My father, who has always loved metallica, has passed down such love to me. And I listen to Metallica every day, intent on combating internal agony with external agony. In terms of agony, the most painful is definitely the fourth track of the fourth album: “One,” from “…And Justice for All.” Something chills inside when listening to “One.” Time slows to a crawl, a halt, and stands still. An eternity passes even though “One” is a calculable number of minutes’ length.
“One” is inspired by the anti-war novel “Johnny Got His Gun,” which Metallica’s leaders, James Hetfield and Lars Ulrich, thought was powerful. Likewise, Metallica’s first-ever music video was for “One” and features clips from the 1971 film “Johnny.” And just like the song, the video and the novel, the film is one of the most chilling and awe-inducing I have ever seen.
“He had had no say in going to war, no true stake in the conflict, but there he is, reaping the consequences: alive and just as much a man as anyone, except trapped in soundless, scentless, tasteless, still, immovable, eternal blackness.”
Johnny tells the story of 20-year-old Joe Bonham from Colorado, who is drafted into World War I. Men spent the majority of the war in dirty trenches while bombs rained on their heads. And young and gentle Joe was drafted into this hell, hit by a shell and blown to smithereens. Yet, despite losing his legs, arms and face, he did not die. He had no say in going to war, no true stake in the conflict, but there he is, suffering the consequences: alive and just as much a man as anyone, except trapped in soundless, scentless, tasteless, still, immovable, eternal blackness.
Hazy scenes of ghostly doctors staring fixedly at Joe are seared into my mind. Joe’s vivacious life before is all presented in color. And life afterwards? Joe could have easily devolved into insanity, depression. No, Joe keeps himself together. He thinks. Vibrations of his bed springs tell him someone’s moving in his room. With the tiny slices of skin remaining on his forehead, he learns to keep track of the sun. He counts and calculates the number of times the nurses come to check upon him, and then time is his. He is certainly no victim.
And he remembers. He remembers his father’s death, his lover Kareen and most of all, the little guy. Every young, impressionable, relatively unimportant boy out there, like Joe, who is at the whim of others. The words men used to sway legions of young guys to hack each other to pieces. The little guy who has no control over his own life, who is told to go and goes and is killed. For what, Joe wonders. Why? The little guy has never done anything wrong. The little guy just wants to live.
Historical works are incalculably significant, and “Johnny” is as much a tale of patriotism as it is anti-war. It is brutal. It is honest. And the stark truth at the end: No one can know of Joe Bonham. He wants to be free, but no little guys will go willingly to fight if the possibility of ending up like him enters their heads.
Others shut him up. And without any hope, he loses track of the seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years; he quits considering anything else. He is silent outside but screaming in agony inside. He is forever consigned to darkness, obscurity, oblivion and nothingness. Welcome to where life is a fate worse than death. What is worth a fair trade for our lives? Honestly, I don’t know. To each his own. Perhaps this is all to say you must be careful to never confuse others’ priorities as your own and always remember your life is your own. Otherwise, are you any more than a puppet at the master’s whims, a soldier at orders? If you are, then, welcome to where time stands still.
