Review of Jacob's Ladder (1942) by Adam R — 23 Jul 2011

Despite a promising opening act and a large amount of memorable, creepy imagery, "Jacob's Ladder" fails to bridge the gap between standard horror movie and abstract psychological thriller because of director Adrian Lyne and screenwriter Bruce Joel Rubin's seeming inability to crystallize exactly what troubles Jacob Singer (Tim Robbins).

Jacob is a wounded Vietnam vet whose humdrum life as a New York City postman is interrupted by a series of bizarre hallucinations and a seemingly sinister conspiracy linking him and his former Army buddies back to a traumatic event that befell them in 'Nam.

**** Warning: Spoilers follow ****.

The primary theme of "Ladder" is forgiveness, especially as it applies to Jacob and the mistakes he has made. However, despite Lyne, Rubin and the fine cast's efforts to the contrary, it's hard to see why the protagonist is a tortured character. Sure, he's seen -- and probably done -- things he'd like to forget, but the guilt that ultimately creates his just-before-dying fantasy world isn't based on any of the emotions we see onscreen.

Thus, what would seem to be a substantive problem is actually more of a plotting problem. It's clear Jacob feels guilt about the death of his son (an uncredited Macaulay Culkin) but he played no role in the boy's demise apart from not being on the scene at the time. His relationship with Jezebel (Elizabeth Pena) seems to stem both from the aforementioned parental guilt (which apparently destroyed his marriage, I guess; Jacob's falling-out with his wife isn't shown or talked about much) and an incidental comment to his wife about his fellow postal worker's beauty.

The real problems emerge in the third act, when Jacob is secretly told by a declassified government scientist (Matt Craven) that he and his platoon were test subjects for the eponymous drug, a chemical combo that produces exceptionally heightened aggression that backfired disastrously. Here's where the movie, viewed in hindsight, really falls apart. Up until this point, most details of Jacob's pre-mortem fantasy life stemmed from actual people he interacted with in life. The character of the scientist, however, is the attending in a triage unit the protagonist might have, at most, caught a glimpse of.

Furthermore, this doctor -- a minor character at most in Jacob's actual life story -- inspires Jacob to dream up some cockamamie conspiracy theory cooked up by the government wherein average soldiers are transformed into killing machines with dangerous, unstable narcotics, but this goes beyond diving headfirst into a dying man's brain; it's more like the internalized brainstorming session Alex Jones might have while he prepares for a new show.

And how the hell does the conspiracy subplot figure into the central theme of self-forgiveness and redemption through acceptance? Vietnam is the conflict that led to the coining of the term "fog of war;" many artists -- frankly, too many artists -- have been trying to suss out the "meaning" and "impact" of the war for nearly 50-some years (as though bad strategy has ever had some sort of deeper, more symbolic meaning).

And Lyne and Rubin, johnny-come-latelys both, toss THIS into the "let's comment on the War" slag heap? Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (albeit experienced very intensely over an extremely brief period of time in Jacob's case) via governmental chemical chicanery linked dubiously to an isolated incident which, given the narrative, might never have happened in the first place? Some films sought to heal audiences from the collective scars of Vietnam; this one is content to imprecisely pair personal and political issues into an otherwise straightforward, imaginative chiller, transforming darkness into murkiness and menace of many colors into weak tricks of the mind.