As General George S. Patton, George C. Scott is an actor playing the same. The television age birthed a new kind of media-savvy soldier, one who becomes, by appearing as a character on the six o'clock news, emblematic of freedom. (Witness Colin Powell or Norman Schwarzkopf.) In WWII, few commanders were willing to put on a show like Patton; he was, in this regard, either ahead of his time or a throwback to the flamboyant rabble-rousers of bygone eras.

Patton the movie establishes Patton the serviceman's Hollywood tendencies in a show-stopping prologue. Dwarfed by a stars-and-stripes backdrop, Patton stands on a stage and motivates an audience of Third Army troops with a charged and entertaining sermon. ("...Americans love a winner. Americans will not tolerate a loser. Americans despise cowards. Americans play to win all of the time...The very idea of losing is hateful to an American." Words that proved prophetic once the conflict in 'Nam was over.)

This scene is not a screenwriter's invention: Patton was a brazenly jingoistic philosopher with a true gift for gab. (Well, when it came to motivational speaking--his political views often embarrassed the nation.) The speech was meant to inspire, but in a one-on-one situation with his inferiors, Patton--at least, Movie Patton--preferred to invoke terror. His volatility was mostly an act, of course--he was more afraid of his authority disappearing than any lower-ranked officer ever was of him. ("They'll lose their fear of the Germans... I hope to God they never lose their fear of me," he tells high-ranking confidante Omar N. Bradley.)

After the opening credits, we are more formally introduced to Patton as the fearsome general a desperate Bradley (Karl Malden, weirdly static in his scenes with Scott) called for to whip a Tunisian outpost full of retreated American soldiers back into fighting shape. The newly disciplined company men soon find themselves in battle again; under Patton's command, they defeat the Tenth Panzer Division at El Guettar in a rousing, moving sequence. This taste of success gives Patton the confidence to devise more complex (and controversial) attacks. With the Seventh Army at his disposal, he reaches and 'conquers' Messina before British Field Marshall Bernard Law Montgomery (here perhaps unfairly portrayed as an effete twit by Michael Bates) has fleshed out his own strategy for invading Sicily.

It would be glib to continue on this line of thinking, that Patton was in it for the celebrity. Possessed of many qualities we associate with the hugely famous, megalomania and that sort of thing, what he really wanted was to fight in the name of tradition. Patton, who believed in reincarnation, may have been a fated warrior. Patton wants to believe this and tends to romanticize its subject, if only by virtue of toning down the raw language the real man was inclined to use in conversation (the quote, "You can't train a platoon without using profanity," is attributed to Patton) and excluding Patton's well-documented affair with his niece.

Neither Scott nor the filmmakers shy away from the big mouth of George S., though, and the character is shown as less a tragic hero than a pathetic has-been by war's (and film's) end. In a truly insightful scene, a Nazi remarks of Patton, "The absence of war will kill him." Patton died from injuries sustained in a car accident in 1945, a finale that would have provided this biopic some cold irony; that Scott's Patton goes out with some dignity (his death is only foreshadowed by a runaway cab) is director Schaffner's wisest factual omission. He doesn't want any of the pity we feel for Patton to be misappropriated to the general's physical suffering.

Patton is a great film despite its historical compromises (George S. Patton was also a vocal anti-Semite); the picture served as a model for all biographical dramas to come. It's because of this that we might overlook its innovative structure or take its epic cinematography for granted. (The late Scott's performance, too, became a sort of prototype for American blowhards on screen and off.) Try not to: above all else, it's brilliantly crafted, and it speaks volumes about the modern soldier. Patton swept the 1970 Academy Awards for a reason.

Fox has released Patton in a 2-DVD set. Disc one carries the 170-minute feature uninterrupted plus some supplemental material while Disc two includes those remaining extras from the LaserDisc box set that was released a few years back. This is simply one of the best Special Editions of the year, especially considering its cost--about one third of the aforementioned LD. Patton is presented letterboxed at about 2.2:1 (it was shot in a long-dead format called Dimension-100) and, despite no mention of this on the cover art, the image has been enhanced for 16x9 TVs. What a wonderful (THX-approved) image it is, one almost devoid of nicks common to older titles and as colourful as Patton's personality. Black level and shadow detail are well defined. Really, this is a gorgeous, film-like transfer.

The Dolby Digital 5.1 remix occasionally hisses, but Jerry Goldsmith's score sounds superb. (Aside: it's bassier than any of the action sequences!) Unless I've been fooled, the surrounds carry discrete channels (a circling plane convinced me)--it's rare that they bother reconfiguring a soundtrack so extensively for films of this vintage. Compared to Saving Private Ryan or The Thin Red Line, Patton's DD track is thinner and hollower, of course (it was originally recorded in a pre-Dolby era), yet there's a robust quality to the audio that prevents the image from completely overwhelming the mix.

Charles M. Province's (he of The George S. Patton Historical Society) commentary (which can be toggled on and off during the movie) is very informative. He admits up front how much he admires Patton, and he leaves you feeling even better about the man than Schaffner does. Disc one also contains trailers for Patton, Tora! Tora! Tora!, and The Longest Day (which should have come with a disclaimer: "The Longest Trailer, Too."), and a lame section called "Cast Credits," which lists just that.

The second disc is leaner, with only a 49-minute documentary (caveat: no chapter stops) and an isolated music track. Said doc, "Patton: A Tribute To Franklin J. Schaffner," features precious radio interviews with the director (who also helmed Planet of the Apes) as well as some fascinating outtakes, but it's interesting to note that, in addition to refusing his Best Actor Oscar for Patton, Scott did not participate in this retrospective. (In his place, we get Oliver Stone plugging his biopic Nixon.) Goldsmith's compositions, arguably the best he ever wrote, can be played over this video, in 2.0 stereo only. The score runs for approximately thirty-two minutes in its entirety.

Inside the double-tray case is a helpful pamphlet outlining the chronology of Patton's life. On that note, I almost snapped Patton in half trying to get the disc out of its dual-tray packaging. Like Patton, I'm also a man with a destiny: to rid the planet of these horrible containers!-Bill Chambers