OSCARS 2020: Richard Jewell (2019)

When the posters and trailers for “Richard Jewell” first came out, my reaction was “Who the hell is Richard Jewell? And why did Clint Eastwood make a movie about him?” Yes, I was alive in 1996 when the Centennial Olympic Park bombing happened, when security guard Richard Jewell was first hailed as a hero for discovering the bomb before emerging as the number one suspect in the investigation. But I was also seven years old at the time and not really paying attention to national news. So you'll have to excuse me for not being familiar with this particular event until the movie version started to attract attention. Apparently I'm not the only one who missed this one, as Clint's latest has under-performed at the box office. That didn't stop the movie from picking up a few nominations, including an Oscar nomination for Kathy Bates' supporting turn.

So, for those nineties kids and millennials who were too busy playing with Pogs back when to notice, let's talk about who Richard Jewell was. Jewell was a former rent-a-cop – who was somewhat overzealous – who was working as a security guard at the Centennial Olympic Park in Atlanta, Georgia in 1996. During a Jack Mack and the Heart Attacks concert, while suffering from a bad case of indigestion, Jewell discovered an unusual backpack. It's quickly deduced a bomb is inside. As Jewell and the rest of the security team clear the area, the bomb goes off. Two people are killed and a hundred other are injured. Jewell is, at first, considered a hero who saved lives. Soon, however, the FBI begins to suspect Jewell might have planted the bomb himself, in order to play the hero. The media soon runs with this idea and Jewell's entire life is under intense scrutiny.

The advertising campaign for “Richard Jewell” certainly made it look like a very serious drama about very serious things. Which it is and yet the film is also, in a roundabout way, a rather amusing comedy. See, Richard Jewell is an extremely sincere, utterly doofy, quasi-redneck wannabe. He loves cookies, huntin', and his mama. Even though the FBI thinks he is a terrorist, he still treats them with the utmost respect, referring to the officers as “sir” and offering to help. When the investigation suggest Jewell might be in a homosexual relationship with his supposed accomplice, he takes great pains to correct that. I mean, on the fateful day, he had a bad case of the shits. In other words, this guy is a lovable moron of sorts that is in completely over his head. Which is pretty funny. The ridiculousness of the situation is most apparent during a scene where Jewell has to take his dog out to go poo, while reporters crowd his front yard and snap photos.

Though it is most successful as a fact-based comedy, “Richard Jewell” does have effective dramatic moments. The actual scene where the bomb goes off is startling, the suddenness of the blast catching the viewer off-guard. Even more suspenseful is a reprise of this event Richard has during a dream, where he imagines the bomb killed him. Richard's desire to become a cop is obviously based out of a sense of lack of power. It's why he hassles partying college kids during an early scene. Which isn't very sympathetic but a moment where he cries about the lifetime of abuse he's suffered because of his weight and appearance, that is genuinely stirring. So is a similarly emotional sequence where, after realizing the FBI has bugged his apartment, Jewell looses his temper at his mom for watching an explosion-filled movie... Which he then apologizes for, because that's the kind of guy he is.

At it's best, “Richard Jewell” does capture the humor and drama of an extremely average guy caught in a surreal, privacy-violating situation. At its worst, “Richard Jewell” is another screed against the media and the government from Hollywood's favorite grumpy old white guy. The film portraying the news industry as hungry for blood and the government as all too willing to trample over the individual's rights isn't exactly wrong. However, the way Eastwood goes about depicting this reminds you of his especially dated stances on this topics. The real life news reporter that first wrote about Jewell being a suspect, Kathy Scruggs, is depicted as a glory hound obsessed with destroying Jewell's life to make herself more successful. She's also shown as seducing men to get stories, while often wearing sexy outfits that show off her body. The real Scruggs died of a prescription drug addiction, suggesting a more conflicted and complex human being, so this depiction is pretty damn tasteless. And about the treatment of women I'd expect from the guy who personally blacklisted Sondra Locke.

And it doesn't help that Eastwood has Olivia Wilde, a talented actress, play Scruggs as a venom-spewing she-demon. Still, the cast is overall strong. Though the part was originally intended for Jonah Hill, Paul Walter Hauser – who previously played another notorious nineties figure in “I, Tonya” – seems uniquely gifted to play this role. He already resembles the guy, first-off. Secondly, Hauser knows exactly how to capture a totally clueless dude who is guided by his own sense of ethics and adoration, even when it is horribly misplaced. He proves a surprisingly stirring performer, when he finally gives the FBI what-for or when he breaks down crying over some fried chicken. The title role could not be better cast. Sam Rockwell is also frequently hilarious as Watson, Jewell's lawyer and friend who is equally endeared to and annoyed with Jewell. Kathy Bates gets maybe the showiest role as Jewell's mom, who delivers a tearful press conference late in the film... But Kathy Bates is also awesome and can make even the hackiest, most Oscar-bait-y material into total poetry, which is absolutely what she does here.

Most of the negative reception towards “Richard Jewell” has revolved around its gross politics, which is totally fair. Like I said, the movie's treatment of Scruggs is dreadful. While some have read “Richard Jewell” as Eastwood making a secret pro-Trump movie, I don't quite see it. The media was wrong to persecute the real Jewell, making this a rare case where “fake news” was a valid concern. However, Clint has that obnoxious old man hatred of the media, so I can see where people get that criticism from. When it works, “Richard Jewell” is a surprisingly funny and even genuinely stirring movie. Yet it's also extremely clumsy in spots. A less crotchety, more detail-oriented filmmaker probably could've turned this into a slam dunk, as opposed to the semi-decent motion picture it is. [7/10]

Director Report Card: Sergio Leone (1965)

3. For A Few Dollars More
Per qualche dollaro in più

“A Fistful of Dollars” was an immediate success, at home in Italy and internationally. Sergio Leone and his producer wanted to get to work on a follow-up as soon as possible. Clint Eastwood was uncertain at first but, after seeing an undubbed print of “Fistful,” enthusiastically agreed to return. Debate rages to this day about whether or not “For a Few Dollars More” is a direct sequel or merely a thematic follow-up. When released in America, United Artist sold all three films as being about the Man with No Name, connecting them as a series. Sergio Leone always insisted that there was no continuity between the films, each meant to be singular stories. Eastwood is clearly playing the same character. The debates don’t affect the film any. “For a Few Dollars More” is not only a worthy follow-up to “A Fistful of Dollars,” it may actually be the better.

The Wild West is being terrorized by El Indigo, the most dangerous outlaw around, and his gang of miscreants, robbers, and murderers. The crooks plan to rob the bank of El Paso next, making off with a vault full of half a million dollars. On his tail are two separate bounty killers. The first is the poncho clad Manco, a lightening-fast gunslinger who doesn’t say much. The second is Douglas Mortimer, a black-clad former colonel who shoots with deadly accuracy and a bandoleer of high-tech guns. The two hunters meet on the trail of Indigo, butting heads at first. Eventually, they form an alliance to take down the villain, who Mortimer has a personal connection to.

From its opening minutes, “For a Few Dollars More” establishes itself as having a wider lens then Leone’s last film. A lone horseman crosses a prairie. The angle is wide and distant, the man seeming tiny in the field. A shot rings out through the area, the assassin unseen, the man falling dead from his perch. With that, the titles float on screen, designed to look like puffs of smoke, each pierced by a single bullet hole. The opening declares that this is a movie of bad men clipped down with deadly accuracy.

Powering the opening, and the whole film, is Ennio Morricone’s incomparable score. The whimsical whistle connects it with the first film’s theme, while also signaling its wild west setting. The flicking of the jew harp provides movement. The soft drum implies the beats of horse hooves and, later, the pumping of a locomotive. The guttural cries of men are primal and fierce while the strumming guitar builds to a sweeping, powerful, choir theme, where each of the elements meet again. There’s no doubt that it’s a ridiculously great, adventurous score that gets the audience excited.

Like the other Leone westerns Morricone would score, each of the main characters receive a musical motif of their own. Leone also begins the film by introducing each main character in a lengthy, singular scene. Mortimer stops a train and takes out a target. Manco walks through a thunderstorm, interrupts a poker game, and claims his own bounty. El Indigo, meanwhile, displays his stopwatch, the object that informs and defines his personality. The trio of leads, each getting a first scene to themselves, is something Leone would return to. As in films past and present, Leone also has his heroes undergo a Christ-like torture, beaten and brutalized by the villains. The movie concludes with the good guy and the bad guy having a duel in a stone circle, settling their personal grudge. That Leone would return to these story elements is appropriate, as they are classic western moments his films helped defined.

Despite Clint Eastwood being the marquee name, Mortimer is introduced first. The character is played with a stoic focus by Lee Van Cleef, already a veteran of westerns himself. He is steely and calculated, to the point of being relaxed. In the first scene, a mark shoots wildly at him. Mortimer, meanwhile, casually, calmly, loads his gun, taking the guy out with one clear, clean shot. The bounty hunter is presented almost like the James Bond of gunslingers. He is outfitted with the highest-tech weapons of the day, each contained in a unfolding brown leather satchel on his horse. Van Cleef also shows a quiet humor, an eyebrow cocked and a pipe in his mouth. He’s a different sort of badass then Clint Eastwood and a valuable addition to the film.

Which isn’t to say Eastwood still isn’t the king of cool. His own introduction has him casually strolling through a thunderstorm, unaffected by the rain. He casually marches up to the guy he’s going to kill and tells him so. He casually shoots underarm at an attacker. Eastwood’s Man with No Name maintains his ballsy toughness, smooth execution, and take-no-shit attitude. For example, he’s not above shooting an unarmed man. His soft spot for kids are maintained too, though even that has a limit. Like before, his scheming and planning can only take him so far and he eventually finds himself over his head. Eastwood inhabits the part so naturally that it’s no wonder he would define the western hero archetype. His performance is a deliberate, fascinating variation on a theme.

Probably the biggest pleasure of “For a Few Dollars More” is the inevitable conflict the film sends the two characters on. As bounty hunters, they are rivals. The fight scene between the two, coming about a half-hour in, is one of my favorite scenes in the film. They play an extended game of keep-away with bullets and hats. Eastwood shoots Van Cleef’s hat several times. Keeping with their established personalities, Van Cleef takes Eastwood’s off with a single shot. However, the two are only rivals for so long. Soon, they meet and formulate a plan. In most any other western, this would be a dull scene of exposition, setting up a plot that will obviously go wrong. However, watching Eastwood and Van Cleef bounce off each other is an absolute joy, the two forming a funny back-and-forth.

In “A Fistful of Dollars,” the villains were bad men, motivated by greed and murdering with glee. El Indigo is also played by Gian Maria Volonte, like the first’s Ramon. Volonte is just as vicious here. Indigo also takes pleasure in dispatching his foes, dangling their inescapable fates in their faces with the chiming stopwatch. However, that stopwatch is a key to Indigo’s past. He’s a more complex villain, motivated as much by regret as material gain. Throughout the film, we see glimpses of his past, a device Leone would also return to in future works. What he did was equally unforgivable but it roots his personality in a human sadness. The best bit of acting from Volonte comes when he stares into space, consumed by memories, the sad music box playing him to sleep. He is frightening when gunning down victims and plotting bank robberies. Yet the details of his past make him a more captivating adversary.

“For a Few Dollars More” also shows Sergio Leone’s directorial style expanding. The wide vistas that are so associated with him are on display here. The Spanish desert continues to make a visually fascinating location. No wonder Leone would want to film as much of it as possible at once. Gunslingers stand in the distance, firing off shots, their bullets rippling in the sand and dirt. He shoots the faces of hard, bad men with the same sort of gravitas he gives to the landscapes. He allows tension to build during the duels, placing as much importance on setting and location as he does to story or characters. This technique creates a surprising amount of suspense, making the viewer wonder about the outcome of the gunfight, even though the audience can assume the good guys will prevail. Leone’s bag of filmmaking tricks elevates the genre to a masterful art form.

“For a Few Dollars More” mostly tells a very different story from its predecessor. It’s not an unofficial remake of any Kurosawa film that I know of. However, the sequel does have one thing in common. In both stories, Eastwood’s Man with No Name must go undercover with the bad guys. This leads to the middle section of the story where it suddenly becomes a heist film. Prison bars are torn from walls. The plot device involving the vault, hidden inside a wooden box, is clever. Even more clever is the way the wood is shot away by the bandits. Because this is about both of them, Van Cleef worms his way into the gang too, in another surprisingly intense sequence. However, Leone spends more time on the duo’s discovery, leading to double-crossing, scheming, and changing alliances. These moments are somewhat routine and the only time “For a Few Dollars More” drags.

It doesn’t drag too much though. This is an action film that moves. From the first scene, the shoot-outs are lightening fast, muzzle flashes striking and bodies falling to the floor. The quick cut editing emphasizes the ferocity of the action. The early scenes of Eastwood mowing down rows of goons with super speed and accuracy are exciting as hell. However, the movie is buildings towards the thunderous climax. Manco and Mortimer have to face off against an entire town full of banditos. They march through the streets, gunning down their attackers. Leone’s camera films the streets between buildings tightly, creating an effective tunnel. Eastwood spins around in a chair, blasting goons through the window. Van Cleef is more direct, barging in and letting his rifle blaze. The stand-off between Mortimer and Indigo is breathtakingly exciting. All the film’s best elements come together. Leone’s lyrical direction, Morricone’s gorgeous score, and the intense performances combine to make a fantastic conclusion.

And, hey, if nothing else, the movie has got Klaus Kinski as a hunchback too! “For a Few Dollars More” is more direct and action-packed then the first part of the trilogy. It has more to offer with a more exciting, better constructed screenplay. The action is fantastic. The score is incredible. The actors are men at the top of their field, doing what they do best. It’s the rare sequel that’s superior to the original. That’s saying a lot, since “A Fistful of Dollars” was really good too. Most of all, the movie shows Sergio Leone evolving into a genre genius, a man who could turn a simple western into a exciting masterwork of filmmaking. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Sergio Leone (1964)

2. A Fistful of Dollars
Per un pugno di dollari

Spaghetti westerns existed before “A Fistful of Dollars.” However, Sergio Leone’s film re-popularized the western in Italy and around the world, putting a distinctly European stamp on that most American of genres. The film was a massive success in its home country, creating a tidal wave of interest that would make the spaghetti western the primary cinematic export of Italy for the next decade. The film would turn Clint Eastwood into an icon, a new sort of cowboy hero for a new sort of cowboy movie. Though critics dismissed it at the time, eventually the film would be recognized as the achievement it is, launching its director, star, and composer to the heights of respectability.

A stranger rides into town. The Mexican border town of San Miguel is torn apart by two rival gangs. On one side are the Rojos, a family of Mexican banditos who massacres soldiers for their gold. On the other side are the Baxters, led by the town sheriff, who is as dirty as the crooks. Seeing the town decimated by this rivalry, the stranger decides to play both gangs against each other. With his fast gun hand and keen intelligence, he sets about doing just that. However, as he becomes more invested in the innocent townfolks, the Rojos discovers the Man with No Name’s treachery.

By 1964, the traditional western had played itself out. With its white-hat/black-hat values, the genre was seen as out of date and out of touch. Leone wanted to reinvent the western as something edgier and hipper. In hopes of making something cool, the director looked towards who was the king of cool in the early sixties. The credits, with their bold colors, silhouetted shapes, and swinging music, recalls the James Bond series. The attempt is successful as, from the opening credits, it’s evident that “Fistful of Dollars” is a different breed of western. The images of galloping horses, kicked up dust, and shot bad guys diving towards the camera are bold statement to open the film.

And then there’s that Morricone score. Ennio Morricone’s music is so definitively tied with the spaghetti western that it’s hard to separate the two. The mournful, bugle-like trumpets links the music to the past, recognizing the western’s historical roots. The casual, catchy whistle suggests a protagonists that doesn’t worry about the bad guys around and is on-top of things. The insertion of jangly guitars contributes a rougher edge. The final ingredient are the vocals, barely understandable male voices barking sounds. The gruff male choir adds a final layer of macho strength. (When listening to it, I personally hear “We can fight!” but I suspect someone else might hear something else.) The whole thing builds to a crescendo of sweeping adventure that pulls the audience in. It’s incredible.

As the spaghetti western would grow, it would become more common for the films to feature a certain surreal element. It’s something that distinguishes the European westerns from their American counterparts and Eastwood would carry it with him when he started making his own. “A Fistful of Dollars” is set in a practical ghost town. As Clint rides into town, the streets are empty. The buildings are rickety facades standing among miles of desolate desert. The Spanish desert is a different sort of setting then the California back lots previous westerns were filmed on. The funeral bell tones ominously. As the stranger rides down the main street, a dead body on a horse rides pass him. From the earlier scenes, “A Fistful of Dollars” has established a slightly dreamy, off-kilter tone. San Miguel continues to be such a strange place, a hostile town from hell that welcomes no one and functions on violence. It’s an obviously artificial environment, one that further establishes the movie as a comment on the rules of the western.

Another creative decision Leone made in direct response to classic western archetypes is how the movie’s hero acted. Clint Eastwood’s Joe, who became the Man with No Name when the film was belatedly brought to America, is the definitive spaghetti western hero. He’s not the typical white hat western goodie. He tricks people, spending the whole movie playing two sides against each other. He’s motivated mostly by getting paid, making frequent references to the money he’s owed. He goes into a room full of people and shoots everyone unprovoked. When a wounded man tries to get up and run, he shoots him again. He’s a morally ambiguous anti-hero, rougher then the western heroes of years past. This is the mold most every other spaghetti western would follow. The Man with No Name would beget Django, Sabata, Sartana, and countless others. (The character’s actions were so unacceptable in America at the time that, when the movie premiered on TV, a hastily shot prologue was inserted, justifying the stranger’s actions as sanctioned by the law.)

Clint Eastwood was not the filmmaker’s first choice for the lead role. He wasn’t even the tenth. At the time, Eastwood was mostly a television actor, best known for his sidekick role on “Rawhide.” With this role, he saw an oppretunity to break away from his image as a clean-cut leading man. Eastwood helped create the Man with No Name’s look. The grimy stubble, pulled down hat, blunt cigars, and gun-concealing poncho were all Clint’s idea. More then the iconic look, Eastwood’s performance established the character’s style. In the opening minutes, his horse is shot at. In retaliation, he finds the men responsible and blows them away with ease. Before that, he makes subtly threatening, pretty funny banter at the guys. He tells the coffin maker to prepare three caskets and then corrects him to four on the way back. This grants Clint a rare, hard-to-obtain quality: Coolness. And Clint is the king of cool in this movie. He’s smooth, cool, intelligent, and lets his action speak for him.

Despite breaking many of the rules about what a western hero is supposed to do, Eastwood’s Joe is still a good person. As his campaign against both gangs continues, he realizes there are innocents caught in the middle. The only friend Eastwood makes in the film is Silvanito, the inn keeper. Joe is introduced to the film’s female lead when he punches her in the face. Marisol is an innocent mother, her child spending most of the movie crying for her or his father. Both are victims of the crooked gangs. After getting the shit beaten out of him, Joe gets out of town. He could have stayed gone too. But his need to protect the innocents takes him back into town, revealing his secret, compassionate heart. He tells the woman, who he has seemingly no romantic connection to, to high-tail it out of there but has to actively rescue Silvanito. Feel free to read into that all you want.

As an action movie, “A Fistful of Dollars” is far more exciting and dynamic then previous examples of the genre. Like many gunfighters before him, the Man with No Name is the fastest gun in the west. The film revels in his speed, the goons seemingly falling dead to the ground before he even whips his gun out. When barging into a house of bad guys, he viciously guns down the entire lot, spending a stray cat running to safety. Leone imbues his action scenes with a sense of real danger, making them purely exciting for the audience.

“A Fistful of Dollars” is also far more violent then the many westerns that came before. The bad guys gun down a whole fleet of soldiers with a gatling gun. Clint runs a guy through with a machete. After his treachery is made clear, the Rojos beat Joe to a bloody pulp. It’s an extended scene of torture, a story motif Leone would return to repeatedly as well. Joe gets out of this jam by crushing two goons with a comically oversized barrel, the camera lingering on their dead bodies. As the story grows increasingly grim, the camera focuses on the burning buildings and dead bodies. When the stranger rains vengeance down on the villains, they cough up blood and expire in agony. Though relatively tame by modern standards, “A Fistful of Dollars” was like an explosion back in 1964, showing a level of blood and violence unseen in westerns before.

As his career continued, Sergio Leone’s directorial style would continue to evolve. It’s still in its infancy here. Yet Leone’s style gives “A Fistful of Dollars” an energetic feel. His lens is frequently wide. A simple shot of Eastwood exiting the inn is shot with a fluid turn of the camera and takes full advantage of the wide-screen frame. As Joe marches up to meet the bad guy, the focus is on his feet as he steps ahead, looking like a giant advancing over a tiny town. Here, we get the first example of the director’s trademark close-ups on the hard, grizzled faces of his rough and tumble leading men. The Rojos stare in confusion and shock at Joe’s skills. Clint glares from under his hat, his intentions clear from his eyes. Leone’s vibrant style is most noticeable during the action scenes. He attaches the camera to the muzzle of a gatling gun as it fires. In intersecting long shots and close-ups, we see the shots fired and their bloody impact. This is action movie poetry, a dynamism that powers the entire film.

“A Fistful of Dollars” is captivating throughout. In its final minutes though, it builds towards something immensely satisfying and powerful. As in many westerns before and after, the hero marches into town, facing off with the bad guy. However, proving once again that his cleverness is his strongest weapon, Joe outsmarts the hoods. (This moment is so iconic and excellent that you overlook that Ramon easily could have shot him in the head.) The metal plate under the poncho has been referenced and parodied many times. More importantly, it builds on small plot details laid down earlier. During its climax is when “A Fistful of Dollars” graduates from merely good to really friggin’ good.

Though Eastwood is the star of the show, there’s a strong supporting cast backing him up. He has an immediate rapport with Jose Calvo as Silvanito, the inn keeper. Silvanito’s slightly sarcastic but somewhat nervous attitude contrasts nicely with the stranger’s cocksure confidence. Joseph Egger is also memorable as the coffin maker, who plays an increasingly important role as the story goes on. Mostly, it’s the colorful Rojo gang that the audience remembers. Gian Maria Volonte, who would returned throughout the Dollars trilogy, drips with villainous glee as the sadistic Ramon. Antonio Prieto is more serious and calculating as Don Miguel, the leader of the gang. Wolfgang Lukschy as Sheriff Baxter makes it clear very quickly that the sheriff is no better then the thugs he’s fighting. The only cast member truly underserved by the film is Marianne Koch as Marisol. Though Koch is beautiful, the character is an indistinct Madonna archetype, representing the purity of the townsfolk that the hero must protect.

“A Fistful of Dollars” is so good that you even forgive it for being an unofficial adaptation of “Yojimbo.” Akira Kurosawa even liked the movie. So, hey, if you’re going to steal, steal from the best. Though slightly eclipsed by its even more famous sequels, its own iconic status, and hundreds of further rip-offs, “A Fistful of Dollars” more then stands on its own as an excellent yarn, an exciting genre experiment that remains as effective today as it was back in the sixties. [Grade: A-]

Recent Watches: American Sniper (2014)

Every Academy Award season has its controversies. 2015 is no different. Were the nominees too white? Was “Selma” underrepresented because of (probably unimportant) historical inaccuracies? Was “The Imitation Game” not gay enough? Yet one film has emerged as the most controversial of the year: “American Sniper.” Is it racist? If it isn’t racist, does it egg on racism? Is it a hagiography of a contentious figure in recent history? What was with that fake baby? Most annoyingly, the film has become a political talking point. This particular debate is stupid. Obviously. You dislike a bad film because it's bad, not because of political beliefs. None of these debates ask the most important question: Is it even a good movie?

“American Sniper” is about the late Chris Kyle, the sniper with the highest body count in American history, based off his own memoirs. A brief segment at the film’s beginning details his pre-war life as a rodeo rider, his early enlistment into the Navy SEALS, his reaction to 9/11, and his soon-after deployment to the Middle East. There, Kyle quickly made a name for himself as a sharp shooter and a killer. The responsibility for his men and the things that happened during the war would weight on his home life.

All right, let’s ask the fucking important questions. Does “American Sniper” smooth over Kyle’s flaws? The film is upfront about Kyle being a redneck and a good ol’ boy but doesn’t ask questions about what that implies. He is portrayed as an unerring patriot, motivated solely by a love of his country and the love of his brothers in arms. The film never discusses if race or religion motivated Kyle’s acts both at home and abroad. Is “American Sniper” racist? The film treats the casual racism of the soldiers as a matter of fact. They refer to the Iraqi insurgents as “savages” repeatedly. Most of the Iraq citizens in the film are portrayed as terrorists, killers, and mad men. The sole positive Iraqis in the film are sacrificial lambs, dying to enrage the audience. Calling “American Sniper” racist may be unfair. However, it presents Kyle unquestionably as a hero, those he killed as evil, and all of his actions as justified. There’s no moral ambiguity. I don’t know about you but that makes me a little queasy.

What also makes me queasy is how “American Sniper” treats war in general. The early scenes of boot camp are the usual macho bullshit, ripped off from “Full Metal Jacket” without a hint of irony. The film makes an early commitment to verisimilitude, when Kyle has to turn his gun on a child in his first day on the battlefield. Too often though, the film treats war like a ra-ra action movie. The CGI pink mist, car crashes, and tank assaults feel less like “war is hell” and more like “Rambo IV.” The most questionable narrative decision is to give Chris Kyle an archenemy. An Iraqi sniper is set up early as his rival. The two have several encounters and the enemy solder gets away each time. One moment that really had me rolling my eyes comes when a fellow soldier starts talking about his soon-to-be wife. Predictably, this guy gets shot by the Bad Sniper, turning Kyle’s mission into one of revenge. When that revenge is dealt out, Kyle can return home, his conscious clear. Is framing a complicated, real life conflict in such light weight, black-and-white terms responsible? More importantly, is it insulting to the viewer’s intelligence?

When questioned about painting the conflict too broadly, Clint Eastwood has said “American Sniper” is actually an anti-war. It obviously is not. Eastwood focuses too much on the glory Kyle reaps from his actions. What Clint meant is that “American Sniper” does feature the effect the war has on Kyle’s mental state. Not subtly either. When at home, he can’t focus on his daily life. His blood pressure is through the roof during normal activities. After coming home, he sits in front of a silenced TV, bombs and bullets still ringing in his ears. He looses it at a barbecue, when his son starts playfully wrasslin’ with the family dog. Okay, sure, Eastwood shows that war fucks with people’s brain. The disingenuous part of this is the shown reason behind Kyle’s PTSD. The lives he’s taken do not weigh on his conscious. A fear of death or being shot at doesn’t bother him. Why is he haunted? Because he could have saved more lives. He’s always thinking about his boys out there and the ones he lost. He doesn’t become happy until he starts helping out at-home vets. Give me a break. There’s no humanity in “American Sniper.”

So the film’s moral center is dubious and it’s incredibly dishonest emotionally. What about the acting? Bradley Cooper brought depth to a space raccoon and, despite my skepticism, has proven himself to be a good actor. In this highly idealized version of Chris Kyle, there’s little room for Cooper to act. He’s a less interesting Captain America, blandly heroic with a golden heart. (Though the Marvel superhero he actually relates the most to is the Punisher. The film doesn’t entertain the connotations of that.) Most of the critical acclaim steams from Cooper’s biceps, which are huge. The rest of the performances aren’t important, since the characters are thin as can be. Sienna Miller, as Kyle’s suffering wife, at least gets to act. Eastwood’s visual palette is grimy and undistinguished. He employs Michael Bay-ian helicopter shots and crowded gunfire. Finally, let’s talk about the fake baby. That such an obvious, embarrassingly bad prop was allowed in the film confirms my suspicion that Clint cares less about making a good movie and more about getting the damn thing shot so he can get on the golf green.

The circumstances of Kyle’s death are brushed over. “American Sniper” ends with real life footage of the man’s funeral. The credits play in silence, out of respect. “He was a hero!” The movie yells at you. There’s no room for ambiguity. This, to me, is more disrespectful to the men who have actually fought and died in war. “American Sniper” simplifies a complex, horrifying event into a recruitment video. The actual details of Kyle’s life are almost unimportant in light of this. His idealized demeanor, and the questionable treatment of those he fought and killed, are a by-product of a film that claims to tell the true story of the Iraqi War but instead reduces the conflict to a ra-ra fairy tale. The historical accuracy of a film isn’t important to me. A film dumbing down its subject matter and insulting the audience's intelligence does. [4/10]