I'd be Hitler. We have the same birthday, ya know. (That certainly trumps the fact that I'm of Jewish heritage).

I'd be the wisecracking radio operator with a cigarrette permanently attached to his lip, who's proficeient with an M-1 machine gun and K-Bar. (I'm moving the action to 'Nam). WolfDaddy is the grizzled cigar-chomping Sarge who's tracking skills make you think he's part Indian. The Wino is the Booby Trap Guy. Hugh is the interrogator who can break down a prisoner in under an hour. Eideteker is the Artillery genius who can hit a quarter of a fencepost at 100 yards while smoking a joint and getting a hummer.

*puts on Boonie Hat, fires up fattie, cranks 'Purple Haze'*

(I've been rereading Dispatches. can ya tell?)

One of the Andrews Sisters.

explosives.

I'd be in the Philippines and would be the soldier that all the island girls like.

Or, the equivalent for the Western Front, like that kid from The Guns of Navarone.

The lovable but clumsy nurse.

yous a mushroom cloud layin' motherfucker, motherfucker!

I'd be a spy.

Fighter pilot. You guys choose my callsign.

I forgot to mention, the boys in my unit. We ain't soldiers. We're Marines.

Another one of the Andrews Sisters.

I'm the Filipino gal who wins the heart of the boy all the island girls like, whose heart is torn because her childhood friend has turned traitor and is aiding the Japanese, and her new American friend is starting to win her over as well.

I'd be the mushroom-crazed POW who runs out of the jungle at the end of the movie to ask the squad what year it is.

*drops acid, puts on camo greasepaint, gazes lovingly at illumination rounds*

when my mum was in the navy her call sign was delta mike. You can have that if you like, mike9322.

I'd be in the French Resistance : >

We're in Nam, amberglow. You get to be Marlon Brando doing his Emporer Jones number out in the jungle. And you'll like it.

I'm in WWII Europe, amberglow, you can play French Resistance with me.

"I can see. I can see perfectly."

"Delta Mike" it is, gaspode. That's a weird callsign for a lady :)

I love the smell of pancakes in the morning. Heh.

delta mike was her initials :)

I love the smell of pancakes in the morning.

*arrives with waxed board*

CHARLIE DON'T SURF!

I'd never have gone to Vietnam. In WWII I probably would have been a damn good fighter, guilt-ridden and neurotic about it, and would have covered it all up with constant pranks and wisecracks and as much alcohol as I could get. I would've come home, but come home a mess, plagued by survivor's syndrome and self-loathing.

I guess I'm lucky I never went to war.

I would be working with the codebreakers at Bletchley Park.

duh. *smack*

I'd never have gone to Vietnam.

That's what we all think we our 20/20 hindsight. It's what I used to think. But ever Vietnam Vet I know, and I know my share says that it's hard to judge from today's vantage point. No offense.

Lazy Gold Brick always snufflin' around the nurses and WACs and brewing hooch in the jungle. Basically the worst parts of everyone in From Here to Eternity (which if you are a WW2 buff, or a fan of brilliant writing, you should read. James Jones is the shit)

In the European theatre I'd totally be the guy who upon busting in Hitler's vacation chalet has a bejwelled goblet filled with 200 year old Napolean brandy within a minute and accidentally opens up the secret passage to the porno room when he puts a Wagner record on the phonograph.

I would never have gone to Vietnam, even then, no offense.

Ack. Silly argument to rehash, anyway.

/cranks 'Born In The USA'
/son of Vietnam Veteran, friend of others.

Who would I want to be? On the ground commander of a British Special Ops drity tricks Squad: "Captain Capn, we need your men to build an entire fake town 10 miles up the coast that will fool the luftwaffe from the air in 24 hours" "Sir yes sir!"

Who would I be? Just a grunt with too many wisecracks and a bad habit of diving in to the fray to save a pinned down commrade that's going to get me killed one day.

Amberglow, I wanted to be the sultry and hard-as-nails French Resistance chick. Can I be in your cell? (I'm seeing you as a kind of cross between Claude Rains and a more handsome Jean Reno.)

It is silly Jon, but having philosophical differences with the war doesn't always imply judgement of vets of any war. I have friends who are vets of both Iraq dealies and friends who are serving now.

Now go steal us a jeep and I'll requesition some Old Grandad and frozen lobster tails and we'll have us a little party down to the motor pool..

You need to read from here to eternity bro, I'ma bring it for you.

matildaben, can my squad recruit you for a wacky scheme to broadcast a fake BBC report to feed ze nazis bad information?

It is silly Jon, but having philosophical differences with the war doesn't always imply judgement of vets of any war. I have friends who are vets of both Iraq dealies and friends who are serving now.

Agreed. I just bristle at it sometimes. And FWIW, my Dad said to me as a young man that he never saw the sense in the war he served in, as have other vets I've known.

You need to read from here to eternity bro, I'ma bring it for you.

Cool. I'll loan you my copy of Dispatches.

Also, Ron Kovic is one of my personal heros, and many of the Vets I've met, I met at protests. I think it'll be a long, long time before we escape that war's legacy.

If there is such a thing as a more handsome Jean Reno, I don't think my heart can take it. I don't want to know.

I'd be that guy in the squad that never has any lines but is in every group shot.

If you lend me a copy of dispatches then I'll have two of them.

I'd be a USO entertainer.

I'd be Leo Trepper in the Red Orchestra.

Oh, well, you have any Tim Sandlin? If not then you're getting some.

* sends taz stolen weather ship codes *

Did they have 4F in WWII? 'cause I'd be 4F.

You would've wound up working in a defense plant.

The field-hospital nurse, whose illusions of a perfect world have been shattered by ministering to too many wounded and dying young men. Still, she's stronger for it, and relying on inner tenaciousness, an indomitable spirit, and heartfelt belief in the cause for which her first love died, she keeps her eyes forward and head clear, knowing there is a job to be done.

She meets the men of the Bunny Brigade at the canteen on a quiet night, when the distant explosions are heard more rarely than usual. It’s as though the world is holding its breath, knowing what is to come. After a night of carousing, dancing, and reminiscing about the way things were back home, she bravely agrees to assist the Brigade by crossing enemy lines to receive a message from the local resistance, using her medical status as a cover.

At sunrise she leaves the hospital, making her way through the rubble of the ruined village to the checkpoint. Pleading a humanitarian cause to the skeptical guards, she points out that local civilian wounded in the occupied territory are suffering from lack of supplies – their own people. The hard-bitten chief officer raises a skeptical eyebrow, but, swayed by her emotional appeal, agrees to escort her to the town hospital, keeping her walking in front all the way, rifle held loosely at his side, cigarette nearly dropping from his lips.

At the hospital, she is shown to the office of the mild bespectacled doctor -- who, unbeknownst to the enemy soldier, is a leader in the resistance. She makes her case for mutual aid, and the doctor sets the nuns to busily stocking baskets with clean bandages, salves, and chloroform. As supplies are gathered, the doctor makes her a cup of tea and they talk in coded language about the ravages of war, under the soldier’s suspicious eye.

When it is time for them to part, she meets the doctor’s eyes and reaches to shake his hand. He adds one last roll of bandages to the overflowing basket before turning to show her out.

Once back through the checkpoint and safely within the occupied territory, hides herself from view in the corner of a ruined building. Dust and plaster fall from the ceiling through the streams of sunlight as she nervously unrolls the last bandage, given by the doctor. There it is: drawn on the inside of the long strip of linen, a faint but visible map showing tonight's enemy movements: troop positions, supply lines, locations of land mines, and their plan for taking out the bridge.

Dropping the basket, she runs back to the Bunny Brigade communications tent at top speed, bursting in with the streamer of linen flying from her hand. The guys give a cheer, pick her up and swing her 'round, and pour her a shot of rotgut.

[Exterior – Twilight]

Later, as night falls, I'm one of the ones watching teary-eyed as you all gather your gear and prepare for your mission, making meaningful eye contact with whichever one of you it was who convinced me to undertake this dangerous caper in the service of your cause. I may see you again, I may not; I know enough of war not to expect you all to make it back. But I believe that no matter what the loss, you will be successful, and am proud I could play one small part in one small battle that is one step toward winning back the world. Come back safe, boys.

speechless, miko. wow.

As you can see, OmieWise activated my passion for my favorite film era. I'm a huge 30s/40s cinema geek, and I love war stories.

*sniff*

*charges into fray a la Audie Murphy*

Ice Cream Soldier.

I'm the bookish guy in the Bunny Brigade who, infatuated with Miko and her daring, tells my best buddy that when we get back from our mission, I'm going to ask Miko out. My buddy laughs and says that it's about time.

Slightly out of position, I stumble upon an unsuspected enemy bunker. Caught by surprise, I stare dumbfounded as machine-gun bullets rip through my chest. I fall to the ground without a word, already dead.

kmellis -- you don't even get carried on a stretcher back to the field hospital to share your last words with me?

God, war is hell.

Casablanca (2007) Directed by carmina
Working title (Casablanca, or how it should be)

Complete credited cast:
Rick Blaine .... jonmc (someone got to do it)
Ilsa Lund .... gaspode (I think she is perfect, don't ya?)
Victor Laszlo .... rainbaby/hugh janus/omiewise
Capt. Renault .... divine_wino (the beginning of a great friendship)
Maj. Strasser .... PinkSuperHero (c'mon Hitler is worse!)
Signor Ferrari .... shane/matteo italiano?
Ugarte .... Eideteker/sisterhavana
Yvonne .... taz/matildaben
Sam .... amberglow no piano lessons needed, just good acting
Annina Brandel .... trishalynn/Miko/mike9322

Plot:
...blah...blah... She does NOT get on the fucking plane. THE END.

Sgt. Schultz at Stalag 13.
And not particularly proud of it.

I stick my neck out for nobody, carmina.

Which one was Annina? It's been so long since I've seen that movie. And woot! I get to share costumes with mike and Miko! Maybe I should change my namem to TrishaMike....

carmina: I LOVE it. I suggest that 'recasting the classics with MeChaZens' would be an excellent thread meme, any time.

Trishababy, check this and this, to remind you...

mike9322, duh!

pssst..Miko...

ok--our cell's growing nicely--now we need to recruit some of you USO entertainers and an Andrew Sister or 2--to pass messages back and forth in song lyrics, and we need a Marlene Dietrich type and some whores--both sexes--to get info out of the Nazis during pillowtalk, and we're all set. And we need some office cleaners in the Nazi officer buildings to bring us trash and papers and stuff. We also need to start the printing presses up to fake id papers--who's good at that? : >

oh, jon--even when my brothers and i were little, my mother would always say she would move us all to Canada, if it was still going on when we turned 18. It went on for almost our entire childhood--we grew up knowing we wouldn't ever go.

I LOVE being in a WWII movie with you guys!

I'd be that guy in the squad that never has any lines but is in every group shot.

And you're totally recruited for our cell too--as a liaison, tommasz--you guys are perfect for slipping in and out of places unnoticed. : >

The only thing about the Viet Nam era: The social and family pressures on people were completely different. My dad went, and my dad today is a pacifist who was ready to take us to Canada during Gulf War I, because my brother was of draft age. However, when he was 18 in 1967, his father and uncles (who had all served in WWII) were pretty strongly of the opinion that when your country calls, you go. My father didn't have a lot of ideas in his head about fighting communism; he just loved and respected his family, felt good about his country, and thought this would be the right thing to do. It also bothered him that people he knew were fighting and sacrificing, while he was comfortably in college. So he dropped out and enlisted.

This is kind of why we can't apply today's thinking to that of the Viet Nam era. Pacifism and anti-war activism were at nowhere near the level of acceptance that they are today.

I'd be the war reporter, letting all the folks at home whose fathers, sons, brothers and husbands know that their loved ones are fighting the good fight and really sticking it to those Nazis. We'll have'em home by Christmas, little Katie.

Amberglow, are you sure you aren't just a little bit in love with that sweet innocent young boy whore, and you pine for him when he's off on his missions?

me3dia, why didn't you get drafted? Flat feet? Bad heart valve? Pitiful eyesight?

carmina -- yaay!

*gets into Ilsa character*

*stares at gaspode through fog of cigarette smoke*

I think I'd be rainbaby's counteragent. But I don't know how you knew I'm an excellent marksman, jon. If I can't be a spy, I'd be a killer sniper. And carmina, I do an excellent Peter Lorre (or I used to). How'd you know?

But I think I'd be the spy who macks on the ladies but is good at heart. Still ruthless as a motherfucker, though. Think Timothy Dalton's Bond. Funny as hell. "Nothing to declare!" *throws wimpdork's cello (fine, viola!) in the air and catches it*

I'd have just a pinch of Yojimbo, because I always enjoy playing both sides against each other. (In third grade, I was an undercover girl agent in the girls vs. boys war. I had a thing for the girl second-in-command, what can I say? Always about the ladies.)

nah, matilda--i'm myself secretly having an affair with officers on both sides--a Brit and a Nazi. ; o

You like uniforms, huh?

I'm the disagreeable yank whose crew thinks he's traitorous and is therefore always under suspicion and at the end of the movie is nearly done in by his squad. As he's just about to be shot by the troops he's labored alongside and learned to appreciate in his own quiet way, it is revealed* that he was indeed a "double agent" as they had suspected but working for the Brits (at the direction of the US Government and due to a longstanding family committment you'll have to talk to the Queen about); and that he possesses secret knowledge that will help the squad vanquish the enemy in his own lair. Woo!

*All this is revealed by another triple agent who will post here shortly.

ok, why did i have to post here?

umm
shhhhh!
"The war's not over."
"The war's never over."

You're a hostage, eth. You must post here.

As much as I would love to in this case, I can't go against my own admonition. Don't be Jürgen Prochnow.

"Never.
Name.
Rank.
Cereal Number.
Call Grape Nuts."

Oops, the origin of that phrase revealed. (I won't make you kids wait four years like I did my lj audience.)

thanks to eide, i no longer feel compelled to say things that might as well stay hidden.
Thank eide, peoples.

Hooker with a heart of gold!

But if we're sticking with Casablanca, I want to be the chick who defiantly sings the French national anthem. That part always chokes me up.

typecasting!
i've said too much.

Can I play?

I want to be the unmarried tough-talking tweed-suit wearing lady journalist/reporter of a certain age whose plain and business-like exterior hides a painful and complicated secret from her past as well as a deeply sentimental streak for "my boys". I carry chocolate and brandy in my bag, along with my notes for the articles I dispatch back regularly to the New York Times' London bureau, the novel I am secretly writing, and a pair of socks which I have been knitting for months but never get a chance to finish, because war waits for no one, and the story has to get out there.

"We can't let the story get out, doll.
The boys aren't ready."

Miko wins, hands down.

I have to say that if we're going to have to go to Vietnam, I picture matildaben as the girlfriend who comes to visit in The Things They Carried and then joins the Green Berets. Badass.