The latest feature by Paul Greengrass—director of “The Bourne Supremacy” and “United 93”—is a watertight geo-thriller, light on its feet and pleasantly conscious of its subject. Greengrass may be a Brit, but in the past decade he’s taken the lead in constructing action thrillers that interrogate the ethics of American military operations. 

In “Captain Phillips,” he pulls off a rare feat for an American action film: casting the country as a righteous, rational and victorious force without reducing the Somalians to soulless villains. Greengrass shows how they too are subject to pressure and greed; they represent the bottom half of a capital-driven global economy.

The film traffics in realism, taking up the ever-popular ‘like-you’re-there’ aesthetic for its action sequence. This comes as surprisingly refreshing after a summer loaded with grandiose superhero flicks. Greengrass doesn’t cheapen allusions to American trauma by casually evoking global catastrophes (e.g. the overt 9/11 imagery in something like “Man of Steel”), but instead allows these events to stand alone. In the hands of a director who is savvy enough to trust his own excellent visual narrative, the heroism comes through even without the cape and tights.

And who better to champion blue-collar bravery in the role of real life Cpt. Richard Phillips than Tom Hanks. He is arguably the most all-American of our all-American male actors. The man reeks of ethical sanctity—it would be functionally impossible to make Hanks a villain. (The Coen brothers tried once, in “The Ladykillers,” and it didn’t really work out.) Phillips has a distinguished quality to his intellect, but not in a Bond-type way. He’s a quick thinker who can clearly master any situation, often fooling people into thinking he is dumber than he is. Phillips remains a humanist too; he can sympathize with almost anyone. By the end of this film he has ‘befriended’—or at least come to understand and pity—two of the pirates threatening to kill him.

The film is a twist on the classic cat-and-mouse narrative in that it depicts a constantly shifting balance of trust instead of a simple battle of wits. Critics have called the 2006 film “The Departed” a crime-opera of cell phones; “Captain Phillips” might be an opera of walky-talkies. Across the radios that echo around the various ships, the characters talk in code, trying to conceal their tactics in multiple languages and innuendos. 

Personally, I wish there was more action on the main boat as the narrative departs from this setting surprisingly quickly. Greengrass would have done well to adopt traditions of films like “Poseidon” or “Die Hard,” where everything in the central location suddenly becomes a hiding place, an obstacle or a maze. The film could have shaved some of the lagging middle hour by extending this sequence before shifting to the strict confines of a lifeboat.

What is interesting about “Captain Phillips”—something I did not expect from viewing the trailers—is the pervading sense that America is always going to win, and not just because history has determined the outcome. The fatalism attached to American control over this military situation appears to be of grave importance to the aim of Greengrass’ project. We don’t wonder whether America can come to the rescue, we wonder how the Somali pirates will attempt in vain to carry out this measly and ill-fated attack.

The primary antagonist (if he can even be labeled so stringently), Muse—played with feeble ferocity by Barkhad Abdi—has an insatiable thirst for respect from his peers and superiors. However, it’s clear from early on that he is in over his head, and Hanks’ Phillips is excellent at getting under his skin. Phillips wins this battle simply because he had far more value to his country—the Somali pirates have been abandoned; their loneliness is their tragedy. This is elucidated in perhaps the film’s most crucial moment of dialogue, when Phillips asks Muse: “There’s got to be something other than being a fisherman or kidnapping people.” Muse responds  “Maybe in America…Maybe in America.”

Without giving too much away in regard to the films’ conclusion, I will say that Hanks’ performance in the last 10 minutes of the film is nothing short of remarkable. It is what gives the film its heart. The way that Hanks emotes and reconciles everything that has happened to him and those around him suggests an ambiguity to patriotic outcome and the violence’s true toll on him. 

What we see of Hanks in these final few minutes is something we caught a glimpse of in the final shot of “Zero Dark Thirty,” where the central patriotic character is given air to reflect and lament. (Though, in that film, the final close-up of Jessica Chastain may have felt more like catharsis than guilt over violence.)
Greengrass is wise not to valorize the films’ true—American—assassins, as they are rendered drone-like and curiously impersonal. And while it’s obvious that the reality of piracy is destructive and immoral, this film makes clear that these young Somali pirates cannot be held solely responsible—they too are part of a larger global system.