Tragedy + Time = Popcorn

"It's more than a movie - it's a vivid reminder of the love, heroism, faith and patriotism that comprise the fabric of our country." — Brent Bozell, President of the conservative Media Research Center At the conclusion of Monday night's screening of Oliver Stone's World Trade Center, I found myself the lone dissenter among the small group of film critics I was chatting with. While not overly enthusiastic about it, they all felt the film had its merits, and found it to be a well made and effectively moving drama. Their reaction left me questioning my own — was my utter disdain for the film purely a subjective response based on personal losses, grief, and suffering on that ill-fated day? Or is the film truly nothing more than a piece of patriotic propaganda that panders to the pro-family Christian right? Days later, I'm still at a loss in understanding exactly what purpose the film serves. That Stone exhibits restraint in telling the story of two men who survived beneath the rubble is hardly grounds for praise. This emphasis on what the film isn't takes away from what it is — an unabashedly sentimental procedural that wouldn't have found its way to the Hallmark Channel if it wasn't enveloped in the 9/11 tragedy. After the collapse of the towers, the film alternates between scenes of trapped police officers McLoughlin and Jimeno (Nicolas Cage and Michael Pena), and family members eagerly awaiting news. At this point we're left with the bog standard [people] trapped in [place] story, yet without any dramatic tension. With its pre-determined conclusion, I imagined Stone would try to capture what it felt like that day — not just for the family (which the film does, albeit poorly), but for all of us who were left transfixed and glued, zombie-like, to our televisions. But the collective experience is not to be found here, save for a single scene towards the end with Viola Davis as a mother hoping to locate her son, whose last encounter with him was an argument. A well-acted scene that offers only the briefest of glimpses into what many went through on that Tuesday. It was during this long middle section, where the men were discussing their wives, baby names, and Starsky and Hutch (in order to stay awake) that my mind drifted to the people who died that day, and of their family members who didn't receive a phone call with happy news. I thought how helpless I felt, and of the constant reminders that remained for the days and weeks that followed — the personal papers that littered the streets, the walls of 'Missing' photos, the hovering clouds of dust and smoke, and the unforgettable smell of burnt steel, plastic, and flesh. Yet nothing of the day lingers in the film, and the reunion picnic that closes the film (two years after the fact) makes it that much easier for us to leave the theater feeling chipper, and damn proud to be an American. While it is remarkable that anybody was found alive in that rubble (McLoughlin and Jimeno were 2 of only 20), I feel that there's something inherently irresponsible in narrowing the focus in order to create an uplifting, feel-good story. It's as if the film exists in a vacuum, and its refusal to acknowledge facts (both pre- and post-event) is not only naive, but also a bit dangerous. This kind of over-simplification is exactly how Bush & Co. would want you to remember that day. That it was simply an act of 'evil' carried out by individuals who hate our freedom. Is it any wonder that right-wing media outlets are praising the film, or that Paramount hired the same PR firm that brought us the Swift boat campaign against Kerry? Towards the end of the film, a voiceover tells us how people came together to help each other. Yet you wouldn't know it from this film, which reduces the search effort to the lone Connecticut businessman who got a haircut, went to church, threw on his fatigues, and headed to ground zero. Driven on by the lord, his final utterance in the film is about how "America will need some good men to avenge this." We then learn that he served two terms in Iraq, which some might read as a connection to 9/11, and thus legitimizing the war. In his Village Voice review, Jim Hoberman refers to the film as Stone's rehabilitation. After the failure of Alexander, one can see why he might try to curry favor with the American movie going audience, yet I can't help but feel he takes additional steps to win the hearts and minds of those who would normally avoid an Oliver Stone film. From the Brooks & Dunn song that Jimeno cranks on his car stereo (Dreamin' in red, white, and blue/Only in America/Where we dream as big as we want to), to the endless references to children and family, and of course the multiple appearances by Christ himself, this is, as Cal Thomas puts it, "one of the greatest pro-American, pro-family, pro-faith, pro-male, flag-waving, God Bless America films you will ever see." Yay men, and Amen! Though I'm willing to admit to a heightened subjectivity when it comes to any film about September 11, Stone's film is little more than an overly sentimental cliché-laden bit of Hollywood manipulation. Waking up this morning to hear about a planned attack of US-bound airplanes only strengthens my belief that World Trade Center is exactly the film we don't need right now.