Nighttime. Baghdad. March 19, 2003. The city bursts into light as “Shock and Awe” sweeps across the desert. Director Paul Greengrass (United 93, The Bourne Ultimatum) begins his latest release, Green Zone, with a black screen as the sounds of air-raid warnings and the crescendo of American bombs slowly fills the theater. After a riveting skyline view of Iraq’s capitol city under siege in the opening hours of Operation Iraqi Freedom, the viewer is thrown into the terrifying perspective of an Iraqi awoken in the night to the sounds of war.

The scene cuts, and now the viewer is in the company of Chief Warrant Officer Roy Miller (a stoic Matt Damon), as he frantically searches a Baghdad facility for weapons of mass destruction. Greengrass’s characteristic slingshot camerawork and skilled pacing masterfully convey a sense of immediacy. In the first two scenes alone, Green Zone creates a world that more closely resembles the maelstrom of Iraq than any film yet.

Unfortunately, the film’s bracingly realistic style is soon put into the service of a caricature-laden plot and a thinly veiled leftist politics. This turn for the worse is disappointing but not all that surprising. Green Zone continues a long line of recent Hollywood films that fail to engage politics and war in all their grim and tragic complexity—resorting to one-dimensional characters, clichéd monologues, and a conspiracy theory-based plot.

Where are the Weapons?

Roy Miller and his squad keep coming up empty-handed at every potential WMD site they visit. Suspicious and frustrated, Miller teams up with Martin Brown (Brendan Gleeson), a veteran CIA officer, and the two begin a rogue mission to determine the reason for the intelligence failures. Their efforts place them in opposition to Clark Poundstone (Greg Kinnear), a top official in the Department of Defense, and a composite figure clearly drawn from L. Paul Bremer, Donald Rumsfeld, and Douglas Feith. Poundstone is a quintessentially Machiavellian bureaucrat. His every move seems choreographed to provoke the viewer’s disdain.

Miller’s investigation also leads him to a close encounter with General Al Rawi, Saddam Hussein’s top general. Al Rawi becomes the missing link in Miller’s investigation. As he slowly puts the pieces together with the help of Lawrie Dayne (Amy Ryan), a Wall Street Journal reporter who was Poundstone’s mouthpiece in the run-up to the war, he begins to realize that Poundstone is hiding something about the missing WMDs. Predictably, to get to the bottom of things, Miller has to defy orders and take matters into his own hands—for a moment, one almost expects Poundstone to shout “Bourne’s gone rogue!” into a satellite phone.

Greengrass returns to form with a brilliant chase scene at the end of the film. As Miller and one of Poundstone’s cronies from Special Forces (Jason Isaacs) chase General Al Rawi through the streets of Baghdad, an American helicopter follows them from above as they weave and wind through the city’s tight neighborhoods amid a barrage of bullets. The editing in this scene is amazing, as the viewer switches between the three parties at a nearly inconceivable pace. When the dust has cleared, Baghdad is ablaze and the descent towards sectarian violence has begun. The sequence will remind fans of Greengrass’s admirable work in the last two Jason Bourne movies.

The Lessons of War

Nearly seven years have passed since the futile search for WMDs portrayed in Green Zone. With almost 4,400 American soldiers and countless Iraqi civilians dead, the country has witnessed the tragic and bitter consequences of war. Yet for some, the war provides the opportunity to promote a simplistic agenda. Green Zone’s paranoid plot does little to dispel the perception that Hollywood liberals can’t think of anything more sophisticated to say about Iraq than “Bush lied, people died.”

There is no doubt that a huge intelligence failure occurred in the run-up to the Iraq War. However, Greengrass turns the intelligence community into a locus of preposterous corruption, purposely constructed to justify American imperialism. Greengrass’s Iraq war is a game in which powerful officials push misinformation in order to lead innocent soldiers into a vicious, deadly quagmire. Reasonable critics and supporters of the war might enjoy the film, but they need not accept its maddeningly simplistic political message.

Jeffrey Lerman ‘13 is a Contributing Writer.

Photo Credit: The U.S. Army

Avatar, directed by James Cameron, 20^th Century Fox, 2009.

District 9, directed by Neill Blomkamp, TriStar Pictures, 2009.

In a nationally televised speech in October 2002, President George W. Bush argued that toppling Saddam Hussein’s regime would bolster American security and win the hearts and minds of the Iraqi people. “Our demands are directed only at the regime that enslaves them and threatens us,” he promised. “When these demands are met, the first and greatest benefit will come to Iraqi men, women and children.”

In James Cameron’s Avatar, Parker Selfridge, the leading bureaucrat for the human mission to the verdant moon Pandora, says, “Look, you’re supposed to be winning the hearts and minds of the natives. … If you walk like them, you talk like them, they’ll trust you. We build them a school, teach them English.” Selfridge’s next line evokes what Bush may have been thinking several years after Saddam’s fall from power: “But after however many years, the relations with the indigenous are only getting worse.”

That Avatar is really about the Iraq war was not lost on anyone. Nor was it the first overtly political parable of the year, arriving only a few months after its fellow Best Picture nominee, District 9, attacked xenophobia with its allegory about an alien race landing in Johannesburg. Both films provoked criticism for being heavy-handed and too explicitly political. But, in fact, they are skillful commentaries on history that hold powerful messages for today, and it is their power more than anything that discomforts their critics.

Space-age Parables

The humans in Avatar have left a resource-depleted Earth in search of a valuable source of energy called unobtainium. Oil, of course, was the motive that the anti-war movement attributed to Bush’s Iraq mission. Many conservative critics thought Avatar was, in the words of one blogger, “cinema for the Hate America crowd.”

But Avatar also functions as a critique of old-style Western colonialism. The human invasion of Pandora mirrors the displacement of Native Americans in the New World. A corporation from a technologically advanced civilization arrives in a new territory and encounters an indigenous population. The colonists make contact, for the most part peacefully, but abandon diplomacy and turn to violence to achieve their material objectives. This parallel led some wags to dub Cameron’s film “Pocahontas in space.”

District 9 is every bit as rich with metaphor as its 3-D cousin. An alien population stranded on Earth is confined to a slum known as “District 9.” Military contractors try to evict the District’s residents through quasi-legal processes, but also use deadly force. The rule of law in the slums is at once provided and undermined by a heavy gang presence.  Not accidentally, the story is set in South Africa, where decades of apartheid depended on brutal enforcement of the separation of whites from blacks. The parallel is even more pointed given that many of the poorest South Africans still live in slums.

But whereas in South Africa the white oppressors descended from colonists, in District 9 the oppressors are nativist reactionaries. This allows the film to double as a commentary on immigration in South Africa, where still-prevalent racial tension means that new arrivals are often treated with suspicion, denied opportunities, and relegated to teeming slums.

In both Avatar and District 9, the stand-ins for Western imperialists are clearly the bad guys. In Avatar, they are guilty of unbridled ambition and cruelty; their thirst for resources and sense of entitlement leads them to conquer a new planet with little thought for the native population. In District 9, the cruelties are motivated by xenophobia, and are contemptible despite the aliens’ status as unwanted intruders.

The Anti-Allegory Backlash

Both film’s political and historical meanings hit a little too close to home for some viewers. Avatar was widely panned in the conservative media, by commentators like Andrew Breitbart and Matt Drudge, as well as the Christian website MovieGuide, which resented Cameron’s implicit critique of the United States and his favorable depiction of the eco-friendly tribes of Pandora. For these critics, Avatar was a heavy-handed indictment of the war in Iraq and a clichéd retelling of Western colonial encounters with the native people of non-Western lands. Then there was the columnist for the Daily Telegraph (UK) who said, “The U.S. public is frankly tired of the anti-war rhetoric of the Left, which has sounded increasingly hollow since the success of the surge in Iraq.” MovieGuide criticized Avatar’s “abhorrent New Age, pagan, anti-capitalist worldview that promotes Goddess worship and the destruction of the human race.”

District 9, meanwhile, kept a lower profile among American critics, who gave the film mostly positive reviews, but It was banned in Nigeria for its unflattering depiction of their people (the aforementioned gangsters). In South Africa, the film struck a chord with critics, who recognized the armored trucks, called Casspirs, that enforced segregation during the apartheid era. They also noted parallels between the benighted aliens and the destitute present-day immigrants from neighboring Mozambique and Zimbabwe. (Given the horrific economic situation in Zimbabwe, they might more properly be termed refugees.)

The backlash against the two movies, particularly that of American critics of Avatar, fails to undermine the legitimacy of the parallels that the films draw. Instead of offering substantive critiques, nay-sayers often simply questioned the character of filmmaker James Cameron, who has admitted his environmentalist leanings. But popular Hollywood films with left-leaning politics are nothing new. In reality, the vitriol that greeted these films is an indication of how well they convey their critical messages.

Learning from History

Avatar and District 9 are not merely history lessons; they have present-day political implications, too. Avatar might be taken to critique the Europeans who drove out Native Americans with blankets laced with smallpox. But many would also suggest that chauvinism underlies the outlook of many in the West today, with regards to the so-called Third World.

Similarly, District 9 is a harsh reminder of the treatment of blacks under the apartheid government of South Africa, but it also raises questions about the persistence of racism and xenophobia around the world. It is no wonder that these movies made many viewers uncomfortable.

What use are these reminders of the injustices of history? Certainly these films are not the first to engage with the wrongs of the past. But present-day injustices are often so difficult to recognize as wrongs. In both films, the corporations have some legitimate reasons for doing what they are doing, but they fail to recognize the fundamental inhumanity of their actions. Both films aim to jolt us into questioning our motives and recognizing our own cruelties, even if they distance their implications by making the victims humanoid aliens and not human beings. That these films make us uncomfortable is an indication of how much their themes of injustice continue to resonate with, and haunt, people today.

Alec Barrett ‘11 is a Senior Writer.

Photo Credit: Flickr (fibonacci Blue)

It is not hard to imagine a three-hour-plus biopic covering the trials and triumphs of Nelson Mandela. A life as epic as Mandela’s naturally lends itself to a lofty cinematic portrayal along the lines of a Gandhi or an Elizabeth. But to tell the complete story of a person on film entails inevitable risk. While such films are considered prime Oscar bait, they tend to feel overlong, clichéd, and predictable. With Invictus, director Clint Eastwood and screenwriter Anthony Peckham have wisely chosen to focus on one fascinating and important episode in Mandela’s life—the 1995 Rugby World Cup in South Africa that helped the severely divided nation along the path to reconciliation and unity. This is a useful frame within which to explore Mandela’s post-apartheid efforts to heal his nation, and it provides the film with human drama and the excitement of competition.

The Human Factor
The single most powerful accomplishment of the film is that, unlike biopics that idolize their subjects, Invictus thoroughly humanizes Mandela. Following some brief historical context (the end of apartheid and the inauguration of Mandela), the first image we see is of the newly elected president waking up in the morning. He pulls himself up,  makes his bed, and goes out for a walk. Seeing Mandela in such a personal light—we watch him tell jokes, get bored in meetings, and of course, feel the excitement of sport—reminds the audience that even the most impressive and courageous figure is, after all, human like us.
Indeed, the film focuses as much on Mandela’s political acumen as on his legendary spiritual generosity. Mandela uses the performance of South Africa’s Springbok rugby team, formerly a symbol of white oppression, as a tool to unite the bitterly divided black and white populations. Rather than attempt to deify Mandela, Eastwood emphasizes his political genius in using a sporting team to capture the hearts and minds of his people.
But political shrewdness never gives way to cynicism. At one point, Mandela’s skeptical aide, confused by her boss’s preoccupation with rugby, asks the president if his newfound obsession with the game is merely a political calculation. “It is a human calculation,” Mandela responds. (The film’s working title was actually The Human Factor.) It is clear that Mandela does engage in political maneuverings to lift the spirits of the nation. However, he does not rely on his own authority or his rhetorical prowess to achieve this. Instead, he recognizes the ability of human drama to inspire people to reform and reconcile. He merges politics and sports in order to make his country cheer as one.

Sporting Goods
Yet despite the inherent inspiration of the story, Invictus suffers from a curious sense of detachment and slowness. While its pacing is more often meditative than plodding, the film nevertheless lacks the fire and wit of other recent ventures like The Queen and Milk, both of which told the true stories of political leaders but with greater liveliness and humor. Fortunately, though, the simple joy of sport provides an effective antidote to the occasionally lagging pace. It is difficult to think of a genre of film that better captures the thrill of human experience than the sports movie. From the uplifting underdog tale of Rudy to Eastwood’s own Million Dollar Baby, the sports genre has given filmmakers the ability to create enduring drama both on and off the playing field. The inherent suspense of a sporting match—even one in which the outcome is a foregone conclusion—is a joy to watch, as every hit, score, and cheer is magnified on the big screen. Invictus is at its best not only when it captures the humanity of Mandela, but also during the film’s climactic rugby match. In Invictus, the thrill of competition is infectious.

Camera Tricks
Invictus ends with images of celebration and reconciliation. The audience is left with the impression that through his genius (and with a little help from the Springboks), Mandela managed to repair the rift that had nearly torn South Africa apart. The truth of the matter, unfortunately, is not so simple. A December article by Barry Bearak in the New York Times revealed that nearly half of South Africa feels that race relations have not improved since the end of apartheid. On the national Day of Reconciliation, many Afrikaners still celebrate the Day of the Vow, which commemorates their bloody victory over the Zulus in 1838. That’s a far cry from the happily-ever-after ending of popular legend and Eastwood’s portrayal. Bearak even singled out Eastwood’s film for contributing to the misconception, writing, “Viewers of the new American movie Invictus might be tempted to conclude that such racial harmony prevailed in the aftermath of a long-shot upset in a rugby game.”
However, Eastwood and Peckham should not be condemned for producing a film that attempts to captivate rather than fully inform. Special effects and camera trickery are not the only tools of cinematic illusion; motion pictures also have the power to create their own historical memories. Sometimes the results are dangerous; D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation, a frighteningly bigoted conception of post-Civil War America, comes to mind. Other works, such as Oliver Stone’s conspiracy-mongering JFK, provoke ongoing controversy. With Invictus, however, the purpose is not to rewrite history, but to examine a single moment. As with all movies, the filmmakers sought to capture the audience’s imagination. On that front, they succeeded and produced a work that celebrates the possibilities of reconciliation and renewal. Critics may endlessly debate the social responsibility of filmmakers to educate audiences as well as entertain them. But for better or worse, Invictus celebrates a moment in the past, ephemeral perhaps, but also inspiring.
Near the end of the film, Mandela appears on a television sports program and he links the challenges of governing to challenges on the field. Rugby is a tough sport, he says, much like politics. The metaphor may be anticipated, but it is also powerful, and it stays with you. Politics, like sports, is aggressive, unpredictable, and rife with disappointment. But with the right players, and at the right moments, both have the power to capture the best of the human spirit. Invictus shows that films can do the same. ♦

Jonathan Hawley ‘10 is a Senior Writer.

Photo Credit: Warner Bros. Pictures

Ursula Plassnik is a current member of Austria’s Parliament and is a Visiting Fellow at the Institute of Politics. She was instrumental in managing Austria’s 2006 EU-Presidency.

Harvard Political Review: What is your personal definition of human trafficking?

Ursula Plassnik: Legal definitions in various countries seem to be very different, and that is part of the problem of addressing human trafficking on the international scene. We should never forget that human trafficking is one of the most lucrative businesses. … It is particularly a problem in Europe with regard to the eastern and southern part of the continent. … So the first step, in my mind, is to raise awareness in our own societies because we know people who have been subject to human trafficking. Sometimes we want to close our eyes rather than to face the problem.

HPR: How do the Vienna Forum and the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe come together to work against human trafficking or more broadly, human rights?

UP: The UN office against crime, which is based in India now, and the international community altogether is quite active. There is a director-general Antonio Maria Costa who has organized two years ago the UNODC conference to mobilize the international community against trafficking in human beings and they are doing extremely valuable work. They have, for example, now made studies in each and every country that belongs to the UN – 192 countries – where they have tried to see how the problem of trafficking is defined and what is being done in these countries. This is the first time ever that such an inventory has even been attempted. Of course it cannot be a perfect job at first, but I think it is an important step to mobilize public opinion and governments in various parts of the world. There has also been a valuable contribution made by civil society to this subject matter. Books are written. Films are produced. Celebrities in pop or music or in the film industry have taken a stance and given visibility to the issue, which I think is very important. So this is going to contribute to this raising of awareness in our world.

HPR: Why does modern-day slavery seem to be hidden from everyday life? Is there something about the form of modern-day slavery that disconnects it from historical slavery?

UP: That might be part of the problem that we have to address, because slavery is something that we like to relegate to the history books. We like to think about it as something that we have worked our way out of through the years. … We have this impression, this idea of ourselves as being countries that no longer have anything to do with slavery. So these modern day forms of slavery are very hard to get across to people. It’s very hard to open their eyes and make them aware that even among the people they personally know, there are likely to be victims of human trafficking. This is part of the problems we face in public opinion.

HPR: There are several issues that transcend borders, such as human rights and peace agreements. Is the EU the most adept organization at addressing these issues? Does the EU function as a policy-forming group of countries or is it just simply motivation and support for its countries?

UP: It’s a combination of both. There are areas of competence in the European Union where we have defined a common policy. One good example is the Common Agricultural Policy. That is the policy that applies to all twenty-seven with the same rules and the same financial mechanisms. And then there are policies where the member states keep their sovereignty or part of their sovereignty fully untouched and where they are cooperating in an intergovernmental way. An example of these would be to a large degree the foreign policy of the EU. We continue to have twenty-seven countries with their sovereign foreign policies and yet there will be more and more of a European voice on the global scene. There will be more and more of European common action in foreign policy.

Photo Credit: Sebastian Zwez, Creative Commons

As Dahlia Lithwick notes in her amusing summary of the oral argument, the five conservatives on the Court have been chipping away at McCain-Feingold with relish, and they will likely continue that trend by overruling the district court, which ruled against the filmmakers while relying on the Roberts Court’s own precedents. The government lawyer did himself no favors by taking his argument to its logical limits, agreeing that the government could even place funding restrictions on a campaign biography. He tried to emphasize that he wasn’t talking about banning books, just regulating the financing of them. But leading the justices to think of Fahrenheit 451 is probably not going to win him any friends.

In any case, I have to wonder, as someone who supports much stronger campaign finance laws than even McCain-Feingold, whether the eventual ruling from the five conservatives (and possibly others, like Souter, who were turned off by the government’s extremism) will really be such a bad one. In fact, I am inclined to agree with Justice Scalia, who surmised that “the First Amendment provides ‘heightened’ protection when a campaign message involves an exchange between someone wanting to speak and someone willing to listen.” Perhaps TV commercials are subject to regulation in a way feature films are not because the former are impressed upon unwilling viewers, whereas the latter are only seen by paying customers. The “captive audience” problem has been used on occasion to justify state regulation of speech, although I suppose it might be argued that someone watching TV is not really “captive,” because he or she can always change the channel. (In fact, the great liberal William Douglas made this argument in rejecting FCC censorship of “offensive” radio speech).

Now, even if the Court’s ruling embodies Scalia’s reasonable distinction between TV commercials and feature films, it will still represent another step forward in the judicial emasculation of McCain-Feingold. And those who support campaign finance reform shouldn’t forget that the Court’s conservatives want to get rid of all regulations, including those that might be defended under the “captive audience” doctrine. The present case is an easy one for them: it allows them to demonize the regulators as book-banners, and to raise the specter of government deciding what movies people can pay to see (even though, of course, the government would only be regulating the financing of those movies). Just because they might be right in this instance does not make them right on the bigger issue: whether government, in the interest of promoting a competitive public arena of ideas, can regulate the expenditures of organizations who would otherwise get to have much more “free speech” than everyone else.