Few people have read or watched Aaron Sorkin’s original 1990 play A Few Good Men; millions have watched and enjoyed the big-budget film adapted from the play by director Rob Reiner in 1992. That discrepancy, I suppose, is understandable. More people go to movie theatres than to live-performance plays. And Reiner’s film was a big film. Its cast includes Tom Cruise, Jack Nicholson, Demi Moore, Kevin Bacon, Kiefer Sutherland, Kevin Pollak, James Marshall, J.T. Walsh, Christopher Guest, Noah Wyle, and Cuba Gooding Jr. – an all-star lineup if ever there was one. The film made more than $240 million at the box office, and received four Academy Award nominations, including Best Picture. Yet the play offers its own thoughtful reflections on issues of justice and power in American life generally, and in the United States military specifically. And even devout fans of the movie, who may believe that they know all that there is to know about A Few Good Men, may be in for some surprises.
Aaron Sorkin got his start as a playwright, but his work moved so quickly from live theatre to the world of television and cinema that it is understandable if some readers may not know his work as a playwright. In television, he is known as the screenwriter who created The West Wing (1999-2006) and The Newsroom (2012-14). In cinema, he has written screenplays for films like The American President (1995), Charlie Wilson’s War (2007), and The Social Network (2010); and he has recently moved into directing, with movies like The Trial of the Chicago 7 (2020).
The alert reader will already have noticed that many of the works listed above have political settings and/or themes; and indeed, Sorkin has been fearless in using his work to set forth his liberal social and political convictions. Both the President Shepherd of The American President and the President Bartlet of The West Wing, as played by Michael Douglas and Martin Sheen respectively, are eloquent and politically savvy spokesmen for progressive causes – like Bill Clinton without the messy personal life. And the “America is not the greatest country in the world anymore” monologue, delivered by Jeff Daniels as news anchor Will McAvoy in The Newsroom, offers a forceful riposte to Fox News-style American nationalist boosterism, and continues to be one of the most viewed videos in the history of YouTube.
So: we all know how Sorkin feels about American politics. For my part, I hold center-left political beliefs of the Washington Post type, and I tend to sympathize with Sorkin’s views more often than not. Your mileage may vary.
All of which leads us to A Few Good Men. The original play, like the well-known film adaptation of the play, brings up issues of military justice within a Washington, D.C., setting. At the center of the story is the trial of two U.S. Marine Corps enlisted men – Lance Corporal Harold Dawson and Private First Class Louden Downey – who have been charged with murder in connection with the death of a fellow Marine, Private Willie Santiago, at the Guantanamo Bay naval base in Cuba (in a scenario loosely based on a real-life incident). Dawson and Downey, it turns out, assaulted Santiago, putting a sock in his mouth, and Santiago died.
A young U.S. Navy lawyer, Lieutenant Daniel Kaffee – who takes a fairly casual approach to his work as a defense attorney, and stays out of the courtroom by working out time-saving deals with prosecutors – is assigned to the case. It takes Kaffee a surprisingly long time to wonder why an inexperienced lawyer with a reputation for seeking plea bargains has been assigned to such an important murder case – in spite of the questions that are regularly raised by Lieutenant Commander Joanne Galloway, an idealistic and committed young officer who has been assigned as co-counsel.
The reason, as it turns out, has to do with Guantanamo Bay’s hard-nosed Marine commander, Colonel Nathan Jessep. Private Santiago, we learn, wanted a transfer off Guantanamo, and Colonel Jessep – contrary to what Navy investigators have been told -- intended to keep Santiago on the base, and to mold him into the kind of Marine that an officer like Jessep expects. Lieutenant Jonathan Kendrick, Santiago’s immediate commanding officer, shared Jessep’s beliefs and colluded with him in the scheme to “train” Santiago. The measures of which Jessep approved, toward that end, included what is known as a “Code Red” – an unofficial punishment administered by Marine enlisted personnel to correct the behavior of a Marine who is thought to have violated the USMC code of “Unit, Corps, God, Country.” Dawson and Downey carried out the “Code Red,” and Santiago died.
The film takes its time revealing the depth of Colonel Jessep’s involvement in the “Code Red” incident that resulted in Private Santiago’s death; Sorkin’s play, by contrast, is more direct. When Jessep’s second-in-command, Lieutenant Colonel Matthew Markinson, disagrees with the decision to keep Private Santiago at Guantanamo, Jessep states that “I’m trying to think about how I’d feel if some Marine got hurt or killed because a Pfc. in my command didn’t know [what] the fuck he was doing. And I’m trying to think about how the other members of his unit might feel, putting their lives in the hands of a man they can’t count on.”
When Markinson reiterates his belief that Santiago needs to be transferred off base, the Jessep of the play, like the Jessep of the film, says, “We’re in the business of saving lives, Matthew.” In the play, however, Jessep is given time and space to set forth his view of an officer’s duty: “With every degree that we allow ourselves to move off the mark of perfection as officers, more people die – that’s a responsibility that I take pretty seriously. 'Cause I absolutely believe that simply taking a Marine who’s not yet up to the job and packing him off to another assignment is the same as sending a kid into the jungle with a weapon that backfires.” Sorkin seems to be taking pains to acknowledge what might be seemingly logical in a viewpoint like Jessep’s; he doesn’t want the antagonist of his play to be a straw man.
The more reasonable-sounding Jessep of the play even expresses regret at the situation in which Dawson and Downey find themselves, stating that “I hate casualties….A Marine smothers a grenade and saves his platoon, that Marine’s doing his job. There are casualties. Even in victory. (Stands.) The fabric of this base, the foundation of the unit, the spirit of the Corps, these things are worth fighting for. And there’s no one who doesn’t know that who’s ever made the choice to put on the uniform. I hate casualties. (Pause.) Dawson and Downey, they’re smothering a grenade.”
Yet Jessep’s noble-sounding words about service and sacrifice do nothing to change the fact that Dawson and Downey face life imprisonment for an illegal act that Jessep ordered.
In the play, even more than in the film, much of the murder trial for Dawson and Downey centers around the question of when the first available flight from Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, to Andrews Air Force Base, Maryland, would have taken place on the night of Santiago’s death. This flight, Jessep has falsely claimed, was to bring Santiago back from Guantanamo to the U.S. mainland. Andrews logbooks, stolen by Markinson and sent to the defense team, show that Jessep was lying when he said there was no prior flight off the base.
These logbooks become very important in the play’s climax, when Kaffee accuses Jessep of doctoring the logbooks, showing that the tower chief’s log for Guantanamo Bay shows that “between oh-six-hundred on Thursday the 7th and oh-two-hundred on Friday the 8th, no passenger-capable flights left the base”, while the tower chief’s log for Andrews Air Force Base for the same evening (the one stolen by Markinson and forwarded to the defense team) shows that “at 9:26 p.m., 21:26, an AF-40 transport landed at Andrews with 94 empty seats, having taken off at two minutes past six p.m.” from Guantanamo Bay (Sorkin 118-119). In the film, by contrast, it is only the interaction between Kaffee and Jessep that causes Jessep to reveal the truth.
Fans of the film generally love this scene. Jessep gives his interpretation of the Marine’s duty: “We follow orders, son. We follow orders or people die. It’s that simple.” Kaffee then points out the central contradiction in Jessep’s testimony: “If you gave an order that Santiago wasn’t to be touched, and your orders are always followed, then why would Santiago be in danger? Why would it be necessary to transfer him off the base?” Jessep is caught in a Catch-22.
The dialogue that follows is the movie’s best-known:
JESSEP: You want answers?
KAFFEE: I think I’m entitled --
JESSEP: You want answers?
KAFFEE: I want the truth!
JESSEP: You can’t handle the truth!
Indeed, the moment is so memorable in cinematic terms, and Nicholson’s delivery of that last line is so forceful, that the movie suddenly, and almost irretrievably, turns against its own narrative and moral arc. It’s just so cool to look on as Jack Nicholson shouts “You can’t handle the truth!” that it’s easy for the audience to go right along with him. Perhaps it’s for that reason that if the Washington Commanders unexpectedly upset the New York Giants on some NFL Sunday, chances are that a Commanders fan will tell his Giants-fan friend, “Dude! The Commanders are a better team now! It’s the truth! And you can’t handle the truth!” Or some panelist on Morning Joe will say unflattering things about Donald Trump and will add, “Hey! Trump supporters! You can’t handle the truth!” The line has taken on a life of its own.
I don’t think that’s what author Sorkin wanted. In the play, Kaffee is in effect given an equal-time opportunity to refute Jessep’s “You can’t handle the truth!” line, and turns the Colonel’s own words against him:
You know that Kendrick ordered the Code Red on Santiago. Because that’s what you told Kendrick to do. And Kendrick follows orders. Or people die, isn’t that right, Colonel? You ordered the Code Red, and when it went bad you cut these guys loose. You had Markinson sign a phony transfer order so it’d look like you tried to move Santiago, you forged the log book so it’d look like the oh-two-hundred was the first flight out, and you told the doctor to say it was poison so it wouldn’t look like a Code Red. You trashed the law. But we understand. You’re permitted. You have a greater responsibility than we can possibly fathom. You provide us with a blanket of freedom. We live in a world that has walls, and those walls have to be guarded by men with guns, and nothing’s gonna stand in your way of doing it. Not Willy Santiago, not Dawson and Downey, not a thousand armies, not the Uniform Code of Military Justice, and not the Constitution of the United States. That’s the truth, isn’t it, Colonel? I can handle it. (Sorkin 119-20)
Considering the time and opportunity Jessep has had to set forth his credo and get thinking that he was right to order the Code Red, it is unsurprising that he admits such in open court: “I did my job. I’d do it again….I ordered the Code Red” (Sorkin 120). Jessep’s fall from power follows swiftly; and the idea that the American system, for all its imperfections, does offer the possibility for course correction by people of good will – a frequent theme in Sorkin’s work – is reinforced.
As a Washington, D.C., native, I appreciated the way in which A Few Good Men focused on the Washington Navy Yard – an oft-overlooked but vitally important part of D.C. life, and much more than a stop on the Metro subway’s Green Line. The play A Few Good Men is not going to cause the movie’s many fans to forget the movie, but the play has its own power and its own virtues. See the play live sometime, and watch for the scene when an enraged Jessep lunges at Kaffee, shouting out a particularly explicit and grotesque threat of violence. When you’re right there in the room with the actors, and you don’t have the safe distancing effect that comes with seeing movie stars Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson doing the work for which they are so well-known, the moment can be quite intense.