The bridge over the River Kwai still stands, and one can ride an old narrow-gauge railroad train over it, on a scenic journey through some beautiful Thai countryside near the town of Kanchanaburi. Yet the modern metal bridge that takes one across the Kwai has nothing to do with the wooden bridge that is the subject of The Bridge Over the River Kwai (1952). Pierre Boulle’s incisive and thoughtful anti-war novel may be better-known today for having inspired David Lean’s Oscar-winning 1957 film The Bridge on the River Kwai; but the novel has its own virtues that deserve and reward the reader’s attention.
Novelist Boulle, a Frenchman from Avignon, wrote about 20 well-regarded novels over the course of his career, but two of those novels are particularly well-known today because of cinematic adaptations. Boulle’s 1963 novel La Planète des Singes, a Swiftian satire set in a world where sentient apes rule and non-sentient humans are treated as lower animals, inspired the Planet of the Apes media franchise, with (to date) ten films, two television series, and enough action figures to stock every Toys “R” Us store ever constructed. And Boulle’s two years of World War II experience as a Free French prisoner, consigned to forced labour by Imperial Japanese forces, nourished the writing of Le Pont de la rivière Kwaï.
As the novel begins, one Major Clipton, a British medical officer, meditates that “‘saving face’ was perhaps as vitally important to the British as it was to the Japanese”, and concludes on that basis that “The insuperable gap between East and West that exists in some eyes is perhaps nothing more than an optical illusion” (p. 3). The immediate impetus for Major Clipton’s reflections is a war of wills between Colonel Nicholson, the leader of a British unit taken prisoner during the campaigning around Malaya and Singapore, and Colonel Saito, the commandant of the Japanese prisoner-of-war camp where Nicholson and his men are being held.
The conflict between Nicholson and Saito stems from the fact that Nicholson, in accordance with the Geneva Convention, refuses to order his officers to work alongside the enlisted men in the building of a railroad bridge over the River Kwai. Saito observes that officers are performing manual labour everywhere else along the Burma Railway, and applies physical and psychological force to try to break Nicholson to his will. Nicholson is just as determined not to be broken.
Once that conflict between Nicholson and Saito has been (after a fashion) resolved, Nicholson’s dedication to duty takes a surprising turn. The proposed bridge over the River Kwai is a vital link in Imperial Japan’s proposed Burma Railway, and Nicholson makes clear his determination, using the engineering expertise of his subordinate officers, to build a better railway than the Japanese could ever have done! For Nicholson, the letter of the law always trumps its spirit. One of the many virtues of Lean’s film adaptation is Alec Guinness’s brilliant portrayal of Colonel Nicholson. In Guinness’s interpretation of the role, Nicholson is almost robotic; once he has determined what his vision of “military discipline” dictates, he carries out that program with the undeviating, unthinking precision of a machine.
Throughout the novel, Boulle goes back and forth between (1) the experiences of the British prisoners and their Japanese guards as work on the Kwai River bridge goes forward, and (2) the plans of a British commando unit, Force 316, to destroy the bridge. The Calcutta-based commander of the unit, Commander Green, chooses, as the leader of the mission, Major Shears, “an ex-cavalry officer who had been transferred to Force 316…and was, in fact, one of its founder members” (p. 54).
Here, the fan of Lean’s film can start to see some of the differences between the movie and its novelistic source material. In the film, Shears (as played by William Holden) is an American sailor who managed to escape from the camp, and who reluctantly accepts recruitment by Force 316 for the operation against the Kwai River bridge. In the novel, by contrast, Shears is a Briton – a founder of the unit, and an enthusiastic believer in the Kwai bridge mission.
No doubt filmmaker Lean made these changes, at least in part, to improve the film’s box-office prospects in the U.S.A. – actor Holden was at the peak of his stardom, and had, in films like Sunset Boulevard (1950) and Stalag 17 (1953), made a name for himself playing rather scoundrelly antiheroes who eventually come round to doing the right thing.
Holden’s Major Shears, throughout the film, offers frequent commentary about the absurdity of the commandoes’ mission; Boulle’s Major Shears, in the novel, demonstrates that absurdity through his routine acceptance of commands that the reader is likely to find ridiculous.
In both book and film, Shears and his fellow commandoes are told that it is best for them to parachute into enemy country without having carried out practice jumps, as the likelihood of injury during a practice jump is prohibitively high. Holden’s Shears asks, in a deadpan manner, whether he should conduct the actual jump “with or without a parachute”. Boulle’s Shears, by contrast, takes it all in stride, saying to Green that “One of the great advantages of the modern army, sir…is that there are experts to solve all the problems for us. It’s no good thinking that we know better than them” (p. 57). The easy way in which Shears resigns himself, against all common sense, to the opinion of an “expert,” is as much an indictment of the military mindset as is Nicholson’s inflexible dedication to his vision of “discipline.”
Shears’s fellow commandoes include Warden, an academic whose knowledge of Asian languages will help the unit with their manoeuvres behind enemy lines, as well as Joyce, a young soldier who wins the reader’s sympathy through his frequent (though unspoken) expressions of self-doubt regarding whether he can really conduct the brutal work of hand-to-hand combat, should the situation require it.
In real life, the Kwai River bridge was destroyed by an R.A.F. aerial attack, the way many bridges were wrecked during the Second World War. Here, however, Shears goes into some detail regarding his sense of why it is essential that the Kwai River bridge be destroyed by commandoes, not by aerial bombardment:
“This isn’t a job for the R.A.F.,” Shears had observed. “It’s not easy to destroy a wooden bridge from the air. If the bombs find their mark, only two or three arches are damaged. The rest are just knocked about a bit….Whereas we can not only blow the whole thing sky-high and shatter the piles at water level, but also time the explosion for when a train is actually crossing the bridge. Then the whole convoy’ll come crashing down into the river, increasing the damage and putting every beam out of action. I’ve seen it happen before. Traffic was held up for weeks. And that was in a civilized part of the world where the enemy was able to bring up cranes. Here, they’ll have to detour in the line and build the bridge all over again – not to mention the loss of a train and its load of war material. What a show! I can just see it…” (p. 104)
Indeed, “all three could imagine what a show it would be” (p. 104); and Joyce even says to Shears at one point that “I only hope the Air Force chaps won’t have a go at it, sir, before we do” (p. 105). Joyce gets quite caught up in the vision, to the point that Warden once says to Shears that “I’ve never seen anyone quite so keen on the idea of destroying a bridge. I’m beginning to think, Shears, that Force 316 is a heaven-sent opportunity for men like that. If it didn’t exist, we’d have had to invent it” (p. 157).
In these passages, the commandoes sound partly like boys playing war, partly like movie producers imagining a spectacular explosive climax for a cinematic spectacle. Boulle shows the makers of war constantly hiding the ugly reality of war behind one rhetorical trope or another – the importance of discipline (or of saving face), the chance of putting on a brilliant show.
And at the same time, there is dramatic irony, and foreshadowing, in Shears’s worried observation of what he’s hearing from Thai civilian observers regarding the progress of the Kwai River bridge: “If what our chaps say is true, it’s a second George Washington Bridge they’re building. They’re trying to compete with the Yanks!” (p. 106). The determination of Shears, Warden, and Joyce to destroy the Kwai River bridge via a spectacular show is going to run up against Nicholson’s determination to build a Kwai River bridge so strong that it will last for centuries.
Much goes wrong, of course; and the final resolution of the Kwai River bridge campaign has a decidedly bitter quality to it – even more so than the manner in which Lean finishes off his great film. The reader is likely to be horrified by the context in which Warden tells Colonel Green that “I took the only line of conduct possible. It was really the only proper action I could have taken” (p. 207).
Today, a Buddhist temple of peace occupies the place where the Imperial Japanese prisoner-of-war camp once overlooked the Kwai. The JEATH War Museum in Kanchanaburi makes clear that the real-life experience of the Allied prisoners working on the bridge was much worse than anything shown in Lean’s film. And the nearby Kanchanaburi War Cemetery contains 6,982 graves of British, Dutch, and Australian POW’s who died in Imperial Japanese custody. One feels that history most acutely whilst visiting Kanchanaburi; and Pierre Boulle’s novel about that time and place, like David Lean’s film, makes that part of World War II history a locus for some seriously disturbing reflections regarding the mindset of war-making generally. What is war, after all? Let the film’s Major Clipton (well-played by the great British character actor James Donald) have the last words here: “Madness! Madness!”