After Alexander I took a solemn vow not to ever again pay money to see an Oliver Stone movie. However, as the person in your circle of acquaintance most likely to have advocated "Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war" since 9/11/01, I felt obligated to see World Trade Center, especially after reviewing United 93. No one is more amazed at this enthusiastic review than I am, but that is one vow I'm glad I didn't keep.
I'm not sure it's possible to critique WTC in the ordinary way. I can say, without reservation, that this is Oliver Stone's best movie since Platoon, in terms of its storytelling, and that this is the film that redeems Stone as a director of art, rather than propaganda, in my humble opinion. However, I cried from about the sixth or seventh scene on throughout the movie, and I heard sniffles from all around me well before the end of the picture. In other words, if you were alive in America on September 11, 2001, it's impossible to relive that day without overwhelming emotion. My observations and thoughts below are so colored.
Surprisingly, in light of his leftist, conspiracist history as a filmmaker and as a public figure, Stone gives us a slice of pure Americana. I don't know if he meant to do so quite as emphatically as his film comes across, but I walked out of the theater feeling like I had just seen a great American film in the tradition of The Grapes of Wrath. There is in it an at least near-great anthem to classic American heroism. To his eternal credit, Stone allows the true foundation of that heroism to shine through. These men, their wives, and their families survive the ordeal that was that unspeakable day mostly because they live their lives in, with, by and through a simple creed of faith, family, and friends. I may be carried away in the emotion of the moment here, but I believe Oliver Stone has made Ground Zero our new Gettysburg.
The venomous politics that followed after 9/11 like cultural poison are not addressed here except in the most muted way, as mere seeds of their latter-day selves. In this, Stone's movie is historically accurate as I recall the spirit that emerged in the hours and days after the attack. We can remember, watching this story unfold, how we truly felt that day, the shock, the horror, the desperate need to find a loved one to embrace, the implacable resolve to do something good in the wake of such evil. We can remember once again that in the clear light of that September morning we knew the difference between innocence and evil.
One thing that struck me as I watched was the banality of the words and voices of the media talking heads that serve as a soundtrack for much of the time. Stone's narrow focus on the families' ordeal is masterful in the way it makes those public voices so irrelevant, even though we all know they would not long remain at our periphery.
I can't honestly say much about the acting, except to commend Maggie Gyllenhal and Maria Bello for their portrayals of the two cop-survivors' wives. They show us the distaff side of courage rather beautifully. Nicholas Cage plays Sgt. John McLoughlin, but this is not your typical Nic Cage role. For one thing, he spends at least three-quarters of the movie so buried in WTC rubble that you can only make out a lunar sliver of his face. No one overplays his or her role, despite some mid-story moments that seem plodding. Even the scenes which made me the most restless served, in the end, to give me a taste of the suffering visited on so many that day, the blind hours of waiting for word of loved ones, the grating helplessness of not knowing.
I don't know what the budget was on this film, but I was almost as moved by some of the cinematography as by the rest of the story. Actual footage from that day is blended with some kick-ass set design to give us a gritty, gut-wrenching sense of what it was like to be at the WTC. One thing that everyone I've spoken with said, those who were in New York on or in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, was that the smell around Ground Zero was awful. The visuals here, and especially the smoke, give you the brimstone sense of that smell. I spoke with a friend at dinner after I wrote the first draft of this essay, and she asked me if Stone showed the people who jumped. He does it with one remarkable shot. In that simple, solitary focus, you feel again the moment you realized what it was you were actually seeing. My eyes are branded in the glory of the Lord, indeed.
Likewise, I haven't paid any attention to what the box office receipts were. I don't know whether WTC met expectations. All I can say is, I recommend that you see World Trade Center. It would be a good thing to do as the dreadful anniversary approaches. Just be prepared to cry.
Bonus reco:
ABC's The Path to 9/11 is supposed to give some historical perspective, recalling the events of the decade prior that contributed to the enemy's eventual success on the day. I intend to watch & review it. United 93 is just now released on DVD. And History Channel, or as I like to think of it, THC has some pretty good programming on aspects of the 9/11 attacks, although they haven't yet begun to, in earnest, debunk 9/11 conspiracy theory. So if you want to wallow at the lustrum, be my guest.
For once in my life, I'm actually looking forward to the fall movie season, the annual harvest of serious, little movies: The Illusionist, Hollywoodland, and The Black Dahlia all look interesting. And I may break another solemn vow and go see Sean Penn's (and Anthony Hopkins') All the King's Men.
Copyright © 9/6/06, Erin Iris Earth-child
In Memoriam: Ebony Anpu