I\'ve come a long ways from that young man watching a VHS tape at home with the adults. Some kind of war movie, they said. Lots of action and cursing, which was cool to a kid. But, largely, tons of dialogue. That young man didn\'t get *********** definitely been a long ways. This time around Coppola\'s film reached into me and told me many lasting things far beyond the amazing explosions and relentless expenditure of ammunition. Even the title itself. **************** not so much the war. It\'s life. It\'s now. The time comes for everyone. Never at the same time or under the same *************. But it does arrive. Loss is unavoidable. Whether it\'s our sanity. Our dreams. Our hopes. The very identity of who we once were. Definitely friends and family. Those usually go or rearrange themselves into a new unexpected landscape. Loss. One way or another. Whether we admit it or choose to live in denial. Loss is there to stay. Milius and Coppola made it clear. Their message of loss and madness stays with you in a haunting way. You just can\'t ******* off. \"The horrors,\" Brando insists. The things we see. We experience. We find ourselves doing. Who are these new men we\'ve become along the way. Where is that guy I left behind when I started? Is there ever a true way back? And if so, to where? There is no doubt the content of the film carries a truly emotional and psychological impact. Yes. The context is war. The most extreme of violent acts. A perfect metaphor for the loss of innocence and the discovery of life\'s real intent. It turns out life doesn\'t always have your back. No matter how good you are. No matter how good a side you fight for. Sometimes life just doesn\'t have your back. All characters are great studies of humanity\'s journey. But some of the more obvious ones can\'t be avoided. Like those Playboy models. So glossy and hopeful in their early arrival. Fireworks was the theme. The object of everyone\'s dreams. Dreams finally buried in mud and despair inside that rain soaked tent. Innocent beauties confessing their sacrifices while handing over their honor as if it was a buffet. Tall price to pay for one\'s dreams. \"They made me do all kinds of horrible things,\" she says. \"I just want a simple boy to like me... Are you a simple boy?\" And then the next guy interrupts, \"I\'m next madam.\" The things we sold along the way. And to make the irony colder let\'s not forget that those girls traveled to the front lines to \'help\' the soldiers. They just didn\'t know how deep a sale this was going to be. Remember the French? Holding on to their family land next to the river? There for generations? But they do say they came from France, brought the supplies from Brazil, and taught the locals to work with them. To save them, as they say. Was this education in exchange for slavery? I didn\'t see any Vietnamese workers at that lavish dinner table. Are the once ignorant locals glad to be enslaved? Whose land is it then? Perhaps the French will die in this land after all.