For this second blog post, I decided to explore a specific scene from 2024’s film, Civil War, directed by Alex Garland, set in an alternate, divided America in the near future. The scene I will be referencing comes after the film’s war-torn journalists experience the loss of their close friend who accompanied them on their journey. Civil War has been criticized as an “apolitical political film,” yet (to me) this scene sticks out as representing the central thesis of the film. War in any form can tear friends and families apart and leaves no time to grieve– especially for those who take up the duty of reporting the conflict through journalism.
After the death of a particularly likable character, Sturgill Simpson’s Breaker’s Roar begins to play as the protagonists drive through a forest fire. This drive is the closest they get to having a moment to reflect on the loss of their friend, and yet they’re surrounded by a disaster (likely manmade via climate change or a battle). A world on fire. A nation divided. This might be as explicit as you get with the message here. No sides taken, no good and evil, just a messed up world of our own doing.
As the song progresses, and the characters are forced to look forward, they arrive at a military base. The harsh, unfeeling machinery of helicopters and tanks contrasts explicitly with the warm, soaring steel guitar, and slow tempo. Joel screams in anger, Jessie (going through the most life-changing days of her life) looks at Sammy in the car while she thinks, and Lee mindlessly cleans up the bloody mess left behind by her friend.
The nature of the song is calm and introspective. It resolves “It’s all a dream.” There’s so much to feel, and so little time. In fact, the war is about to end, and they have little time to get on the move to their final location. Instead of processing these emotions, it would be much easier to pretend that it was all a dream. This song (and its visual montage sequence accompaniment) is a way of transitioning between scenes, but is also a time for the viewer to come up for air and make some of these connections themselves.
The lyrical nature of this song represents both the feeling and numbness of the early stages of grief. In a kind of call-to-action, Sturgill Simpson sings “Open up your heart and you’ll find love all around… all the pain in life holding you down, bone breaks and heals, oh, but heartaches can kill.” To feel is the goal of this sequence, and in many ways, certain characters fail. Instead, they resolve to move forward to D.C. to complete their goal as the song ends. The way that this scene’s visual and auditory landscapes marry has become inseparable to me. I’ve revisited the scene on YouTube often, and when I think about it, I always think about the song. Likewise, the song has found its way onto my playlists, and I will always think of the scene from the film.