The Fog of War (2003)
Errol Morris is perhaps the most
troubling documentarian working in cinema today. His
films aren't documentaries so much as poetic art films
based somewhat in reality. "The Fog of War," luckily,
has much more in common with his intriguing and insightful
Stephen Hawking film, "A Brief History of Time," than
it does with his disgusting and wrong-headed "Mr.
Death."
Of course, I don't know as much
about the subject matter, one time Secretary of Defense
Robert S. McNamara, as a good, well-informed American
citizen should. Morris is not going to tell us much
either. McNamara here is shown to be an intelligent,
coherent, and intriguing person. We see him through
his own eyes, as he might hope to be portrayed, when
Morris aims his lens on the man. McNamara's entire
life story up until his dismissal from his position
by LBJ is shown here. We get a good education of the
man's life and see how he came to be selected by JFK
to be the Secretary of Defense.
But McNamara served during the Vietnam
conflict and as one of the leading commanders of the
armed forces during that traumatic time period, he
must surely have numerous detractors. In"The Fog of
War," no one but McNamara himself is allowed to question
his decisions and abilities during his service. There
are no critics here to speak against him. Morris only
allows one incident, where a man set himself on fire
outside McNamara's office in the 60's, to speak for
those who might disagree with the man. Morris also
includes an epilogue during the film's end credits
which shows his subject's inaccessibility and unwillingness
to speak on certain subjects. It's a weak attempt
by the filmmaker to justify his allowing of McNamara
to guide the direction of the film so easily away
from Morris. This is a apologetic device that the
cocksure Morris seems usually loathsome to use. One
wonders why he includes it here.
Then again, perhaps this is what
makes Morris such a fascinating and imminently watchable
filmmaker: He allows his subjects to make a film about
themselves as if they themselves were the filmmaker.
He does not pressure his subjects or challenge them
but instead simply allows them to guide the direction
of the film themselves so we see the picture of them
that they themselves would like the world to see.
In this way, Morris is much like the portrait maker
Andy Warhol, who painted his subject not in a realistic
manner, but in a flattering manner that showed them
not as they were, but as they hoped they were seen.
Perhaps this is the only context with which one can
truly view a Morris film.
McNamara is a decisive, intelligent
and profoundly interesting man. Morris' look at his
life and career is perhaps the most intense and yet
flattering verison of a documentary subject since
1993 and Ray Muller's amazing yet faulty "The Wonderful,
Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl."
Note:
With audio and film clips featuring
JFK, LBJ, Fidel Castro, Barry Goldwater, Curtis LeMay,
FDR, and Woodrow Wilson.
Morris also produces and it is presumably
his voice we hear off camera a few times asking McNamara
questions.
The score is by Philip Glass (and
for some reason during the credits of this film for
the first time in my life, I realized that Philip
is spelled with one L). Glass' score is wonderful
but exactly the score we would expect from him.
At one times the film was to be
called "The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life
of Robert S. McNamara." The film, in fact, bears this
subtitle and is indeed set in chapters with title
cards that reveal the eleven lessons as the film progresses.
Nominated for an Independent Spirit
Award. The film was released in L.A. in December 2003
to be eligible for the Oscars. A wider arthouse release
will occur in February 2004.
Viewed in Austin in December 2003
at a press sneak at the Dobie.
