Catch-22 – A problematic situation for which the only solution is denied by a circumstance inherent in the problem or by a rule



Catch-22 is a phrase that has been a part of our national lexicon for as long as I can remember. Long before I had ever heard of Joseph Heller’s novel, or could ever have formed a coherent definition, I understood the basic meaning of a “catch-22”. The above definition was added to the Merriam Webster Collegiate Dictionary in 1971, 10 years after the publication of the novel from which it came, and only a single year after Mike Nichols released the film version of the same. Something about this ultimate conundrum strikes a nerve, people see it all around them, in everyday life – situations that, by definition, are impossible to resolve. Catch-22, with an all star cast, makes a valiant attempt to capture on film the defining situation of what, for a nation, has become the ultimate expression of a hopeless cause.

Catch-22 revolves around the story of Captain Yossarian (I don’t think we ever know his first name). Yossarian (Alan Arkin) is an Army-Air Force bombardier serving off the coast of Italy during the Second World War. Yossarian wants out. He’s sick of flying (it’s dangerous!) and his commanding officer, Colonel Cathcart (Martin Balsam) keeps raising the number of completed missions necessary in order to rotate out of the unit. When he begs the unit doctor (Jack Gilford) to declare him unfit to fly, this is what he is told: the only way he can be grounded is if he’s crazy. Anyone who flies these missions is crazy, thus clearly can be grounded. But one has to ask to be grounded, thus proving one knows and appreciates the danger of flying, rendering one no longer crazy, thus no longer eligible for grounding. And there you have it, the very first catch-22. The film chronicles the attempts of Yossarian to be crazy, as well as the life on the base, which is crazy.

Ultimately, this is a film about the absurdities, repugnancies, redundancies and wickedly flawed logic of warfare. The base takes on a life of its own, leaving behind all conventional wisdom in favor of what basically amounts to a power trip induced hysteria of errors. This single base being but a microcosm reflecting the greater beast that is war, where the rules change by the second and common sense isn’t always one’s friend. One scene has Yossarian screaming at a colleague (played by Charles Grodin) that an act of violence he committed is going to ruin him. As Yossarian rails away about not being able to take a life without going to prison, the irony of one soldier telling this to another in the midst of a war is thick.

Looking at the time when this film was made, 1970, it’s hard to escape the easy conclusion that the filmmakers are here to make a statement about a different war entirely. The time period is also reflected in the storytelling. The film uses an out of sequence style, full of flashback and partial memory. Many scenes are repeated with small additions, fleshing out the memory with each showing. It has, if you will, a psychedelic flavor to it with memory over hallucination over “reality”. Sounds interesting enough, but in actuality, it ends up being very confusing. I haven’t read the source work, so I don’t know if this is a filmmaking choice by director Mike Nichols, or an attempt to stay true to the novel. Either way, it’s simply too much nonlinearity and not enough narrative cohesion to make the story one the viewer can really follow. There’s no mistaking the general gist of what’s going on, but the individual scenes are often done an injustice by a lack of time and place markers. For example, Yossarian is wounded twice during the course of the film. Each time he wakes up in the hospital (this happens far more than twice) the viewer is left to play catch up as to which incident we’re at. The net result is that some of the scenes are lost while we try and figure out where and when they take place. The style weighs down the substance of the film, diluting the message and muddying the drama as well as the comedy.

There are plenty of both dramatic and comic moments, however; some of which are film classics. The scene in which Bob Newhart, as Major Major, tells his Staff Sergeant (Norman Fell) that he will only see visitors when he is out of the office, then proceeds to climb out the office window, is one of the few times in his career that Newhart has been something other than the straight man, and the entire scene is hilarious. There are many such scenes here. Each a beautiful little piece of cinema, with some of the days biggest stars. Watch for Anthony Perkins as the base chaplain; Martin Sheen, Art Garfunkel, Bob Balaban, Peter Bonerz and Grodin as fellow flyers; Richard Benjamin and Buck Henry (who also wrote the screenplay) as some of the base leaders; Jon Voight as the base capitalist/sociopath in training; and a resplendent (and corpulent) Orson Welles as General Dreedle. This is some serious talent here, and each does a great job when he’s on camera. The performances are funny, sad and just plain crazy. Unfortunately they aren’t encapsulated into a worthy whole. The story of Yossarian devolves as the movie progresses, becoming more and more maudlin, less and less coherent, leaving these little performance gems behind. It’s fun to go with the flow for a while, taking the acid flashback style in stride and enjoying the perversity of it all – the war, the base, the personnel. But as the movie draws to a close, the novelty has worn off, the story is beginning to plod and it’s just too hard to care enough to figure out what’s happening anymore.

This is a truly hard film to recommend or not recommend. As a film, it really doesn’t hold together particularly well. The attempt to blend humorous absurdity and grim reality is laudable, but doesn’t quite work. It isn’t that the audience can’t accept that the two can coincide, but rather that they aren’t presented cohesively enough to be either entertainment or political statement. On the other hand, this is a piece of cinema history. Some of the biggest names of the era starring in the film version of one of the most recognizable works of fiction of the era make something special. The fact that there are numerous individual scenes that are laugh out loud funny further muddies the waters. These are good performances, in a not so great film. Nichols certainly can be credited for creating some fine moments, but not for pulling them together into a worthy film. So the recommendation goes as follows: see the movie, appreciate the performances and the fabulous glimpse at the era, but don’t expect to be knocked out of your seat by the film. The whole does not always equal the sum of its parts, and, unfortunately for us, that is the case with Catch-22.


Recommended:
Yes