War films are hard. Besides the contentious material itself, any artistic approach should avoid serious dramatic pitfalls and political and ethnic insensitivity, while also (hopefully) holding fast to its own thematic and ideological concerns. I'm not saying the film needs to "pick a side" morally, but I would hope that it doesn't become mired in its own efforts as a commercial product and lose its aesthetic integrity. There are many war films that follow that highway to failure, but there are a handful of gems out there. Remember Platoon (1986), Apocalypse Now (1979), The Deer Hunter (1978), and Bigelow's two knockout epics, The Hurt Locker (2008) and Zero Dark Thirty (2012)? Even this year's Fury won a special place in my heart for its harsh portrayal of violence, desperation, and brotherhood.
American Sniper has all the makings of an award-grabber. Based on the autobiography of Chris Kyle, the film follows the sharpshooter's tours in the Middle East after September 11 and his subsequent difficulties returning to civilian life. It's a moving story, to be sure, and one that is both timely and important for our nation. But its praise needs to be checked, as this material is not remotely fresh: The Hurt Locker details almost the same sort of post-traumatic torture for soldiers returning home, and it came out seven years ago. I cite that particular example because it also accomplishes this more subtly, forcing the audience to meditate on PTSD, rather than (as in Sniper) being told explicitly and repeatedly that the protagonist is having trouble. I don't think films need to spell out everything; we can think for ourselves. Well, most of us can.
Director Clint Eastwood, armed with a script practically gift-wrapped for success, has let me down yet again. Granted, I wasn't expecting much (as usual, because it's Eastwood), and frankly I was still bitter about the recent Oscar nominations (of which Sniper has claimed six). But he's done well with war films before -- remember Letters from Iwo Jima (2006)? -- so I didn't discredit this venture in advance; not even when I entered the theater and found myself surrounded by old white men. I kept an open mind. I promise. Of course, the racial/ethnic side of Sniper isn't nearly as complicated as Iwo Jima was (nor as wonderfully complex and rich as in Bigelow's war films), and so the assertive grunts and occasional moments of applause -- yes, applause -- from these old white men around me made me grind my teeth more than once.
Thankfully, Eastwood minimized my hostility by training his camera on his leading man, Bradley Cooper: Our consistently intimate view of his face carries the film with far greater impact than any action sequences. Cooper keeps rigid control of his visage, though he magically and simultaneously allows us to peek in at the tumultuous confines of his mind. Much like the hero he plays, Cooper carries the film almost singlehandedly. Eastwood doesn't help him out much, allowing the mildly exciting action sequences to tend toward the spectacular rather than the novel or even visceral. I still can't decide what the little "climax" in the dust storm was all about: desperate attempt at last-minute spectacle, or poorly executed clichéd metaphor?
But Eastwood's primary sin, for me, is his apparent indecision regarding the subject matter. Let me clarify: His passion for Chris Kyle's story and his sympathy for that character are obvious. He doesn't, however, follow a consistent ideological path, which makes both the film's tone and effect ambiguous. The (mostly) explicitly pro-war, pro-American, traditionally masculine characters present one kind of message, while the graded colors, graphic visuals, and ultimate sympathy for postwar trauma suggest another. And besides the film's opinion of war, we see more clearly its opinions of secondary issues. For instance, Kyle's wife as a character could have been much more sympathetically depicted and dramatically dynamic.
As a final note, I would understand -- but intensely disagree with -- if Eastwood didn't want to appear to be making an anti-gun statement in his film's ending, but his failure to account for Kyle's death, in my opinion, both disrespects his memory and removes the central ironic tension in the story. In case you didn't know (or couldn't guess), Kyle was murdered that Saturday by a veteran he was helping to cope with alleged PTSD. More specifically, he and a companion were shot dead by the man while they were at a shooting range. Now, I mean no disrespect to Kyle and his efforts to help other wounded soldiers, but I might hazard speculation on the murderer's circumstances (was he being cared for by any psychologist or physician?) and question the logic in taking someone with a serious psychological disorder to a place where their memories can so easily resurface in accordance with an activity so utterly violent. Regardless of the real situation, Eastwood's choice to ignore that crucial moment entirely takes any "umph" out of the film's ending.
IMDb: American Sniper
No comments:
Post a Comment