Try spending three months in a training institute with a group of “self-motivated”, “courageous” and “disciplined” young men and your life begins to go by quickly. At the start, they tell you, your destiny, it’s a long way off. Then again they tell you nine month passes by in a flash, you’ll soon be decked in pressed white and brass, your feet firmly planted on granite heart stone, sword in hand.
Spend three months in a training institute with a group of “self-motivated”, “courageous” and “disciplined” young men, and your life becomes like an action movie. You know, the new school of action movies where emotion and friendship and loyalty all come into the plot, and it’s not just about shooting the bad guy and bedding the girl anymore.
Each stage of your life in training a scene in the script. It’s all written. It’s all rehearsed. It’s all about putting up a good show.
The movie begins, Full Metal Jacket style, with the classic boot camp speech: “You are shit. You are nothing. You are the scum of the earth.”
Cut to a MCU of two men getting to know each other. A bond is made. A friendship begins. Lots of over-the shoulder shots, lots of eye contact.
Cut to the overhead shot of men running, singing, each one like a robot programmed to execute each task with surgical precision, the road like a conveyor belt rolling machinery out.
Cut to the briefing scene, just like the one in Top Gun. Experienced warriors standing before young ones, regaling them with old stories of a time long past.
Cut to the wide shot of a treeline at night, white eyes on camouflaged faces peeking out. A flash of metal here, a biscuit crumb there. Tense music plays, the camera pans from left to right, revealing each character manning his post. The music crescendos as gunfire erupts.
Cut to the intense Rover chase through the jungle, a panting soldier in the back, legs akimbo, clutching his chest.
Cut to another wide shot of the protagonist walking at the back of a formation, reflecting on how at this time tomorrow he’d be snogging his girl. Then he’s killed (just kidding).
Cut to the recreation scene: burned and bitten soldiers in a dark room, out of their uniform, neon lights flashing, much like the teeth upon their tanned faces. They’re talking, laughing, drinking.
We’re just waiting now: The script is written. The stage is set. The only thing left to do is for us to get in and start the show. And boy will we put up a good one.
