene. Chrisam Films, Inc.
Although the film’s omniscient narration and Zack’s off-putting personality mitigate against viewers identifying with his character, Zack’s central role within the narrative and his emergence as the most experienced and combat-smart member of the platoon position him as the hero of the film. We root for him to survive and to protect the platoon, and as he grows closer to Short Round, we thrill to see his awkward expressions of sentiment. In a cruelly ironic twist characteristic of Fuller, however, Short Round’s merciful rescue of Zack at the beginning of the film proves to be the downfall of both characters. The introduction of the two in the opening scene highlights their significant differences: although both characters have experienced the horrors of war, Short Round remains generous and spiritual, while Zack is self-interested and suspicious. Zack’s single-minded approach to survival proves necessary in the jungle and on the road in the first act, but upon the platoon’s arrival at the temple, Short Round’s devotion to prayer highlights the basic human feeling that has been absent in Zack for so long. Zack’s attitude toward Short Round softens, and as he slowly turns the prayer wheel, one wonders if Zack is beginning to take seriously the spirituality he has thus far ridiculed. At the beginning of the third act, Zack and Short Round are alone together as the boy writes yet another prayer. Rather than making fun of Short Round’s belief in divinity, as he has consistently throughout the film, Zack now pins the prayer on Short Round’s back, a marker of his growing respect for the boy. After Short Round leaves the room, Zack crafts “dog tags” for him, an additional sign of his growing love. Despite his earlier aloofness, Zack has finally accepted the spiritual basis of Short Round’s loyalty to him and wants to adopt the boy into his own world—that of the U.S. Army.
Making the dog tags is the first act of kindness and generosity committed by Zack in the entire film, and his newfound emotions prove to be his undoing. When Short Round is shot in the subsequent scene and the POW laughs at the remnants of the boy’s prayer, Zack kills the POW in a fury, breaking the Geneva Convention and prompting the lieutenant to challenge him, yelling, “You’re no soldier!” Recognizing his mistake, Zack calls for the medic to save the POW’s life and threatens his victim, “If you die, I’ll kill you!” The paradoxical nature of Zack’s order underscores the ironic situation he finds himself in: his affection for Short Round caused him to forget what it means to be a soldier; now he must save the man he most wants to see dead. With both Short Round gone and his identity as a soldier in question, Zack loses his mind in battle. Without the protection of his hard-won pragmatism and emotional isolation, he leaves the temple a broken man.
The potential in the combat film for the activation of ambiguity, contradiction, death, and despair make it one of the genres most compatible with Fuller’s brand of storytelling. By setting the relationship of Sergeant Zack and Short Round against the ordeals of the platoon, the narrative of The Steel Helmet highlights the conflict experienced by Zack between his growing humanity and his desire for self-preservation. As with most Fuller films, the construction of the narrative suggests this is a conflict that cannot be resolved. In a state of war, emotion is weakness, and compassion begets death. The killing of Short Round and the reduction of the film’s hero to a mere shell of a man are shocking reminders to viewers that no one escapes unscathed from war, even those who manage to walk away.
The Steel Helmet establishes the character types, themes, and situations that Fuller will revisit in his four subsequent combat pictures: Fixed Bayonets, China Gate, Merrill’s Marauders, and The Big Red One. All focus on a small group of soldiers rather than attempting to provide an overview of the war, and each eschews triumphalism in favor of emotional authenticity. Another Korean War film made quickly on the heels of The Steel Helmet, Fixed Bayonets takes the mixed platoon of its predecessor into the winter mountains and isolates the group in a cave. Fuller again utilizes unexpected violence to produce tension and surprise, as the protagonist watches his commanding officers die one by one, deeply fearing his eventual assumption of command. Produced while Fuller was under contract at Twentieth Century–Fox, Fixed Bayonets lacks the loopiness and ideological exchanges of The Steel Helmet, but these characteristics return in China Gate, written by Fuller as an independent Globe Enterprises release. The first American combat picture set in Vietnam, China Gate is also the only Fuller war film whose protagonist is motivated by something other than survival. Lucky
