The movie M*A*S*H inspired a television series of the same name that aired consistently as a top-rated show for 11 seasons (1972 – 1983). The movie and the TV show, however, are very different experiments in storytelling. My 2025 journey to see all of Robert Altman’s films continues as I review M*A*S*H, the original movie released in 1970.
M*A*S*H is an acronym for Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, a temporary medical station intended to treat soldiers injured on the frontlines of war. These stations were typically located within a few miles of battle areas, stocked with whatever supplies were available, and staffed with a minimum of medical professionals attempting to treat severely injured people as best as humanly possible.
As someone who grew up watching nearly every episode of the critically acclaimed TV series, it's difficult to comment on the movie without comparing it to its televised offspring. Let me start off with what I found to be the biggest and most important difference. In the TV series, we knew who all the main characters were. We knew if they were married, if they had children and spouses, where they were from back in the U.S., their hobbies and interests, and various obstacles they may have overcome before being stationed in the MASH unit. This is not the case with the movie. In the film, we know nothing about who the primary characters were before being assigned to the MASH unit, and we know nothing about who they will go on to be after they depart the temporary hospital. The movie is not concerned with characters or character development. The movie's desire is to expose the way that human beings cope with being forced to get through the boredom and monotony of the squallered and dangerous conditions that the MASH unit places them in.
Unlike its TV counterpart, the movie has three central characters rather than two. Hawkeye Pierce (Donald Southerland), Trapper John (Elliott Gould), and Duke Forrest (Tom Skerritt). We follow their antics through multiple episodes of interactions with other characters. Much like Altman’s later film Nashville, M*A*S*H embraces a slice-of-life approach, where the messiness, noise, and randomness of daily existence take precedence over tidy plotlines or any clear resolution. This type of story is ideal for Altman's overlapping, chaotic dialogue, where multiple conversations compete in the same frame, largely the result of Altman’s encouragement of improvisation. It creates a disorientation that mirrors the atmosphere of the camp itself: busy, distracted, and on the edge of disorder. There’s a deliberate informality to everything, from camera movements to conversations.
While the film supposedly takes place during the Korean War (1950 to 1953), there is no question whatsoever that the film is meant to be a statement on the Vietnam War, which the U.S. was involved in during the filming and release of this movie. Everything that takes place on screen is reflective of the era this film was made, not the 1950s. Speaking of the era, the film reflects a 1960s/70s counterculture attitude that is both progressive and problematic. Women are largely objectified, the one main African-American character has a nickname that is recognized by today's standards as a racial slur, and one soldier who on one occasion is unable to get an erection, leaps to the bizarre conclusion that he must be a "latent" homosexual, and thus he has no value and sees suicide as his only option. This is all quite cringe by today's standards, but certainly reflective of the era in which the film was made.
Altman balances a superb tightrope of being able to treat war very seriously (many of the operating room scenes are much more graphic than those seen on the TV series) while simultaneously denying that seriousness to the U.S. military structure. Authority figures are mockable, the chain of command is a source of ridicule, and rules are broken with little consequence. The only two military personnel who try to see their tour of duty as something serious and important are continually ridiculed and subjected to humiliating embarrassment. Frank Burns (Robert Duvall) is a religiously pious hypocrite, and Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan (Sally Kellerman) is so devoted to her duties that she is incapable of forming any real connections with the people around her.
Kellerman was deservedly nominated for an Oscar for her performance in M*A*S*H, and two of her scenes stand out as some of the film’s finest moments. In one, after being cruelly humiliated during a shower, she storms into Captain Blake’s tent and unleashes a tightly wound tirade cataloging every indignity she’s suffered since arriving at the unit. Blake, hilariously unfazed and lounging in bed with one of the camp's nurses, listens with calm detachment, highlighting the absurdity of the situation. In another memorable moment, Houlihan, desperate to fit in, volunteers as a cheerleader during a football game. But her complete ignorance of the sport quickly becomes apparent, and when Blake publicly mocks her, it only deepens her isolation. Poor Margaret—so eager to belong, yet constantly betrayed by her own rigidity.
M*A*S*H* is audacious, disheveled, and sometimes mean. Altman's stance is clear: war may be unavoidable, but the military bureaucracy is absurd, inefficient, and worthy of derision. The movie is not always comfortable or fair, but it is rarely dull. The loosely structured story is full of sharp edges and the uneasy laughing of people trying to survive a nightmare by poking fun of everything around them. The final story episode (the previously mentioned football game), while funny, was a little lacking in gravitas, so the film doesn't end with quite the same punch as it was fully capable of. Overall, I found this to be a great story and movie, worthy of the acclaim it is afforded, and historically significant for cementing Altman's unpolished style. A solid A-minus.
As someone who grew up watching nearly every episode of the critically acclaimed TV series, it's difficult to comment on the movie without comparing it to its televised offspring. Let me start off with what I found to be the biggest and most important difference. In the TV series, we knew who all the main characters were. We knew if they were married, if they had children and spouses, where they were from back in the U.S., their hobbies and interests, and various obstacles they may have overcome before being stationed in the MASH unit. This is not the case with the movie. In the film, we know nothing about who the primary characters were before being assigned to the MASH unit, and we know nothing about who they will go on to be after they depart the temporary hospital. The movie is not concerned with characters or character development. The movie's desire is to expose the way that human beings cope with being forced to get through the boredom and monotony of the squallered and dangerous conditions that the MASH unit places them in.
Unlike its TV counterpart, the movie has three central characters rather than two. Hawkeye Pierce (Donald Southerland), Trapper John (Elliott Gould), and Duke Forrest (Tom Skerritt). We follow their antics through multiple episodes of interactions with other characters. Much like Altman’s later film Nashville, M*A*S*H embraces a slice-of-life approach, where the messiness, noise, and randomness of daily existence take precedence over tidy plotlines or any clear resolution. This type of story is ideal for Altman's overlapping, chaotic dialogue, where multiple conversations compete in the same frame, largely the result of Altman’s encouragement of improvisation. It creates a disorientation that mirrors the atmosphere of the camp itself: busy, distracted, and on the edge of disorder. There’s a deliberate informality to everything, from camera movements to conversations.
While the film supposedly takes place during the Korean War (1950 to 1953), there is no question whatsoever that the film is meant to be a statement on the Vietnam War, which the U.S. was involved in during the filming and release of this movie. Everything that takes place on screen is reflective of the era this film was made, not the 1950s. Speaking of the era, the film reflects a 1960s/70s counterculture attitude that is both progressive and problematic. Women are largely objectified, the one main African-American character has a nickname that is recognized by today's standards as a racial slur, and one soldier who on one occasion is unable to get an erection, leaps to the bizarre conclusion that he must be a "latent" homosexual, and thus he has no value and sees suicide as his only option. This is all quite cringe by today's standards, but certainly reflective of the era in which the film was made.
Altman balances a superb tightrope of being able to treat war very seriously (many of the operating room scenes are much more graphic than those seen on the TV series) while simultaneously denying that seriousness to the U.S. military structure. Authority figures are mockable, the chain of command is a source of ridicule, and rules are broken with little consequence. The only two military personnel who try to see their tour of duty as something serious and important are continually ridiculed and subjected to humiliating embarrassment. Frank Burns (Robert Duvall) is a religiously pious hypocrite, and Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan (Sally Kellerman) is so devoted to her duties that she is incapable of forming any real connections with the people around her.
Kellerman was deservedly nominated for an Oscar for her performance in M*A*S*H, and two of her scenes stand out as some of the film’s finest moments. In one, after being cruelly humiliated during a shower, she storms into Captain Blake’s tent and unleashes a tightly wound tirade cataloging every indignity she’s suffered since arriving at the unit. Blake, hilariously unfazed and lounging in bed with one of the camp's nurses, listens with calm detachment, highlighting the absurdity of the situation. In another memorable moment, Houlihan, desperate to fit in, volunteers as a cheerleader during a football game. But her complete ignorance of the sport quickly becomes apparent, and when Blake publicly mocks her, it only deepens her isolation. Poor Margaret—so eager to belong, yet constantly betrayed by her own rigidity.
M*A*S*H* is audacious, disheveled, and sometimes mean. Altman's stance is clear: war may be unavoidable, but the military bureaucracy is absurd, inefficient, and worthy of derision. The movie is not always comfortable or fair, but it is rarely dull. The loosely structured story is full of sharp edges and the uneasy laughing of people trying to survive a nightmare by poking fun of everything around them. The final story episode (the previously mentioned football game), while funny, was a little lacking in gravitas, so the film doesn't end with quite the same punch as it was fully capable of. Overall, I found this to be a great story and movie, worthy of the acclaim it is afforded, and historically significant for cementing Altman's unpolished style. A solid A-minus.
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