Currahee (S01E01)
Airdate: September 9th 2001
Written by: Erik Jendrensen & Tom Hanks
Directed by: Phil Alden Robinson
Running Time: 70 minutes
The slide towards a potential Third World War finds a perverse accomplice in Western popular culture’s relentless reduction of history to the Second World War, and the war itself to a simplistic, morally unambiguous clash of Good versus Evil. Hollywood, as the primary architect of this collective memory, bears significant responsibility, and no figure looms larger than Steven Spielberg. His enormously influential 1990s outputs – Schindler's List (1993) and Saving Private Ryan (1998) – while lauded for their visceral power and emotional resonance, were also potent engines of this simplification. Saving Private Ryan, despite its critical and commercial triumph, faced substantial controversy; accusations of American chauvinism, historical inaccuracies (particularly regarding the German portrayal and the mission's plausibility), and the very framing of the war as a primarily American moral crusade drew pointed criticism. Spielberg, seemingly stung by these critiques or driven by a desire to transcend them, embarked on an ambitious corrective: co-producing, with Tom Hanks, the ten-part HBO miniseries Band of Brothers (2001). Positioned as a profound antidote to simplistic heroics, it promised an unflinching, authentic portrayal of the European Theatre through the eyes of ordinary soldiers. Its premiere episode, Currahee, serves as the crucible in which this ambition was first tested, laying the essential, albeit sometimes problematic, groundwork for the epic saga to follow.
Adapted from Stephen E. Ambrose’s bestselling 1992 oral history, Band of Brothers chronicles the extraordinary journey of Easy Company, 2nd Battalion, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division. Ambrose’s methodology was its defining strength: extensive, intimate interviews with surviving veterans allowed him to construct a narrative grounded not in grand strategy or political machinations, but in the visceral, personal, and often harrowing experiences of the men who fought. This focus on the "ground truth" of combat, camaraderie, fear, and loss became the miniseries' core mandate. Currahee immediately honours this approach, opening not with dramatisation, but with the weathered faces and resonant voices of the real veterans reflecting, decades later, on their motivations for enlisting after Pearl Harbor. These brief, powerful documentary segments instantly anchor the fiction in lived reality, establishing an implicit pact with the viewer: this story, however dramatised, stems from genuine memory and sacrifice. Their presence serves as both prologue and moral compass for the fictionalised ordeal about to unfold.
The episode’s narrative structure is a masterstroke of delayed gratification and character formation. It opens in medias res on the tense eve of D-Day, June 4th, 1944, in England. The men of Easy Company, keyed up and frustrated by repeated delays, anxiously await the jump into Normandy. This palpable tension, however, is deliberately unresolved. Instead, the episode flashes back two years to 1942, transporting us to the brutal proving ground of Camp Toccoa, Georgia. Here, we witness the raw material of Easy Company: a disparate group of volunteers transformed, through relentless hardship, into an elite airborne unit. This transformation is orchestrated almost solely by one man: 1st Lieutenant Herbert Sobel (David Schwimmer). Sobel is the episode's central, defining force – a petty tyrant masquerading as a disciplinarian. His weapon is the gruelling three-mile run up and down Currahee Mountain ("Three miles up, three miles down!"), a physical ordeal designed to forge endurance and unit cohesion. Yet, Sobel’s leadership is fatally flawed. His authority rests not on respect or tactical acumen, but on capricious cruelty, relentless harassment, and the invention of infractions to punish. He targets perceived threats, most notably the quietly competent 2nd Lieutenant Richard Winters (Damian Lewis), whom the enlisted men instinctively respect. Sobel’s inadequacy becomes starkly apparent during tactical field exercises, where his indecisiveness and poor judgment contrast violently with Winters’ calm effectiveness. The simmering resentment amongst the Non-Commissioned Officers (NCOs) – men like Lipton (Donnie Wahlberg), Guarnere (Frank John Hughes), and Malarkey (Scott Grimes) – boils over in England. Fearing annihilation under Sobel’s command in combat, they stage a near-mutiny, offering their stripes to Colonel Robert Sink (Dale Dye) if Sobel remains. Sink, recognising the gravity of their conviction and Sobel’s fundamental unsuitability for combat leadership, makes the pragmatic decision: Sobel is transferred to a parachute school command, replaced by Lieutenant Thomas Meehan (Jason O'Mara). The episode culminates, satisfyingly, back on June 6th, 1944, as Easy Company, liberated from Sobel’s shadow but bearing the indelible mark of his brutal training, boards the C-47s bound for Normandy.
Written by Erik Jendresen and Tom Hanks, Currahee functions remarkably effectively as an introductory chapter to a sprawling ensemble narrative. Its primary challenge – introducing dozens of characters within a coherent structure – is met by strategically focusing the dramatic conflict on the stark dichotomy between Sobel, the episode’s undeniable antagonist, and Winters, its emergent moral centre and hero. This clear framing device allows the audience a point of entry, understanding the unit’s early dynamics through the lens of this toxic leadership struggle. Simultaneously, the script deftly seeds the identities of numerous key figures who will carry the narrative forward: the stoic Lipton, the fiery Guarnere, the dependable Luz (James Madio), the earnest Compton (Neal McDonough), the quiet Hoobler (Peter Youngblood Hills), and others. It’s notable that many of these roles were filled by then-lesser-known British actors – like Lewis and Simon Pegg (1st Sgt. Evans) – whose careers would subsequently soar, lending the series an intriguing retrospective weight. The episode efficiently establishes the core themes: the brutal process of forging soldiers, the complex nature of leadership (contrasting Sobel’s petty authority with Winters’ earned respect), the nascent bonds of brotherhood formed through shared suffering, and the stark difference between training and the impending reality of combat.
The performances, necessarily constrained by the ensemble nature and introductory focus, are largely solid foundations for future development. Damian Lewis embodies Winters with a compelling quietude and innate decency, projecting an unspoken strength and competence that makes the men’s loyalty instantly believable. The supporting NCOs effectively convey the simmering resentment and weary endurance of Sobel’s regime. However, the episode unquestionably belongs to David Schwimmer. Casting the sitcom star known for the hapless Ross Geller was a bold, initially jarring, choice that pays off brilliantly. Schwimmer delivers a tour-de-force performance as Sobel, capturing the character’s profound insecurity masked by brittle, overbearing authority. His physical rigidity, nasal vocal delivery, and perpetually aggrieved expression perfectly convey a man intoxicated by petty power yet utterly devoid of the genuine leadership qualities warfare demands. He portrays not a cartoon villain, but a dangerously inept martinet whose very presence becomes an existential threat to the men he’s supposed to lead. The irony is potent: the series’ biggest star at the time, thanks to Friends, is also the first major character effectively written out, his departure before combat a crucial, if ignominious, turning point for Easy Company. Schwimmer’s portrayal ensures Sobel’s legacy, however negative, is indelibly stamped on the company and the viewer’s memory.
Currahee succeeds masterfully in its primary objectives: establishing the origin story of Easy Company, defining its core conflict through the Sobel-Winters dichotomy, introducing the key players, and immersing the viewer in the brutal, dehumanising process of becoming an elite paratrooper. While later episodes delve deeper into combat horror, individual character arcs, and the psychological toll of war, this premiere lays the essential groundwork with remarkable efficiency and dramatic power. It confronts the uncomfortable truth that the men who triumphed in Normandy and beyond were not born heroes, but forged – sometimes under the hammer of a deeply flawed leader – in places like Camp Toccoa. It sets the stage for Band of Brothers’ grand ambition: to honour the complexity, sacrifice, and enduring humanity within the vast, often oversimplified, narrative of World War Two, proving Spielberg and Hanks could deliver a vision far more nuanced than their earlier, more controversial, blockbusters. The climb up Currahee is only the beginning, but it’s a punishing, unforgettable ascent.
RATING: 8/10 (+++)
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