The presence of Ken Burns' father looms large in his son's latest PBS epic.
But viewers won't know it.
An unidentified photograph of Lt. Robert Kyle Burns Jr. is the first and last image in The War, a 15-hour documentary series about World War II. It launches Sept. 23.
Burns hadn't planned to use the photo, a beloved possession since college. After all, his dad had spoken to him about the war only once before his death in 2001.
But as War began taking shape as personal reminiscences of vets from various American towns, Burns decided the image "would be a quiet way to honor my father," he said during a recent visit here.
There is nothing quiet about War, however.
Its ear-splitting, raw combat footage is as shocking to the senses as the savage opening scene of D-Day in Steven Spielberg's acclaimed Saving Private Ryan.
With one exception: "Those guys [in the film] got up and went to craft services," Burns says. "My guys don't get up. They're dead."
Seven years and $13 million in the making, War is Burns' 22d historical documentary - all for PBS.
The mind boggles. Even with specks of gray in his Leave It to Beaver mop, the 54-year-old Burns occasionally gets carded. He credits his youthful appearance to "excessive worry and travel."
Everything about Burns is excessive, from his evangelical promotion of projects to his inexhaustible work ethic.
PBS's rain-making poster boy never takes time off. Even at his New Hampshire lake house, he gets itchy after two days. "Fridays, Mondays don't mean anything to me. I cannot imagine not working."
It shows. Burns and his producers spoke with more than 600 potential subjects for the seven-episode War, winnowing the list to 40 interviews with men and women from places like Mobile, Ala.; Sacramento, Calif.; Waterbury, Conn.; and tiny Luverne, Minn.
Like Lt. Robert Burns, all are "generic," in his son's words. For the first time in a Burns production, there are no celebrities (in this case, officers and politicians), no scholars, no experts.
"We wanted to do this film entirely differently," he says. "We're not in FDR's White House or Winston Churchill's 10 Downing Street. This isn't just the history of the Great Men, capital G, capital M."
In Burns' view, many World War II chroniclers "are distracted by an unnecessary and unnatural interest in celebrity generals and politicians, and an unnatural obsession with armaments and weaponry."
