The Bridge on the River Kwai and the Nature of Britishness

The sweltering heat of Southeast Asia clings to the soldiers of the Imperial Japanese Army as they stand awaiting the survivors of a crippled and humiliated British battalion. The King’s men have just suffered a devastating defeat at Singapore; they will be demoralised and submissive, the perfect tools for arduous and demeaning labour. But then the mournful silence is broken—a faint sound grows louder, an unmistakable whistling, full of whimsy, heart, and fortitude. In perfect formation, and with a song in their hearts, a battalion of stiff upper lips has arrived in the camp. This is how the first scene of David Lean’s The Bridge On the River Kwai begins. Contrary to recent oikophobic grunts by the likes of Prevent, however, the film is not a chest-beating montage of the British Empire's greatest hits, nor a piece of subversive pacifistic propaganda. Rather, it is a work of delicate introspection around the philosophy of Britishness and the Englishmen who serve as its beating heart.

‘This Is War! Not a Game of Cricket!’

The camp commander, Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa), is both perplexed and enraged that the British do not see their seismic defeat at Singapore as a mark of personal shame. For Saito, an adherent to his nation's cultural ethic of Bushido, such a defeat can only be answered by seppuku (ritual suicide). The idea underlying this is that the only dignity a man has left after a dishonourable defeat is an honourable, self-inflicted end. Yet here the British stand in the courtyard, very much defeated, but very much alive—unbowed by shame.

Spitting in the face of the Geneva Convention, the Japanese order all British personnel, including officers, to start constructing a bridge across the River Kwai. What the Japanese fail to understand is that Colonel Nicholson (Alec Guinness) and his men have not been defeated; they remain defiant, and their British sense of duty compels them to continue the war in any way they can. In this barbarous, tropical hellscape—without guns and without aid—they take a stand, Colonel Nicholson asserting his formidable moral code. To be an English gentleman is to be fair, and to be fair is to abide by the rules. Thus he bluntly tells Saito, “Since you refuse to abide by the laws of the civilised world, we must consider ourselves absolved from our duty to obey you.” For his refusal, he is subjected to harrowing torture, confined to an iron box in the oppressive oriental heat.

"Not a Gang of Slaves but Soldiers. British Soldiers, Clipton; Even in Captivity."

Juxtaposing the two colonels against each other, it is a curious detail that despite the limits of Nicholson's physical freedom, it is Saito who is powerless. The British prisoners display such impudence that it causes the bridge's construction to slow to a crawl. As Saito's deadline for finishing the bridge approaches, so too does the demand of Bushido: failure must cost him his life. Saito's moral code not only oppresses him but empowers Nicholson. In an attempt to break Nicholson, Saito uses all coercive tactics available to him. But Nicholson will "not be bribed or intimidated." He explains that "it is a matter of principle"; that if "they give in, there will be no end to it" Even on the other side of the world, so far from Blighty, the British principle of sovereignty burns deep within his soul. The thing that truly affects his personal dignity is not his physical condition, but whether his will has been shattered by a foreign tyrant. At last fear of failure forces Saito to concede. With that, Nicholson does up his tunic buttons and begins to galvanise the men. He makes sure they find virtue in their work, restoring their morale and discipline as they patriotically clamber to show the Japanese how to do a 'proper job'.

To be English is to know that every second wasted lamenting one’s plight is a moment that could be used striving to improve it; to be a victim is ignoble. Being oppressed does not absolve us of our actions. We always have choices and traditionally, to be British was to aspire to choose responsibility over servility. If we wish to keep that ancestral spirit in flame, it is an ideal that we should all endeavour to live up to. Nicholson's last words to his men sum it up best:

“What you have done should be, and I think will be, an example to all our countrymen, soldiers and civilians alike. You have survived with honour—that, and more—here in the wilderness. You have turned defeat into victory. I congratulate you. Well done.”