Spike Lee’s Miracle at St. Anna carries ambition in its bones—a WWII epic focused on the Buffalo Soldiers stranded in an Italian mountain village during the waning days of the war. Based on James McBride’s novel, Lee sets the stage for a deeply felt story of brotherhood, heritage, and the human cost of conflict. The premise is rich: four Black soldiers entangled with local villagers, caught in the swirl of violence, faith, and redemption. It sounds like exactly the kind of layered drama Lee excels at, and there are moments when it absolutely lands.
Characters Carved from Grit and Grace
What keeps the lean runtime alive are the soldiers themselves—Stamps (Derek Luke), Bishop (Michael Ealy), Bigelow (Laz Alonso), and Johnson (John Magaro). Lee gives us snapshots of camaraderie, banter, and deep loyalty that ring true. Their rapport is warm enough to inspire genuine concern when darkness closes in. Meanwhile, Pierfrancesco Favino’s Captain Tannhauser, a haunted German officer wrestling with his conscience, becomes the emotional keystone of the story. His struggles—caught between guilt and duty—give the film impact, even when the rest of it splinters.
The Tuscan villagers, with their hardships and kindness, soften the edges. The relationships forged there—captured in simple gestures like shared meals and quiet conversations—remind us why these moments matter. They’re small but essential islands of humanity amid the unraveling world around them.
Visual Poetry, Emotional Uneveness
There’s no denying the film’s beauty. Rome’s rolling hills and rustic buildings are shot with reverent care, every lens pull shaped to make you feel the weight of earth and sky. Lee and cinematographer Matthew Libatique tap into visuals that shimmer with silent stories: a sun-washed battlefield, a child’s wide eyes, the shattered façade of churches and homes. Lee clearly loves this world, and it shows.
But for every lush visual, there’s an abrupt tonal swerve. A sweeping firefight might follow a moment of contemplation or prayer, and while Lee clearly wants to blur spirituality and violence, the transitions sometimes snag. The tempo jumps—from composed spiritual reflection to pulse-pounding action—without always earning the gear shift. The ebb and flow of tension occasionally leave you adrift, wanting less churn and more sustained emotional clarity.
Themes That Weigh—and Shift
Race, faith, brotherhood, guilt, sacrifice—Lee packs it all in, determined to say something about the costs of war and the resilience of the human spirit. He zigs from one weighty topic to another: the prejudice against Black soldiers, the strains of combat, even the symbolic power of faith across divides. His thematic reach is commendable—but by the time the film’s over, it feels like hopes of exploring each fully got sidelined.
I felt a stirring in the flashbacks—when personal trauma met battlefield horror. I nodded along to the soldier-villager bonds. But I also winced when Tannhauser’s awakening suddenly fades into yet another spiritual crescendo. Lee wants to give us a miracle—and we get something, but it’s rushed. When the credits roll, the miracle feels a shade undercooked.
Spike Lee’s Earliest Worlds Align
Even within its rough patches, Miracle at St. Anna underscores Lee’s creative voice long before Do the Right Thing. He builds from black experiences, puts them in a broader historical context, and wrestles with white America’s failings—not by preaching, but by presenting interlocking stories of individuals. He’s integrating human struggle with history’s harshness, a skill we see sharpened in his later films.
In St. Anna, Lee is linking faith and battlefield, seeing people as more than their roles in war. This is a director crafting sorrowful beauty, even if he’s not yet fully mastered pacing or tonal consistency. The urgency, sincerity, and courage behind the storytelling are unmistakable, even when the execution falters.
Final Word: A Noble Misstep
Miracle at St. Anna is admirable and emotional, but also messy and sprawling. Spike Lee dives into ambition with conviction, yet the weight of its themes and tonal swings undercut the emotional consistency it craves. The performances—particularly Favino’s, and the warmth of the soldier ensemble—anchor the film in honest feeling. The visuals are breathtaking. But the narrative momentum slips too often, the tonal shifts too sudden, and the depth never quite catches up to the intent.
I’m glad Spike Lee committed to this story. Miracle at St. Anna is a flawed but heartfelt experiment—one that hints at the bold filmmaker he is.