ambodia is often viewed as a paradise to Americans, but with the war in neighboring Vietnam, fighting soon spreads to the neutral territory. In 1973, Sydney Schanberg (Sam Waterston), a foreign correspondent for The New York Times, heads to the Southeast Asian realm to document the conflict between Khmer Rouge guerrillas and government forces, where he meets his guide and interpreter Dith Pran (Dr. Haing S. Ngor) – a man who will change his life forever. But first, he runs across associate and photographer Al Rockoff (John Malkovich), who certainly doesn’t impress him.

Immediately after arriving at his hotel, Sydney is intent on getting to work. He isn’t interested in dawdling. And as luck would have it, he’s thrust into the middle of the mayhem without delay, as a bombing occurs next to the cafe near his hotel. But reporting on the United States military and its movements and missions will be complicated; the commanders are incredibly tight-lipped (and the decisions will prove to be hasty and thoughtless). Fellow press members are easier to wheedle information from, however, which enables the newspaperman to steadily craft his piece, uncovering the chaos and catastrophes taking place in the war-torn country that he grows to love and pity. “This is a big story! A major story!”

Perhaps more than anything else, the introductory sequences of “The Killing Fields” are eye-opening and educational, revealing the violent, disturbing controversies of the struggle and the humanitarian crises created during a period when the U.S. government generally ignored or sanitized the conditions on the ground (or kept a good deal completely secret). Initially, Schanberg is belligerent, defiant, and unprepared for how brittle the politics are, and how dangerous the military deficiencies are; but as the years pass, with regular hostilities wreaking havoc on the land, the people, and any hope for a resolution, he begins to understand the scope of the devastation. He’s largely unsympathetic and disagreeable at the start, even just in the ways he communicates with others; but as his relationships develops with Dith and other locals, his compassion and empathy slowly become evident. “How many killed? How many wounded?”

Unfolding with documentary-like details, the film regularly dwells on striking imagery (including scenery, casualties, executions, abandoned children, and the appalling realization of how young many of the soldiers are) more than a distinct progression of a cinematic plot. Oddly, the score by Mike Oldfield, featuring what is probably authentic instruments and motifs from the region, is largely unfitting, adding a chirpy, poppy, xylophonic accompaniment to what should have been harsher, more dramatic orchestral music (or choral songs, which thankfully arrive to amplify the poignancy of persecution and desperation). It tends to remove viewers from the severity and horrors of the actions taking place, reminding them that they’re merely watching a movie. At one point, when Sydney and his colleagues are captured at gunpoint, with tempers high, patiences waning, and untranslated shouting matches ongoing, the melodies are comically insincere. Fortunately, once they disappear, it’s easier to get wrapped up in the tension and uncertainty.

Nevertheless, the brutalities and unpredictable, ever-changing leadership conditions (and power vacuums or rivalries) keep things hair-raising and taut; the sudden possibilities for additional bloodshed and for the central press members to encounter ruin are considerable. Without rank or influence, the team of journalists and their faithful translator are mostly powerless in this unfriendly land, where the rules keep shifting and freedoms are precarious; it’s a constant reminder of the frailty of humans, the casualness and recklessness with which people can kill, and the evils and losses of armed conflict. Eventually, this tale segues to one of a more personal nature, where broader historical accounts are set aside for a specific, intimate mission – one complemented by a greater artistry and style, whose perspective narrows to an individual (though there’s still an interest in chronicling the overall plight of the oppressed, via narration as well as potent visuals).

It’s actually more frightening and distressing and depressing when Pran’s predicament takes center stage; if the international citizens were helpless against the savagery of the Khmer Rouge, this disconnected native is vulnerable to a far weightier degree. Yet his journey and his survival are also infinitely more filmic (thanks considerably to Ngor, a first-time actor), as a war-based thriller (though still biographical and informational), full of staggering adversity. But as “The Killing Fields” aims to cover such a lengthy, complicated period of contention, the pacing occasionally drags, attempting to tell practically two separate movies – one with an understandable yet somewhat distant protagonist. By the end, when an anticipated convergence finally transpires, it’s quite the moment – an against-all-odds type of tear-jerking finale that helps to redeem many of the lulls from before.

– Mike Massie