matt lynch’s review published on Letterboxd:
"You talk about the war, I'll talk about what it costs."
proves itself by barely discussing the precious art (mostly a series of names hastily painted on crates), but you see almost every single life lost for it at the very moment of sacrifice.
nor are men's lives some exalted abstract. their worth isn't a platitude. their sweat is their value, their labor in every way the equal of that which might go into any painting. watch Burt Lancaster, in a matter of a few long but unostentatiously economical shots, single-handedly repair a locomotive connecting rod.
plus actual fucking trains smash into each other in this, which is awesome, and oh yeah they blow up a real rail yard.