You may best remember Steven Spielberg’s World War 2 epic for its frenetic and terrifying beach-landing opening, or the heroic stoicism of its leading men as they fight through occupied France to bring one James Francis Ryan of the 101st Airborne Division home to his Midwestern mum. But, hidden among the blood and the guts and the flamethrowers and the bayonets and explosions and mud is a rare, beautiful, potato-shaped gem of a performance that has never been bettered.
Oft overlooked, oft forgotten, this performance nevertheless provides the emotional core of the film, the key component that unlocks the true heartbreak of war in a way that even Tom Hanks, injured and bleeding out on a bridge, could not. We’re talking, of course, about Vin Diesel’s turn as Private Adrian Caparzo.
It’s been 25 years since Saving Private Ryan released and in the meantime Diesel has gone on to slightly more high profile gigs (Fast X, the 10th instalment in the $6 billion Fast & Furious franchise releases 19 May). As such, you may be forgiven for forgetting his role in Saving Private Ryan entirely. But you shouldn’t; in just 4.37 minutes of total screen time, the then 30 year-old actor delivered his finest ever performance.
To begin with, Vinny is just one of the boys. He’s there to shout some exposition (and recover a Hitler Youth knife) among the cacophony of Omaha Beach. Later, trudging through the green fields of occupied Europe he’s there to suck on a cigarette and warn the new guy about saluting Tom Hanks (makes him a target for the Germans, so don’t even think about it).
In other words, Diesel is a good, solid, dependable background character. Instead of leading the guys on ever more implausible car-based capers as he later would, here he’s just one of the fellas, but still as likeable as ever. It works.
Then, he ribs the new guy about brotherhood. “What do you know about brotherhood?” he asks, veering close to that ever important F word that his most famous character, The Fast & Furious’s Dominic "Dom" Toretto is enamoured by. The F word that has come to define Diesel’s oeuvre, the central theme of his life’s work, a word that in this movie at least, is to be his character’s downfall.
You know the scene. A blasted out, ruined European town, beset by endless sloshing rain. The small group of US soldiers goes in, crouching from one piece of cover to the next. Then, well, despite best intentions, something goes horribly wrong.
A French family standing in the shell of what was once their home desperately want someone –anyone – to take their young daughter to safety. It’s a terrible idea, but Diesel’s instincts won’t let him just walk by because do you know what really matters in life? Family, that’s what. Family. Even if it means taking a sniper’s bullet to the neck and bleeding out in the mud while your friends watch. (Two and a half decade spoiler alert).
As he passes the young girl his crucifix to comfort her, as he argues with his superior officer, as he falls puppet-like against a random piano before sinking to the ground, Diesel is doing something we’ve rarely seen him do: he’s acting. And it’s beautiful.
In that brief scene we see a man traverse the whole gamut of human emotion: frustration, pain, reluctance, resilience, acceptance. “It’s for my dad, it’s got blood on it…” Diesel says, holding out a pre-written last note, even as the sniper has his head in his crosshairs, even as his buddies beg him to stay still.
He doesn’t get chance to pass the note. Just like that, without fuss or artifice, he passes on. It’s beautiful, gut-wrenching. A true piece of cinema. Just like that, Vin Diesel becomes part of one of the most poignant moments in war film history. Nuanced, brief and measured, it remains his finest performance, and without even a single muscle car in sight.
