Munich (2005)

IMDB

It would be irresponsible here if we didn't talk about the sex scene first. No, not the first one. If you know which sex scene I'm talking about, then read on. If not, then read the signs that spoilers riddle these waters. Ye been warned, matey.

So, the sex scene. My companion, who majored in film in undergraduate school, and was taught criticism from a feminist perspective, had a different take on it then I did. Her experience was that it took her out of the film. She saw Bruce Banner working out all of his angst and frustration on this woman who was being used by Spielberg as a vessel, not a character.

I took it a bit differently, and had a more visceral reaction to it--I think I saw it as the Spielberg intended: a cathartic event for our main character who worked through these issues in the safety of his home, and was brought back to reality by the unselfish caring of his partner. That said, I think the scene is flawed. I know it didn't work for a lot of people--it was absurd, and it was a bold move, bordering on comical, pairing up the violence in his head with violence in bed.

So, could I defend it? I mean, I did react to it, even though I see the flaws and hear the people critiquing it. I totally understand why it took Christine out of the movie, and think her point is totally valid. But, here we are in the end of the film and we need a cathartic event for our character to become himself again--to regain what he's lost. His paranoia was growing, his uncertainty palpable. I see it as his wife speaking to him in the only way she was able to--using a shared language more tangible and that communicates more than words do.

But, granted, a flawed scene. Could it have been done perfectly? I dunno, but I think it was so risky to attempt it that I have to give them the props in the first place.

The fact is, we get the luxury of hemming and hawing over these things because it's a Spielberg film. If this were the first film by an up-and-comer, we'd be full of praise and rushing to try to find their first indie features on DVD. Instead, we get a work by the master--one of the best visual filmmakers of all time--whose message gets diluted too often by his own popularity on one hand, and his moments of saccharine on the other.

Well, I know my buddy Kent has my back on this, but goddamn Spielberg is a master. This film was endlessly complex, shot with a fascinating intimacy and confidence that could only come from such an experienced filmmaker. It is a story told visually, the opening mixing archival footage with live footage with frenetic, energetic storytelling. You always knew where you were and what was happening, but the energy was palpable. I don't know a single filmmaker that can pull those complex storylines off, and have us learn everything we did without once being lost. The man deserves the props.

He's also learning from his past. Nothing in this film was inevitable or terribly obvious. It didn't feel staged--and the only moment that leaned on being emotionally manipulative was the last shot, but even as I would defend the flawed sex scene, I would say that he was so restrained through the whole thing, we need to give him his props and just let him have it. I suspect for that moment, I'm not the audience.

Interesting, and ironic, too that here we are looking at the twin towers, and the text tells us that 9 out of 11 of the original terrorists were killed?

Well, I'm not going to go into the politics of it, or the righteousness of it. I will go back to that sex scene one more time, and talk about what our secret agent was seeing: the killing of olympic team at the airport. And, I'll ask one question: did anybody else notice that the only time we see any acts of violence perpetrated by the Black September members is in the memory and flashbacks and imaginings of a man who wasn't there?

That message, Mr. Spielberg, I can get behind. It's our own demons we are fighting as we fight against those who would do violence against us, whether we be Palestinian, Jew, American, or--this week--Dutch cartoonists. Next week? Who knows. Ourselves are the only constant.