In this time of national crisis, pondering old movies may seem a frivolous pastime. But as a moviemaker and lover of cinema, I find meaning and solace in filmed stories. As I’ve watched the unfolding of events following September 11, 2001—and listened to the reactions of political leaders, television commentators, and friends—I find myself unable to stop thinking about two films in particular.

They are Hamlet, directed by Laurence Olivier, and Sergeant York, directed by Howard Hawks. Both films concern how good people respond to acts of evil. One ends in tragedy, one in triumph. In light of the real tragedy that has befallen our nation, these two films serve, respectively, as admonition and inspiration.

First, let me say that the attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon have forever changed me. I have moved through a spectrum of emotions: shock, disbelief, sadness, outrage and, finally, clarity. I have always considered myself a pacifist, a dove. But I have now come face to face with the incontrovertible reality of my time: The world is not safe. And the world community must endeavor to make it such.

I felt this shared belief all around me Friday night, three days after the attacks, as I drove around Los Angeles and saw people of all ages and races standing on street corners, holding hands, and waving American flags. A Hispanic kid walked up to me in a parking lot, shook my hand, and said “God Bless America, man.” An aging hippie stood on a corner with and sang “The Star Spangled Banner.”

The same night in a coffee shop I heard an old man exclaiming that “We must forgive those who attacked us. We shouldn’t stoop to their level and shed one drop of blood.” I heard the same sentiment expressed by radio talk show hosts who warned of severe repercussions should we try to eliminate those who had masterminded this destruction. Emails from personal friends echoed these sentiments.

And that’s when I thought about the divergent paths taken by Prince Hamlet and Sergeant York.

I have seen no fewer than four screen versions of the Bard’s tale of the Prince of Denmark, and Olivier’s is the best. But until now, even that superior adaptation left me at a loss as to why this tale of a weak-willed Dane is widely considered one of the greatest dramas of all time. Olivier’s decision to add a word of explanation to Hamlet’s prologue (“Here is the tale of man who could not make up his mind.”) offered little clarification, as the movie seemed to be about so much more than just one man’s vacillations.

But now I see how the examination of those vacillations is at the heart of Shakespeare’s warning. For Prince Hamlet is doomed not because he lacks courage or wisdom—but because in the face of undeniable evil, he chooses to philosophize rather than act. The ghost of his father tells him in no uncertain terms that Claudius killed him. Were Hamlet to dispose of Claudius outright, the film would be over. Instead, he doubts the authenticity of the information, protractedly mourns his father’s death, and drives himself and those he loves to madness. The result of Hamlet’s indecision is a bloodbath in which many innocents die.

Alvin C. York in Hawks’ Sergeant York may not be endowed with the same intellectual gifts as Prince Hamlet, but he tackles similar philosophical challenges. Midway through the movie, he dispenses with a life of hooliganism and dives headfirst into the Bible, emerging with a new belief that all violence and killing is wrong. So when called to duty in World War I, he is steadfast in his refusal to fight. But, when presented with indisputable evidence of impending danger to his comrades, he reacts decisively. Sergeant York single-handedly kills 20 German machine-gunners and captures 132 German soldiers. When asked why he did it, he explains: “To stop more people from being killed.”

And so in response to the September 11 massacre of our brothers and sisters, I wonder whose example we will ultimately follow—Hamlet’s or York’s? I hear Hamlets all around me, hand wringing and agonizing over whether we should be involved militarily. And I watch Sergeant Yorks on television, picking up the broken pieces of New York City and demanding justice.

The terrorist attacks against our country have given us something very valuable. It is the emotion that finally settled over me: clarity. The only response to imminent and predictable danger is intelligent and decisive action. It is a simple truth Sergeant York confronted in the foxholes of Europe. A truth that Hamlet ignored until his demise.

Hamlet’s soliloquy was never more meaningful to me. It is not a meditation on just suicide, but on any action with indeterminate outcome. Says the Prince:

“Conscience does make cowards of us all

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pitch and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.”

Sergeant York did not lose the name of action. And in that old-time Hollywood movie with old-time values, he answers Hamlet’s eternal question: It is better to take arms against a sea of troubles—and by opposing—end them.Thankfully, our country is following his example.