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There’s a moment near the end of “The Hurt Locker,” Kathryn Bigelow’s masterful look at life and death on Baghdad’s mean streets, where one American sergeant — a cool, tough professional on mission after mission — finally breaks down and loses it after yet another close brush with death. “Another two inches . . .” he sobs. “Shrapnel pierces my throat, I bleed out like a pig in the sand. And nobody gives a s–t!”

If there’s a political statement contained in this film, that’s it right there: Nobody gives a s–t. Part of “The Hurt Locker’s” mission is to bring home the reality of Iraq deployments to a public that has been largely shielded from having to ponder the human cost of the war. But for the most part, Bigelow’s film — unlike nearly every other Iraq war film, from “Lions for Lambs” to “Redacted” — manages to avoid polemics and remain tightly focused on the micro level, on the careful tracing of wires in the sand, or the wary scanning of rooftops with scopes.

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