Shudder serves up some strange dishes sometimes, including a good bit of non-horror fare.  For a service that is ostensibly dedicated to horror, it’s always interesting when something outside of that genre pops up.

Of course, “horror” is a pretty broad category, and there is horror in many situations.  Perhaps that is the rationale for the inclusion of Southern Comfort (1981) to its slate of films.

Southern Comfort follows the foibles of a Louisiana National Guard unit on a weekend bivouac into the swamps of Cajun country.  After a truly stupid act, the weekend warriors find themselves embroiled in a guerrilla war with murderous Cajuns.

I must confess:  I watched this movie over the course of a week and while writing a bunch of blog posts and while listening to every piece of music I currently have on Apple Music.  That is not the film’s fault—it is very compelling—but because I went out of town and then had a great deal of catching up to do (I’m trying to get back ahead on the blog so I can focus on the next few weeks of work more effectively).  That said, my recollection of the film might not be the best, but I will touch upon the main points.

The film takes place in 1973, and follows nine Louisiana National Guardsmen.  One of the men is a transfer from the Texas National Guard.  Unlike the others, he is a Hank Hill-esque family man who just wants to get through the weekend and get back to his wife.  The other soldiers, however, are looking forward to shacking up with some floozies (paid prostitutes) once they get out of the swamp.  Ah, yes—military life.

The squad finds themselves at a river crossing that, according to their map, should not be there.  They find some small boats and decide to “borrow” three of the four, leaving a note to the owners explaining the situation.  As they float down the river, a group of Cajuns shout at them from the banks, upset that their boats have been purloined.  One of the men, Stuckey, fires his machine gun at the Cajuns, who understandably scatter.  Stuckey was just firing blanks, but the Cajuns don’t know that, and fire back with live ammunition.  In the process, they kill the group’s squad leader, a hardened Vietnam veteran.

The group descends into a frantic panic, capsizing a boat and losing their map.  Soon, paranoia, fear, and blame creep in, with the soldiers bickering incessantly over what to do next.  They come upon a shack with a Cajun, who they take as a prisoner.  One of the soldiers, acting on his own, makes a makeshift Molotov cocktail and torches the Cajun’s shack.  The shack contains crates full of dynamite, which explodes in fantastic fashion.

As the men descent deeper into the bayou, their unit cohesion rapidly erodes, to the point that the soldiers mutiny and even start to kill each other.  The Cajuns also play a role in the killings, until just two men are left—the straight-laced Texan and the fun-loving prostitute procurer.  While these men don’t see eye-to-eye on life outside of the military, they are the two most level-headed and competent soldiers.

The story is one that shows the risks of extreme stupidity and foolishness.  While the squad leader probably shouldn’t have “borrowed” the boats, the inexperienced and idiotic Stuckey definitely should not have opened fire on the Cajuns.  The other soldier should not have thrown a Molotov cocktail into a home full of dynamite (which the soldiers knew was there!).  The dumber soldiers start to see red as soon as their commander dies, and rather than reflecting on the stupidity of escalating a common misunderstanding into a shooting war with fellow American citizens, they double down in some grim display of misguided machismo.

The piece is clearly a metaphor for the Vietnam War, and the stupidity of the soldiers is—I hope—exaggerated.  It probably does show the shortcomings of allowing any low IQ hayseed into the armed forces, giving them a massive machine gun and turning them loose on unsuspecting natives.  There does seem to be an interesting, albeit predictable, critique of the thin line that emerges when a normal man puts on a uniform, and the sense of superiority that comes with it, especially when that superiority is unearned (I see this phenomenon with police officers all the time, I write that as someone who is very pro-law enforcement).

I will likely give Southern Comfort a second viewing at some point, when I can dedicate more attention to it.  I’d encourage readers to check it out for themselves—and without all the distractions.