Plenty of ink has spilled over the polarizing new Kathryn Bigelow film “Zero Dark Thirty.” During the past few months it has sparked perhaps the most heated discussion over politics in cinema in recent memory.
“Zero Dark Thirty” has its share of vehement defenders and detractors; the debates concerning its merit had been fought long before it’s release.
The discussion surrounding the film—chronicling a scrupulous procedural depiction of the ten-year C.I.A. investigation that led to the epic nighttime raid on Osama Bin Laden’s compound and the terrorist’s execution—has spurred political scrutiny. It’s difficult to assess a film like this without also considering its moral and ethical dilemmas.
Before examining “Zero Dark Thirty’s” political implications, it is important to mention that I don’t believe it to be a remarkable work of cinema. Admittedly, the techniques of realism are pitch perfect and the pacing is stellar. Its problem lies in its narrative strategy. It is not that I feel that the story is poorly focused; it's too focused. The film’s hyper-journalistic approach obsesses over so many fleeting details that it largely ignores its protagonist until the waning minutes.
Maya (played by Jessica Chastain, arguably the finest young actress in the business) is a brilliant and interesting character, but one whose defining traits (toughness, determination and grit) are often told to us rather than shown. We barely get to know her or her intentions; she becomes more of a stand-in for American determination rather than a fully fleshed out human being.
I kept waiting for a scene in which her obsessions seep into her personal life or her family, showing us how much this ordeal has made its mark. The film’s utterly personal final shot left me wondering how great “Zero Dark Thirty” could have been if it had dared to step away from journalistic realism and gone deeper into psychological character-study.
This speculative thinking presupposes that Bigelow’s “just-the-facts” approach is veracious, which, as many senators and politicians (from both parties) have noted, it certainly is not. When interviewed regarding the factual inconsistencies of their work, writer Mark Boal and Bigelow have regretfully fallen back on the “it’s-just-a-movie” defense, usually followed by a testimonial regarding free speech in Hollywood.
I don’t deny Bigelow the right to fictionalize such events, but her opening title card (“Based on firsthand accounts of actual events”) contradicts her comments, elucidating a curious lack of foresight into the effects of her politically-charged material.
What this suggests to me is that Bigelow and Boal, labeling their film as apolitical, are either ignorant of the stance they’ve made about torture or they are too scared of being held responsible for such a view.
It seems that the debates surrounding the film have been infused with the following subtext: If you can justify “Zero Dark Thirty’s” political problems, you have established its worth as a movie.
With this logic, however, many critics have failed judge the film with regard to the narrative structure or characterization, independent of its politics (a judgment, as I have previously expressed, the film does not hold up well to).
And then there’s that torture issue.
In the most fervent criticisms of the film (such as the writings of political columnist Glen Greenwald) words like “glorify” and “propaganda” get thrown around quite a bit in reference to the film’s depiction of the efficacy of torture. Such words are perhaps a bit punitive and crudely didactic.
“Zero Dark Thirty” does anything but make torture attractive. One thing the movie does rather well is establish the complicated nature of these morally-dubious techniques. The filmmakers, however, do adopt an if/then strategy to their narrative that—whether or not they condone the result—implies that torture techniques (specifically sleep-deprivation) led to a specific piece of information that ultimately led to the death of Osama Bin Laden. But while torture is rendered effective, Bigelow depicts its palpable ethical quandaries as well.
However, what distressed me most about the film is just how closely its release comes to the actual event largely undigested by the American public. A level of remove must be allowed to settle in, so that in dealing with a provocative piece of art, the viewer can bring a sober intellect to the issues.
Yes, Kathryn Bigelow may be one of the only filmmakers with the grit and audacity to examine such events, but then again, just because you can doesn’t mean you should.
Your opinion of Bigelow’s film may very well boil down to whether or not you see a depiction or examination of violence. Personally, I only saw this in her brisk and entertaining procedural style, which might be more acceptable in a cheaper action flick. But with a subject as charged as hers, there’s too much at stake for a filmmaker to worry about entertaining.
To be sure, I am thankful for the conversation that has followed the film’s release. People from many walks of criticism are chiming in—though this has had a tendency to make film critics defensive. People are thinking deeply about what we can excuse and take away from the movies.
In some sense, the critical backlash Bigelow’s film has provided suggests that maybe I’m wrong—maybe filmmakers don’t have to wait several years to attack current political issues.
Perhaps audiences are ready to examine popular entertainment with a watchful eye—I’d prefer a more competent auteur to take the challenge, but alas, you take what you can get.