Product Description

On January 1, 1968, Barbara Sonneborn’s husband, Jeff Gurvitz, left to fight in Vietnam. Eight weeks later, on February 29, 1968, he crawled out of a foxhole during a mortar attack to rescue his radio operator and was killed. Sonneborn learned of her hu

Product Details

• Amazon Sales Rank: #58354 in DVD
• Brand: New Video
• Released on: 2000-05-02
• Rating: NR (Not Rated)
• Aspect ratio: 1.33:1
• Formats: Color, DVD, NTSC
• Original language: English
• Number of discs: 1
• Running time: 72 minutes

Amazon.com essential video
This beautiful, shattering documentary by photographer Barbara Sonneborn began production in 1992 but was spiritually born in 1968 with the death of her husband and high school sweetheart, Jeff Gurvitz. Eight weeks into his tour of duty in Vietnam, Gurvitz was killed during a mortar attack at Khe Sanh while attempting to rescue a comrade. A tape-recorded letter he had just sent to his wife appeared in Sonneborn's mailbox some time after his awful sacrifice. Sonnenborn put it away and did not listen to it until her decision to make this film, which concerns the losses and agonies endured by women on both sides of America's disastrous military campaign in Southeast Asia. Mixing archival combat footage and striking new cinematography highlighting Vietnam's green splendor, Sonneborn bridges the past and present. She visits the scene of her husband's death and interviews a number of Vietnamese women nearly broken by grief over horrendous family loss and personal suffering: forced prostitution, torture, the abandonment of wounded loved ones. Back in the U.S., Sonneborn turns to other widows of American soldiers lost in the war and hears their stories, as well as those of other women who reveal the prolonged, terminal misery of men exposed to Agent Orange. The film's anguish is palpable yet effectively subdued, the better to let its delicate workings evoke a deep reaction from its viewers. --Tom Keogh

From The New Yorker
Barbara Sonnenborn's personal, haunting documentary concerning her journey to Vietnam on the twentieth anniversary of her husband's death is a deeply affecting look at the widows that the war left behind on both sides. Sonnenborn intercuts her frank interviews with horrific war footage and her own husband's voice (he sent her a tape that she received only after his death). Beautifully photographed, with an elegiac Vietnamese soundtrack, at times the film approaches a poetry that few documentaries of this kind have managed to achieve. -Bruce Diones
Copyright © 2006 The New Yorker