Regret to Inform

The virtues of a documentary like this don't require much in the way of explication; it's hard not to be moved by the haggard faces and quavering voices of women eloquently mourning their long-dead husbands, killed in the midst of a stupid, pointless war. In fact, only an outright churl would think of pointing out that the film's pacifist conscience--exemplified by the fact that fully half of the widows interviewed are Vietnamese--is in roughly the same vein as that dopey Sting song about how much he hopes the Russians love their children too. Only a creep would suggest that the repeated shots of Sonneborn staring pensively out the window of a train en route to the site of her first husband's death must have been deliberately staged ("okay, Barb, we're rolling, look wistful"). Only a deranged serial killer, taking a brief respite from writing taunting notes to the police, would comment on the jejune nature of most of the voiceover narration ("This is where you died, Jeff. So scared, so young, so far away from home"). Okay, I'm done; the point is, while this Oscar-nominated film is laudable and well-intentioned and often capable of bringing a tear to the eye or a lump to the throat, it's also clumsy and manipulative and disappointingly obvious. Still, given the price and popularity, this is a strong optional purchase. Aud: C, P. (M. D'Angelo)