Alex Garland's 'Civil War,' or A River of Entitlement Runs Through It
“A Civil War” wants to ask the big questions. It really does. But all that seems to result from Alex Garland’s appraising gaze is the nihilism of a mind that actually rages against the possibility that it could indeed happen here.
Such a mind desires comfort above all else, which is likely why the rebels tearing up the place look quite a bit like all-American soldiers, complete with uniforms and a flag that looks awfully similar to the country they’re supposedly rebelling against. It would be kinda subversive if they didn’t represent an alliance so unlikely it’s laughable - California and Texas, who have taken up arms for the purpose of secession. But it works very well for moviegoers who merely desire a side to identify with sans any depth beyond vague anecdotes as to why they’re rebelling and just how it came to this.
The unintentional hilarity doesn’t stop there. Our viewpoint characters are a little group of journalists who are hastening to what is still America’s capital to interview a president so heinous he earns a Gaddafi comparison. Said leader of the not so free world is played by Nick Offerman, whose brand of old school, very American values would be a shrewd casting choice indeed if he made an appearance outside of a few precious minutes at the beginning and end of this farce.
Instead we get Kirsten Dunst in full burnout mode as Lee, a hardened war photographer, her more freewheeling colleague Joel (Wagner Moura), the elderly, distinguished Sammy (Stephen McKinley Henderson, who actually lends this picture some dignity until he doesn’t), and wide-eyed newbie Jessie (Cailee Spaeny, a true professional on the rise giving it her all). They are our tour guides through an America that is disintegrating in front of them, with such a lack of faith in their audience that they must outright define the symbolism of a downed warcraft in front of the JCPenney, and by the end are barely recognizable as professionals of any sort.
A24
Garland may rage against the American machine, but much like the viciously misguided “Joker,” it’s an anger that’s the result of the kind of elitist moviemaking that fails to differentiate from protestors and the rising forces of fascism. Because when you think yourself above it all (consciously or not), they both represent inconvenience. An approach like this can only lend itself to the nihilism of rhetoric that could apply itself to any situation involving violence, with no analysis of whence it came, when the mind-boggling scream in the night is borne of the fact that this can in fact not only happen here, but happen to you.
It isn’t always this way. In “A Private War,” Rosamund Pike convincingly did justice to real life war correspondent Marie Colvin, who could gaze upon a war in Syria and see a warning for all humanity, while documentaries such as “Which Way Is The Front Line From Here? The Life and Time of Tim Hetherington” could tell the story of a journalist who could see beyond himself and the value in documenting conflict. But the reporters in “Civil War” are so damned incompetent no one seems to think of attempting to stop a colleague’s bleeding bullet wound, or even duck down out of the line of fire when shoving another out of harm’s way.
This so-called war movie would rather give moviegoers a scare so removed from analysis it might as well be a zombie apocalypse. Whatever. Save your devotion and spending power for movies that are actually subverting some of our most sacred stories with creatively deranged glee. They’re among us, and waiting for no one’s permission, lawsuits be damned.
Grade: D
