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The War on Terror has been raging on since the seminal moment of this millennium; September 11, 2001, a day that has quite simply changed everything since. No part of our lives has been entirely unaffected, and the fact that this holds true for every American citizen may help to explain the reason for the film's astounding success in its first weekend; just about everyone seeing this film knows exactly the details and events surrounding the conflict which Chris Kyle became known as 'Legend,' which only enhances his stature in most peoples' eyes as a bonafide American hero who risked his life four separate times to fight intense combat in Iraq, often forced to stay behind and cover his fellow SEALs and Marines who were deployed to more dangerous work such as house-to-house searches in war zones for information about al- Qaeda leaders. It is his story that has come to represent the accomplishment, at whatever price, of the early phase of this newfound type of conflict. Whether or not it has been worth the risk remains hotly contested.
It should be noted that it is almost impossible to review any film which covers any aspect of the War on Terror without comparing it to Zero Dark Thirty, Katherine Bigelow's masterful account of the ultimate mission for the United States in the Middle East: to hunt down and kill Osama bin-Laden. Chris Kyle himself has said in interviews that he wishes he had been assigned to SEAL Team 6, the team responsible for although he certainly did his share on Team 3 in killing various Iraqi insurgents. Nevertheless, on a filmic level, Clint Eastwood's steady, conventional and even-keeled style seems to underwhelm this material. Here we have the story of a man where the tagline is "the deadliest sniper in US military history," yet the bulk of the story seems to take this description for granted. In contrast to Zero Dark Thirty, the screenplay doesn't get into the specifics or details surrounding the complicated aspects of fighting terrorism on the enemies' home turf and the impact that has on American foreign policy as a whole. Indeed, much of the larger geopolitical themes are muted here in order to focus on the rather repetitive structure of showing Kyle's extraordinary ability to kill from astonishing lengths.
Of course, this is a much more focused type of story, but the character of Chris Kyle seems to be an archetype symbolizing American forces instead of a fully-realized individual. He exhibits typical behavior of any deployed soldier regarding guilt about dead soldiers as well as the conflict between needing to remain loyal to his family and his country. These are well-treaded conventions of recent war films, not the least of which is Bigelow's other intensified journey into the mind of the modern solider, The Hurt Locker. Kyle is very similar to Jeremy Renner's devoted and effective soldier who finds himself addicted to any form of combat as a drug, although the true story element does add a different understanding of the effects.
This is not to say that the film is made without a certain amount of professionalism and understanding. Bradley Cooper is very effective as Kyle, bulking up without looking too muscular or movie-hunkish. His acting focuses on the details of portraying a patriotic Texan, complete with the slow drawl, affection for beer and rodeo, as well as complete devotion to his wide-mouthed wife and growing family. Cooper's full range as an actor is on display here, complete with the dead-eye stare of a man who has seen horrors impossible to describe and feels an uncontrollable need to try and bring equilibrium to his life. Sienna Miller seems to have relegated herself recently to playing wives of real-life characters, having done so in Foxcatcher and here. She brings a glamorous quality to Taya, portraying her as a loving wife who puts the need for family stability above her husband's inner desire for combat and revenge.
It is this revenge element which many critics have leeched upon as evidence of Kyle's racist and jingoist attitude towards Iraqis and other Islamists. Although Eastwood does take a pretty apparent right-leaning view of the conflict, he nevertheless attempts to extricate any sort of moral judgment on Chris Kyle and his importance to the American hero mythology. The point of this story, to whatever effect it may have, is that one man saw himself not necessarily as the savior of freedom and democracy, but simply a soldier who followed the orders to protect fellow soldiers from behind, perched above with a high-powered rifle and an eagle eye. The impact this will have on the upcoming trial for Kyle's alleged murderer will undoubtedly be felt throughout the media. It will be interesting to note the recruiting effect of this movie as well. It's easy to imagine a lot of young men getting hyped for fighting through these images.
It should be noted that it is almost impossible to review any film which covers any aspect of the War on Terror without comparing it to Zero Dark Thirty, Katherine Bigelow's masterful account of the ultimate mission for the United States in the Middle East: to hunt down and kill Osama bin-Laden. Chris Kyle himself has said in interviews that he wishes he had been assigned to SEAL Team 6, the team responsible for although he certainly did his share on Team 3 in killing various Iraqi insurgents. Nevertheless, on a filmic level, Clint Eastwood's steady, conventional and even-keeled style seems to underwhelm this material. Here we have the story of a man where the tagline is "the deadliest sniper in US military history," yet the bulk of the story seems to take this description for granted. In contrast to Zero Dark Thirty, the screenplay doesn't get into the specifics or details surrounding the complicated aspects of fighting terrorism on the enemies' home turf and the impact that has on American foreign policy as a whole. Indeed, much of the larger geopolitical themes are muted here in order to focus on the rather repetitive structure of showing Kyle's extraordinary ability to kill from astonishing lengths.
Of course, this is a much more focused type of story, but the character of Chris Kyle seems to be an archetype symbolizing American forces instead of a fully-realized individual. He exhibits typical behavior of any deployed soldier regarding guilt about dead soldiers as well as the conflict between needing to remain loyal to his family and his country. These are well-treaded conventions of recent war films, not the least of which is Bigelow's other intensified journey into the mind of the modern solider, The Hurt Locker. Kyle is very similar to Jeremy Renner's devoted and effective soldier who finds himself addicted to any form of combat as a drug, although the true story element does add a different understanding of the effects.
This is not to say that the film is made without a certain amount of professionalism and understanding. Bradley Cooper is very effective as Kyle, bulking up without looking too muscular or movie-hunkish. His acting focuses on the details of portraying a patriotic Texan, complete with the slow drawl, affection for beer and rodeo, as well as complete devotion to his wide-mouthed wife and growing family. Cooper's full range as an actor is on display here, complete with the dead-eye stare of a man who has seen horrors impossible to describe and feels an uncontrollable need to try and bring equilibrium to his life. Sienna Miller seems to have relegated herself recently to playing wives of real-life characters, having done so in Foxcatcher and here. She brings a glamorous quality to Taya, portraying her as a loving wife who puts the need for family stability above her husband's inner desire for combat and revenge.
It is this revenge element which many critics have leeched upon as evidence of Kyle's racist and jingoist attitude towards Iraqis and other Islamists. Although Eastwood does take a pretty apparent right-leaning view of the conflict, he nevertheless attempts to extricate any sort of moral judgment on Chris Kyle and his importance to the American hero mythology. The point of this story, to whatever effect it may have, is that one man saw himself not necessarily as the savior of freedom and democracy, but simply a soldier who followed the orders to protect fellow soldiers from behind, perched above with a high-powered rifle and an eagle eye. The impact this will have on the upcoming trial for Kyle's alleged murderer will undoubtedly be felt throughout the media. It will be interesting to note the recruiting effect of this movie as well. It's easy to imagine a lot of young men getting hyped for fighting through these images.
The Imitation Game follows in a recent tradition of both British-based historical dramas intended to invoke sympathy and knowledge about incidents or individuals previously unknown or under-appreciated to the general public. Like The King's Speech, The Iron Lady or The Theory of Everything, it has gained much critical acclaim, but it also leaves one feeling rather empty at the end of it all; you sit there and ask "Is that all they can invoke in us?" In the case of Alan Turing, portrayed here as a most eccentric mathematical genius attempting to crack impossible German military codes during World War II, there seems to be more emphasis on him and his hang-ups rather than his work. Of course, there are scenes discussing his attempts to fund and build an enormous electromechanical device capable of searching through innumerable possibilities of coded words in order to deduce what was more likely being used and what could be discarded. Thus, the possible codes are highlighted, allowing the Allies to use such information against the enemy.
If this sounds somewhat technical, that is because much of the dialogue here is filled with cryptological jargon, a language only understandable to those involved with such activities or otherwise interested in the usage of code-breaking as a tool to win the war. Such an idea is understandable and relatable, yet the film utilizes it only as a plot device, nothing more. Perhaps this is because the filmmakers felt too much technical language would turn audiences off, but it seems more likely they simply underestimate those interested in Turing's accomplishments. The man himself is reduced to another recent pattern of so many films: the antisocial yet brilliant genius capable of winning over adversaries through his work despite any effort to relate to others on a strictly human level. In some ways, this pattern exposes studios' belief in audiences wanting to see people who they believe are a type of ubermenschen, super-beings capable of thinking and acting beyond our middling, common understanding.
This is certainly how Turing is portrayed here, despite Benedict Cumberbatch throwing himself completely into the role. As affable an actor as in work today, Cumberbatch nevertheless gets caught up in Turing's supposed speech handicaps and nervous ticks without using them to explore the darker aspects of Turing's personality. His homosexuality, made such an issue in the trailers and advertisement of the picture, was in fact simply another aspect of his life he attempted to privatize only for it to become his undoing. Any connection between his attraction to men and his attraction to complex puzzles seems rather stretching, although the film makes attempts to do so. In particular, the name of Turing's ground-breaking machine which is used to break German codes is 'Christopher,' who is shown in flashbacks to be a boyhood crush from school and died when Turing was still young. Such a fabrication only exposes the film's desire to create something that never was; this movie has its own impossible codes that remain just that.
Despite all this, Cumberbatch is capable of creating enormous sympathy for this rather cold, unfeeling man who nevertheless somehow (through plot contrivance) manages to surround himself with die-hard supporters, including the brilliant Joan Clarke (Keira Knightley) who Turing proposes to though it seems he may be attracted to her in some way. Again, this is merely used for plot extension, and despite there being no disrespect towards Clarke as a woman capable of holding her own against the male-dominated cryptography section at Bletchley Park, it causes one to question just what was the true nature of this peculiar yet symbiotic relationship. The movie never bothers to answer.
Perhaps, the questions not answered cannot be. Much of Turing's work was hidden by the British government until a few years ago due to its highly-classified nature, which only underlines just how far-reaching his ideas became. The movie ends with several title cards telling us what became of Turing; the final one saying that 'Turing machines' are known better today as computers. Whatever truth this statement holds still allows us little access to understanding just what exactly motivated Turing in his work. In this film, he does it simply because he is good at it and he seems unqualified for any other work. Such a simplification is hardly ever the truth, and indeed there are many other aspects of the film which have come under fire for either emphasizing the unimportant or otherwise completely misappropriating various facts to the wrong individuals. Specifically, Turing was not as autistic or antisocial as this film leads us to believe, which only goes to show how certain aspects of one's life often become the true motivation to make a film about someone and their achievements. It's not enough that Turing accomplished so much; he has to have done it through personal shortcomings which otherwise would have caused one of us 'normal' people to falter. How can we, then, sympathize with an ubermensch?
If this sounds somewhat technical, that is because much of the dialogue here is filled with cryptological jargon, a language only understandable to those involved with such activities or otherwise interested in the usage of code-breaking as a tool to win the war. Such an idea is understandable and relatable, yet the film utilizes it only as a plot device, nothing more. Perhaps this is because the filmmakers felt too much technical language would turn audiences off, but it seems more likely they simply underestimate those interested in Turing's accomplishments. The man himself is reduced to another recent pattern of so many films: the antisocial yet brilliant genius capable of winning over adversaries through his work despite any effort to relate to others on a strictly human level. In some ways, this pattern exposes studios' belief in audiences wanting to see people who they believe are a type of ubermenschen, super-beings capable of thinking and acting beyond our middling, common understanding.
This is certainly how Turing is portrayed here, despite Benedict Cumberbatch throwing himself completely into the role. As affable an actor as in work today, Cumberbatch nevertheless gets caught up in Turing's supposed speech handicaps and nervous ticks without using them to explore the darker aspects of Turing's personality. His homosexuality, made such an issue in the trailers and advertisement of the picture, was in fact simply another aspect of his life he attempted to privatize only for it to become his undoing. Any connection between his attraction to men and his attraction to complex puzzles seems rather stretching, although the film makes attempts to do so. In particular, the name of Turing's ground-breaking machine which is used to break German codes is 'Christopher,' who is shown in flashbacks to be a boyhood crush from school and died when Turing was still young. Such a fabrication only exposes the film's desire to create something that never was; this movie has its own impossible codes that remain just that.
Despite all this, Cumberbatch is capable of creating enormous sympathy for this rather cold, unfeeling man who nevertheless somehow (through plot contrivance) manages to surround himself with die-hard supporters, including the brilliant Joan Clarke (Keira Knightley) who Turing proposes to though it seems he may be attracted to her in some way. Again, this is merely used for plot extension, and despite there being no disrespect towards Clarke as a woman capable of holding her own against the male-dominated cryptography section at Bletchley Park, it causes one to question just what was the true nature of this peculiar yet symbiotic relationship. The movie never bothers to answer.
Perhaps, the questions not answered cannot be. Much of Turing's work was hidden by the British government until a few years ago due to its highly-classified nature, which only underlines just how far-reaching his ideas became. The movie ends with several title cards telling us what became of Turing; the final one saying that 'Turing machines' are known better today as computers. Whatever truth this statement holds still allows us little access to understanding just what exactly motivated Turing in his work. In this film, he does it simply because he is good at it and he seems unqualified for any other work. Such a simplification is hardly ever the truth, and indeed there are many other aspects of the film which have come under fire for either emphasizing the unimportant or otherwise completely misappropriating various facts to the wrong individuals. Specifically, Turing was not as autistic or antisocial as this film leads us to believe, which only goes to show how certain aspects of one's life often become the true motivation to make a film about someone and their achievements. It's not enough that Turing accomplished so much; he has to have done it through personal shortcomings which otherwise would have caused one of us 'normal' people to falter. How can we, then, sympathize with an ubermensch?
Given his wandering and seemingly aberrant focus in The Master, a story that could only truly be effective through a tightly-wound, coherent plot line, Paul Thomas Anderson may have decided to adapt Thomas Pynchon's novel next because it fits so perfectly with his current style of narrative interest. Starting with small-focused, character-oriented stories with ensemble casts that caused comparisons to Robert Altman, PTA has gradually drifted away from such into such diverse genres as bleak comic-tragedy, melodramatic early 20th century American ambition and the aimless lifestyle of post-World War II citizens. Now, he moves down one more generation into the drug- addled, loose-fit lives of California in 1970. Though this story comes from Pynchon, it would seem that Anderson has been ready to tell this type of story for years.
If Joaquin Phoenix needed paint thinner mixed with alcohol to calm his nerves and give him direction in trying to adapt to regular life after World War II, all he needs here is a ramshackled bungalow on the beach, plenty of cigarettes and weed and a few compliant women to satisfy his desires. Wearing giant sideburns and a curly, moppy hairdo, Phoenix once again immerses himself into this private detective role, 'Doc' Sportello, talking to himself incoherently, staring at various points around him and still somehow able to grasp all the information and informants who come barreling at him after his ex-girlfriend stops by unexpectedly to request his help in stopping an alleged plot to kidnap and rid Los Angeles of its wealthiest real estate developer. Yet, this may all be a simple excuse for both Pynchon and Anderson to explore such a fascinating time in recent American history; a time when the Manson murders hung heavily in the air, there seemed to be little if any worries about larger sociopolitical issues, and still most people are caught up in some way or another with illegal and lethal activities.
Such callous behavior may be the reason behind the intriguing title, which refers to physical objects losing their fundamental ability to stop deterioration. Indeed, at a certain point, Doc's ex-girlfriend returns once again surprisingly and declares herself to be inherent vice in the case. Of course, this could apply to nearly everyone he encounters, including himself, yet perhaps what drew Anderson to this story is how blissfully unaware everyone is of their decrepit state of mind. Anderson occupies much of the frame with a thin, hazy layer of smoke and mist, which may not only be from the copious amounts of marijuana but also the lack of care these people seem to have for their personal belongings and materials. Despite many mentions of Charles Manson, most people are quite laid-back and wander around southern California as if there was little, if any, care in the world. Even when something important does arise, such as a man trying to escape his present status and return to his abandoned family, there is a rather light-hearted touch to it all. Anderson, like Pynchon, is not interested in judging these people at all; he simply is intrigued by their indifference and susceptibility to get themselves into precarious situations, either personal or otherwise.
Many of the actors have commented on Anderson's chaotic yet controlled method of shooting, although all have remarked how pleased and satisfied they were with the end result. Such improvisation may not be considered a hallmark of Anderson's filmmaking, yet here it seems perfectly natural. The soundtrack consists of a healthy mixture of Jonny Greenwood original tracks as well as Neil Young and a slew of early 1960s doo-wop songs which continue the feeling of laid-back nostalgia. Phoenix ties it all together with his whimsical, yet focused perspective in trying to solve a case seemingly for his beloved ex, although he has no commitments to anyone. Various cameos also work without becoming a distraction. Reese Witherspoon has beautiful, surealistic chemistry with Phoenix and Katherine Waterston is eerily angelic in her role, looking much like Jennifer Lawrence probably will in ten years.
There really cannot be much to either approve or disapprove of in this story. The payoff is rather dull, but this is no ordinary Chinatown-like neo-noir. If Pynchon is only interested in such a story as a launching pad, Anderson is only interested to the point of being able to satisfy his own notions of what life must have been like during that brief period when the so-called "hippie movement" seemed to have failed its most ardent supporters and the call of capitalistic achievement turned the nation's attention away from its seemingly endless social and cultural issues. What is America's inherent vice? Doc could tell us if only he cared, or was sober enough, to remember.
If Joaquin Phoenix needed paint thinner mixed with alcohol to calm his nerves and give him direction in trying to adapt to regular life after World War II, all he needs here is a ramshackled bungalow on the beach, plenty of cigarettes and weed and a few compliant women to satisfy his desires. Wearing giant sideburns and a curly, moppy hairdo, Phoenix once again immerses himself into this private detective role, 'Doc' Sportello, talking to himself incoherently, staring at various points around him and still somehow able to grasp all the information and informants who come barreling at him after his ex-girlfriend stops by unexpectedly to request his help in stopping an alleged plot to kidnap and rid Los Angeles of its wealthiest real estate developer. Yet, this may all be a simple excuse for both Pynchon and Anderson to explore such a fascinating time in recent American history; a time when the Manson murders hung heavily in the air, there seemed to be little if any worries about larger sociopolitical issues, and still most people are caught up in some way or another with illegal and lethal activities.
Such callous behavior may be the reason behind the intriguing title, which refers to physical objects losing their fundamental ability to stop deterioration. Indeed, at a certain point, Doc's ex-girlfriend returns once again surprisingly and declares herself to be inherent vice in the case. Of course, this could apply to nearly everyone he encounters, including himself, yet perhaps what drew Anderson to this story is how blissfully unaware everyone is of their decrepit state of mind. Anderson occupies much of the frame with a thin, hazy layer of smoke and mist, which may not only be from the copious amounts of marijuana but also the lack of care these people seem to have for their personal belongings and materials. Despite many mentions of Charles Manson, most people are quite laid-back and wander around southern California as if there was little, if any, care in the world. Even when something important does arise, such as a man trying to escape his present status and return to his abandoned family, there is a rather light-hearted touch to it all. Anderson, like Pynchon, is not interested in judging these people at all; he simply is intrigued by their indifference and susceptibility to get themselves into precarious situations, either personal or otherwise.
Many of the actors have commented on Anderson's chaotic yet controlled method of shooting, although all have remarked how pleased and satisfied they were with the end result. Such improvisation may not be considered a hallmark of Anderson's filmmaking, yet here it seems perfectly natural. The soundtrack consists of a healthy mixture of Jonny Greenwood original tracks as well as Neil Young and a slew of early 1960s doo-wop songs which continue the feeling of laid-back nostalgia. Phoenix ties it all together with his whimsical, yet focused perspective in trying to solve a case seemingly for his beloved ex, although he has no commitments to anyone. Various cameos also work without becoming a distraction. Reese Witherspoon has beautiful, surealistic chemistry with Phoenix and Katherine Waterston is eerily angelic in her role, looking much like Jennifer Lawrence probably will in ten years.
There really cannot be much to either approve or disapprove of in this story. The payoff is rather dull, but this is no ordinary Chinatown-like neo-noir. If Pynchon is only interested in such a story as a launching pad, Anderson is only interested to the point of being able to satisfy his own notions of what life must have been like during that brief period when the so-called "hippie movement" seemed to have failed its most ardent supporters and the call of capitalistic achievement turned the nation's attention away from its seemingly endless social and cultural issues. What is America's inherent vice? Doc could tell us if only he cared, or was sober enough, to remember.