Tag: reporter

Journalist Brian Raftery Dissects Vietnam War Films—and America’s Love for Them—in His Podcast From The Ringer, ‘Do We Get To Win This Time?’

August 8, 2023

Hollywood has long held a fascination with the Vietnam War. From films that were released while the war raged, like John Wayne’s The Green Berets, to the popular 1980s hits, like Oliver Stone’s Platoon, America’s role in the war has been documented—accurately or not—on the big screen for decades.

Growing up in the 1980s, Brian Raftery encountered these combat films left and right, bringing Vietnam to life right before his eyes. Fast-forward to today, and Brian’s ready to take a deeper look into these films and how they still resonate today, both culturally and politically.

Photo credit Tom Martin

In his new podcast from The Ringer, Do We Get To Win This Time? How Hollywood Made the Vietnam War, Brian chronicles and dissects some of the most seminal movies that reflect the war. Throughout the eight-episode season, Brian talks with filmmakers, experts, and veterans who discuss what these movies tell us about “the most divisive conflict in our country’s history and America’s perception of it.” 

For the Record caught up with Brian to learn more.

What made you want to cover the Vietnam War—and how Hollywood approached it—specifically?

I didn’t grow up under the shadow of Vietnam—I was born after the war—but I did grow up under the shadow of Vietnam movies. When I was a kid, it seemed like every other weekend saw the release of an intense R-rated film about the war, like Platoon and Full Metal Jacket. And even as a preteen, I’d heard of some of the major Vietnam movies of the seventies, like Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter. Vietnam was, strangely, a major part of popular culture back then.

I watched as many of these films as I could—and I devoured the countless Vietnam-related TV shows, books, and even comic books that arrived in the eighties and early nineties. And I wasn’t alone: These were huge movies, especially for Gen-Xers. We were being inundated with stories about a war we hadn’t witnessed—and that we barely understood.

For the podcast, I wanted to learn as much as I could about the making of these films, because, frankly, we don’t get many like ’em anymore: These are epic, highly ambitious combat films, all of them made before the CGI era, and the stories behind these productions are amazing. But I was also interested in how Hollywood’s depiction of Vietnam changed over the years, and how it reflected how America felt about a very controversial and disturbing war. This was a war that deeply divided the country, and sometimes one of the best ways to understand a moment in time is to look at the movies it inspired.

Why do you think Hollywood’s fascination with the Vietnam War was different from other major historical events?

Vietnam wasn’t like World War II. That conflict, as horrific as it was, had a definite ending—and a victorious one, at least for America. As a result, some of the movies Hollywood made about World War II in the forties and fifties were celebratory and deeply jingoistic. Not that I mind—I love a good rah-rah moment as much as anyone—but these were movies made at a time of peak national pride, and they could be a bit bloodless, literally and figuratively.

By contrast, Hollywood had no idea what to do with Vietnam at first. This was a divisive war—and the big studios don’t do “divisive.” So they spent years avoiding it, until the late seventies, when it became clear that some veterans were struggling to deal with the aftermath of the war, resulting in movies like Coming Home and The Deer Hunter. By the eighties, there was even greater recognition of what America’s vets had gone through. That helps explain how a movie like Platoon can become such a phenomenon. Don’t get me wrong—it’s a great film, no matter when you see it! But Platoon happened to come at the exact moment that millions of Americans—young and old—were trying to understand what had happened in Vietnam.

As a result, Platoon kicked off a wave of Vietnam films, one that would peak in the late eighties. I can’t even count how many Vietnam films were made during that time. But after the Vietnam wave ended in the nineties, moviegoers would soon lose their interest in war altogether: The conflicts of the last few decades—most notably Iraq and Afghanistan—haven’t produced anywhere near as many films as Vietnam did. It was the last war Hollywood re-created in a major way.

How do you think these films shaped the view Americans had of the war?

I can only speak for myself—and a lot of the people I knew!—but I think movies like Coming Home and Born on the Fourth of July had a huge impact on how young people in the eighties and the nineties perceived Vietnam vets. How could you not have empathy for what they’d gone through, during and after the war, after seeing the struggle depicted in those films?

And I think ground-level movies like Platoon and Hamburger Hill really opened young Americans’ eyes to the horrors of combat. Those movies didn’t make fighting look glamorous in any way. They were gory and terrifying and heartbreaking; they were horror movies, in their own way. I think they made moviegoers understand what happened to those who’d gone to Vietnam.

What movie did you find particularly compelling and knew it had to be covered for the podcast?

We have entire episodes dedicated to both Platoon and Apocalypse Now, which are probably the two best-known Vietnam films ever made. There’s no way you can ignore Platoon—it brought the war to vivid life for millions of moviegoers, and it kicked off an entire movement of Vietnam films. And Apocalypse Now might be the most over-the-top movie production in history: An Oscar-winning superstar director goes into the jungle with millions of dollars and some of the biggest stars of the world . . . and winds up in a swirl of chaos, egos, and explosions. How can you not try to bring that story to life?

What’s something surprising you learned from your interviews or while researching the podcast?

There are a lot of specific stories that amazed me, like when Courtney B. Vance told me that, in order to create enough smoke for Hamburger Hill, the producers actually burned tires all day, which I’m hoping is illegal nowadays. Or when Dale Dye, a lifelong military man, explained how he trained the Platoon actors for the movie by forcing them to endure a brutal bootcamp. Like I said, these movies were made by filmmakers who’d do anything to get their story on the screen. And a lot of stuff was blown up along the way.

But I was also surprised by how many Vietnam movies we were able to cover—and how many genres of Vietnam movies. It’s not just combat films—there are Vietnam-related horror films, comedies, family dramas, revenge fantasies, and so many more. I don’t think any single modern event has found its way into as many stories, and as many kinds of stories, as much as the Vietnam War did.

At the end of the series, what do you hope listeners walk away with?

I hope they’re entertained by it. And, of course, I also hope they come away feeling a little bit smarter! But mostly, I’d love it if the series inspires listeners to add some Vietnam movies to their Letterboxd lists.

Why did you choose a podcast as the medium for best telling this story? How did inserting audio clips from films complement the project?

Audio brings these movies to life in a way that no other medium can. Even a few seconds of movie dialogue plugs audiences directly into a scene—something that’s hard to do in a book. Plus, we get to play a lot of old movie trailers, some of which are very over-the-top. There were entire afternoons in which I spent hours watching old movie trailers, which I can’t believe is an actual job.

Ready to dive into Hollywood’s relationship with the Vietnam War? Join Brian as he digs into the films in his podcast from The Ringer Do We Get to Win This Time?

NPR Host Ari Shapiro Goes Beyond the Airwaves With His Memoir, ‘The Best Strangers in the World: Stories From a Life Spent Listening’

March 20, 2023

photo credit: Victor Jeffreys

As one of the hosts of NPR’s flagship program, All Things Considered, Ari Shapiro has a voice that’s instantly recognizable to many radio listeners in the United States. Since 2015, Ari has shared heartwarming and heart-wrenching stories on the show, which is one of the most listened-to news programs in the country. In 2020, the format expanded with Consider This, a 15-minute, six-times-weekly podcast—also hosted by Ari.

But journalism is just his day job.

Ari is also a singer, performer, and speaker. He moonlights as a vocalist with the band Pink Martini, and joined forces with actor Alan Cumming for a stage show called Och & Oy! A Considered Cabaret. Now, the award-winning reporter and former White House correspondent is adding author to his resume.

The North Dakota native’s memoir, The Best Strangers in the World: Stories From a Life Spent Listening, hits shelves this week. In the book, Ari not only details his experiences reporting stories around the world, but also reflects on his upbringing in Portland, Oregon.

Ari created a playlist exclusively for Spotify that’s the perfect accompaniment to his memoir. From The B-52’s to the New York Philharmonic, the curation is as varied as the tales that come to life on his pages. We caught up with the host-performer-author to learn more about the inspiration for his book, and the ideas behind the playlist.

What made you decide to write a memoir? 

Covering the news every day sometimes feels like sprinting on a treadmill, where if you pause to look at the hot guy walking by, you will fall on the floor. And so, I’ve never been a person who nostalgically looks back at my favorite conversations and stories I’ve told. But I realized that after more than 20 years as a journalist, some of those stories, and some of those people, have sort of snagged on me as they flew by in the current, and changed the person I am—not just as a journalist, not just a storyteller, but as a human. 

In a way, this book is a memoir told through the stories of others. It covers a really wide range, from going on Air Force One with the president to being in warzones to singing with a band at the Hollywood Bowl. But, ultimately, I think of the book as kind of an answer to a question that I get from friends a lot, which is “How do you stay optimistic in the face of everything?” And the answer is the stories that are in these chapters.

How did your experience as a journalist impact your story?

Being a journalist has certainly attuned me to the finer details, so I feel like I can take someone along and tell a story that hopefully transports them and sticks with them. But the thing that made it really challenging is—as a journalist—stories are not supposed to be about me. I’m never supposed to be the focus.

So switching gears and telling stories that are fundamentally about me was unfamiliar and scary and foreign and definitely a learning curve. And as I look back at the drafts of these chapters and the way they evolved, that’s the biggest change that I see: learning how to write about myself in a way that doesn’t feel like a betrayal to who I am as a journalist.

Can you share a story from your book?

I have to tell you about the first time I ever sang with a band. For my debut performance, I was a singer with a band called Pink Martini, a little orchestra from Portland, Oregon, with more than a dozen members. In 2009, they asked if I would record a song for an album they were working on. After, the band leader, Thomas Lauderdale, said, “Well we need to find a time for you to perform this live with us. So why don’t you come to the Hollywood Bowl?” 

Now, the Hollywood Bowl seats 18,000 people. But what made it the most terrifying was not the size of the audience. It’s that backstage, before you walk out in front of those thousands of cheering people, you see all these huge, framed, black-and-white photos of the legends who have performed there over the decades. There’s Aretha Franklin; there’s The Beatles; there’s Judy Garland—all pictured on the stage you are about to stand on. And then the time comes, and you walk out in the footsteps of those giants and the spotlight follows your path. 

It is so exhilarating because as a radio reporter, it doesn’t matter how many millions of people might be listening to any given story I do. It’s a very intimate conversation between me and the one person who happens to be hearing it. But with a live performance, everybody is sharing that experience collectively, at the same time. There is something so electric about live music because it only ever happens once in that particular way. And so, to be a part of that is a thrill unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in journalism.

What was the experience like reading your story aloud for your audiobook?

First of all, I loved recording my audiobook because my comfort zone is telling stories. That’s what I do every day, and so, in some ways, recording the audiobook felt much more easy, comfortable, and familiar than writing the book. But it’s exhausting to speak aloud for hours on end. Even though I host a two-hour daily news program, I’m not talking for most of it. I read an introduction to a reporter’s piece and then I sit quietly for four minutes. Or if I’m doing an interview, I ask someone a question and then sit quietly while they answer. By the end of the day of audiobook recording, I could barely talk to my husband. I have so much admiration for people who do this professionally.

You created a musical playlist for your memoir. How did you pick the songs?

Above all, I wanted the playlist to feel optimistic and joyful because that’s what I want people to walk away from the book feeling. Even though the book takes you to warzones and refugee crises, the book is full of people who give me hope. It’s also global because the book is global. So there’s a track from the South African trumpet player Hugh Masekela, and a track from the Japanese singer Saori Yuki.

The playlist begins with a song that I hope sets the tone for everything else, which is “Roam” by The B-52’s. I think that’s the best road trip song ever written. And I want to give people the feeling that we’re going somewhere exciting. It’s gonna be fun, and it’s gonna be an adventure.

There is also a healthy dose of Queer camp because that is part of who I am, and there are songs that take me back to specific moments. It includes an obscure ’90s cover of “Total Eclipse Of The Heart” by Nicki French. The summer I came out of the closet, that was the track that was playing in the gay club every single weekend. I also included the overture to Candide, which was the song that my husband and I walked down the aisle to at our wedding.

What do you think continues to attract listeners to talk formats like a radio show or podcast?

One of NPR’s founding mothers, Susan Stamberg, has a quote I love, which is “The pictures are better on the radio.” There is something about the human voice that is so personal and intimate. It engages the brain and bypasses the preconceived notions we might have about the person who’s talking, and allows us to have an experience that feels more personal than printed words on the page or talking heads on a TV broadcast. 

How have the people you’ve met over the years and the experiences you’ve had influenced you?

Musically, I have been so lucky to collaborate with people who are curious and omnivorous. Pink Martini records in dozens of languages, with collaborators ranging from the great Mexican ranchera singer Chavela Vargas to the great grandchildren of Maria and Captain von Trapp. So being able to travel with Pink Martini to Morocco and Hungary and Lebanon and France and sing in all these different languages helps me appreciate something that my parents taught me from a very young age: The more you know about the world, the more interesting life becomes. And there’s something very subtle and powerful about music. 

With everything that I do—whether it’s journalism, singing with Pink Martini, writing this book, or performing with Alan Cumming—my goal is to help people see the world through the eyes of someone else. My goal is to help people break out of their bubbles and build empathy and increase understanding. Music is one of the most powerful tools I know that can do that.

The chapters in this book that are not about music still contain a piece of that. I hope they increase curiosity and empathy, and allow readers to experience all these different people and places, and see the similarities and connections we all share.

 

If you’re interested in hearing Ari tell his stories in person, check out the details of his book tour here. In the meantime, listen to the playlist Ari made to complement his memoir, below.