My grandfather fought in the trenches in WWI. One day, when he was 86, I sat next to him on the couch in the sun room. He recounted the story of his friend’s head getting blown off in front of his eyes when he stuck his head above the trench. The horror, the terror, was palpable. He wasn’t even talking to me, it was like he was dropping a weight he had carried for over sixty years, a weight he couldn’t bare anymore. A few months later, he passed away.

Only through dumb luck am I he today to write this. And the title picture you’ve chosen? It says it all, although I expect the entire film managed to repeat the same message in further gruesome ways.

I see a face every day that could be that face. My eighteen year old son.

No good ever comes of war.