Dir.
Errol Morris, 2003, USA, 95 mins
Cast:
Robert S. McNamara
Lesson #1: Empathise with your enemy. In October 1962, Russia and America stood precariously on the brink of nuclear war. At President Kennedy's side was Robert S. McNamara, America 's youngest ever Secretary of Defence. As the world held its breath, through a mix of nerve and luck, they resolved the Cuban Missile Crisis by giving Khrushchev the deal he needed to back down and still claim a victory for the Russian people. But a few years later this lesson was already lost in the bloody quagmire of the Vietnam War. Such is the complexity, the "fog" of war, fascinatingly revealed by Errol Morris in this exquisitely crafted Oscar winning documentary on the life of McNamara.
Split into eleven "lessons" that act as flexible markers throughout McNamara's life, The Fog of War jumps playfully backwards and forwards in chronology. The film's core is cut from 25 hours of interview footage in which he tells his extraordinary narrative, beginning with his earliest memories of the celebrations following the end of World War One, through the Depression era, and ending with his final nerve wracking years as Secretary of Defence for Lyndon Johnson. The main focus is on his political career, but his formative years spent working for the U.S. Military and the Ford motor company are just as interesting. Always sharp, he also comes across as reflective, sincere and often, on the verge of tears, compassionate.
Morris uses a unique filming technique to coax strong eye contact from his subject. As he interviews, his own image is projected in front of the camera like a teleprompter, so McNamara is looking into the lens addressing the audience directly. Despite the intense and striking result, the interview is shot in a relaxed, disarming style with parts of McNamara's head bobbing out of frame and Morris off camera making the occasional casual interjection or prompt.
From the moment Philip Glass's unmistakable and sombre music becomes audible, the filmmaking exudes atmosphere and quality. With a perfect sense of pace and timing, the opening credits cut from white on black titles to footage of American troops preparing bombs for war. It is simple, but effective, setting the tone perfectly. At one point, typical of the attention to detail, the footage of a machine gunner in Vietnam is slowed down so the sound of the rapidly firing bullets matches the tempo of the music exactly. Lots of time-lapse shots echo Godfrey Reggio's visual masterpiece Koyaanisqatsi and even falling bombs become beautiful in slow motion. Going against current documentary fashions, the style of the original film sequences is cinematic, utilising dramatic lighting and creative use of shallow depth of focus. The archive footage is also painstakingly chosen, most of it seen here for the first time.
Seen at its best on the big screen, The Fog of War is a powerful and illuminating film with shocking images that will stay with you for a long time. Morris plays with our sympathies brilliantly, especially if you are unfamiliar with McNamara's reputation. At first he is portrayed as the embodiment of the American dream, his career soaring to a crucial Cold War role alongside Kennedy. But by the end of the film, things are more complicated; at best he was a man caught in a no win situation trying to do his duty for his President, at worst he was complicit in some of America's most heinous war crimes. He is also a past master of media manipulation and you are left reassessing his earlier words. Nevertheless, in today's political climate his lessons are more salient than ever and the last one stands out as poignant and timeless. Lesson #11: You can't change human nature.
Gavin Bush
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