In August 1944, as American forces advanced toward the Philippines, Japan instituted a new policy toward its prisoners of war: organized extermination. That December, 150 American prisoners—survivors of the Bataan Death March—were murdered in the camp at Palawan.
The Great Raid begins with the image of those prisoners being herded into air-raid shelters and set on fire. Thus does Dahl announce his intentions: The subject of this war movie is war. Not love letters home. Not the moral formation of a young hero. Not the bonds of brotherhood. In January 1945, the Allies arrived in the Philippines and it became the task of 120 Army Rangers to rescue 511 malaria-wracked prisoners at Cabanatuan from the fate of their Palawan compatriots. The Rangers had an impossible job to do, and this is the story of how they did it.
The film is, in many ways, a victory for substance over style, with all of the virtues and problems such victories imply. There is at times a schoolboy earnestness to the dialogue, with expository statements of the obvious just to make sure we're properly briefed. The film has an appropriately harsh, sun-battered look, yet the camera is coolly objective, watching and recording, not getting up to any monkey business, content to let the story tell itself. Perhaps as a result, much of the film lacks a distinctive voice: It is an admirable movie about admirable men, but its odd novelty lies in its stubbornly old-fashioned aesthetic.
Along with the story of the American rescuers, led by Lt. Col. Henri Mucci (Bratt) and Capt. Robert Prince (an impressive Franco), there is the tale of Maj. Daniel Gibson (Fiennes), who is dying in the Cabanatuan camp while the woman he loves, a nurse named Margaret Utinsky (Nielsen, in a magnificent portrayal of sheer moral authority), runs an underground quinine-smuggling ring from Manila to help keep the prisoners alive.
The movie's final third is dominated by the battle at Cabanatuan, a ferocious scene that demonstrates the extraordinary bravery and teamwork of the Rangers without falling into jingoism. The raid on Cabanatuan really happened—all 511 prisoners were liberated; only two Rangers were killed—and Dahl respects history enough to let the victory, like the entire tale, speak for itself.