Atlanta, 1996. The Georgia summer heat isn't bothering the thousands of people who descended on the Olympic games and assorted festivities. During one concert at Centennial Park, a pipe bomb explodes, killing two people and injuring a hundred more. A frantic hunt for the bomber begins, but a clear suspect takes center stage: Richard Jewell, the security guard who found the bomb.
But Richard Jewell doesn't begin here. The introduction to this film starts earlier, following its protagonist through a bustling office where he works as a custodian. Shortly after, we see that he has become a security guard at a college. His tough work ethic doesn't always jive with his coworkers or the people he serves; he is mocked for being overweight and for having lofty ambitions (he considers himself law enforcement, on par with police officers). He is fired after multiple complaints from students of him overstepping boundaries and abusing the power of his position; he views this as him going above and beyond the call of duty, but the dean simply asks him if he'll resign or if he needs to be fired. It's pitiful in the awkward way where we are made to understand his predicament even though he is clearly in the wrong. But it's awkward viewing because we know the director and we know he is using this introduction to lionize someone who might not entirely deserve it.
If you know the story at all, things get more familiar from here on out. After moving in with his mother, Richard gets a job working security for the Olympics in Atlanta. Once he alerts the authorities about a suspicious bag -- they initially mock him for being so pretentious, only to discover three pipe bombs inside -- he works hard and fast to make a perimeter before the explosion. His heroic action makes him the center of attention, and before he can go home he is swept up in the media spotlight, interviewed by Katie Couric herself. But as the FBI begin to investigate, he becomes their primary suspect. He certainly fits the psychological profile.
Despite Clint Eastwood's heavy-handed storytelling, which seems to only get more problematic as he continues pumping out movies, the film manages to keep its emotional manipulations in check by focusing so tightly on the relative uniqueness of its characters. Unlike the broad stereotyping in Sully, for example, a lot of the characters here are not really representative of their professions, and so they aren't really painted as "good guys" or "bad guys." Jon Hamm, for example, and Olivia Wilde are painted pretty clearly as the antagonists (FBI agent and media reporter, respectively), but their characters are a little too specific and too layered to represent their power structures. Wilde is especially fascinating in a sure-to-be criticized role as a desperate reporter who jumps to wild conclusions and exchanges sex for information.
But the movie belongs firmly to Paul Walter Hauser, Kathy Bates, and Sam Rockwell as Jewell, his mother, and their lawyer. The three of them play off each other beautifully, crafting a moving relationship that bends under each new blow by the media and the government without breaking. And while most artists in Trump's America are doing well to vindicate the free press, this film does the difficult -- and, thankfully, mostly tasteful -- job of showing what negative effects can happen when the news jumps to conclusions. Eastwood isn't lampooning the FBI or press here, though I was certain he would, and he does a fair job showing how irritating his main character can be and why he was, somewhat rightfully, suspected. But Eastwood seems more interested in showing how the tone of the news and the disdain of the investigators ruined Richard Jewell's life, along with the repulsive popular interest and mob mentality of the public who wanted him to fry.
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