I am the President of the United States of America, clothed in immense power! You will procure me those votes!
Lincoln
(2012)
Steven Spielberg’s latest prestige picture
appeared to be Oscar frontrunner for a while; whether it can still take Best
Picture remains to be seen, but it represents, possibly, the ultimate Oscar
bait.
As such, it displays both the best and
worst traits of “worthy” films. At its best, it is commendably literate,
probably more so than any film in the director’s back catalogue. I was continually
impressed with the screenplay’s refusal to cut any slack to the viewer whose
attention may have lapsed for a moment or two. At its worst, however, it is
victim to the kind of over-egged sentiment and bludgeoning, “This is the
message” approach that has marred Spielberg’s previous forays into the world of
“serious” filmmaking.
Accordingly, I don’t really feel this was
such a departure for the 'Berg. I’ve seen reviews that claim it was a massive step
forward in his maturity as a filmmaker, but it is riddled with the same
unevenness that diminishes any attempt he has made to tackle weighty or intellectually
rigorous ideas. Because, essentially, his is a populist approach; that is the
only way he knows to deliver films, whether that is appropriate to the content or
not. Perfect for what he does best (or did best, since he seems more concerned
with his legacy now than having fun), but for some of the hot button moments
from history?
So, unfortunately, while there was much
that I liked about Lincoln, its the
problems with it that stand out. John Williams' overbearing score, in
particular, swells almost every scene with a self-conscious combination of
importance, pride and sentiment that it doesn't need and which ultimately damage
the less grandiose impulses of the material.
The lip service played to the black
characters on the periphery of the events becomes painful after a while; each
one wisely imparting some piece of knowledge or shoehorned into delivering an
obvious platitude at an (in-) appropriate moment. The director was clearly
uncomfortable, understandably, with trying to tackle the subject of abolition,
when the decision-making was exclusively the providence of white Americans. But
his solution feels merely patronising. It is interesting to note that, at the
outset, Spielberg’s Lincoln project was to have concentrated on the
relationship between the President and Frederick Douglass, the African American
abolitionist movement leader and former slave.
Perhaps if this character had been retained, to whatever extent, the
film would have found the balance it was seeking.
The problems with Lincoln lead to the conclusion that Spielberg was the wrong man for the job (commonly the case when he has sought out high-minded historical subject matter); he lays it on too thick. The director assumes we will be rapt when we are asked to sit in awe of one of Lincoln's speeches, but they quickly resemble so much rhetoric (because, really, they are). There's also a tendency for characters to feed statements of the bleeding obvious to Lincoln (at one point Jared Harris' Ulysses S Grant says something to the effect of "Now you've led us through this war you can carry on and lead this country"; I'd have hoiked in my popcorn if I'd had any). It's a shame, as the main thrust of the politicking is detailed and engrossing. As a result, where the script becomes clumsy it feels all-the-more glaring.
Nevertheless, the director made many a
number of wise choices for his long in development project, not least reducing
the premise from a fully-fledged biopic to a depiction of the President’s
struggle to pass the Thirteenth Amendment; it’s this that makes the choice to
end the film with news of the President’s assassination ill-fitting (as Samuel
L Jackson has observed). It represents the wrong kind of closure but the kind
of choice Spielberg would be unable to resist. If he can’t tell the whole
story, and least he can show how it ends.
I’m ill-equipped to comment on the
historical accuracy of events, but I enjoyed the ethical debate evoked over
Lincoln’s choices; do the ends justify the means? And, if they do, at what cost?
If the film, understandably, concludes that Lincoln was right to manipulate and
bribe to achieve abolition, what example is this for any future government that
claims they answer to a higher authority or ideal over the constraints of the
law?
But the problem here is not that the
question isn’t given enough consideration, it’s that Spielbeg’s view of Lincoln
is so beatific that you can never be in any doubt as to the answer. Lip service
is paid to the question of the extent of Lincoln’s personal belief in equality,
during a conversation with his maid, but it is not a very well written or
executed scene. The politician’s noncommittal response is believable, but
character and dialogue has the awkward tone of “we need to address this point”.
Where Spielberg’s achievement is unqualified is the casting. He elicits fine performances all-round. Daniel Day Lewis is superb; authoritative yet warm, and at his most engaging when delivering Lincoln's frequent and long-winded (but funny) anecdotes. Tommy Lee Jones relishes his best role in ages as staunch abolitionist Thaddeus Stevens (although, when he takes his wig off at the end I did half wonder if he was going to be revealed as an ET who had engineered the amendment). James Spader makes the most of a gift of a scene-stealing part.
Aware of the burden of wall-to-wall
verbiage, Spielberg litters his film with supporting players (much as Oliver
Stone did with JFK); the result is
that barely a scene goes by without a recognisable face appearing in even a
very minor role. Everyone from Hal Hobrook and Lee Pace to Michael Stuhlbarg
and Bruce McGill make strong impressions. Some of the thespians given a chance
to chew off a bit more meat include David Strathairn as Secretary of State
William Seward and Sally Field, who acquits herself well as Lincoln’s troubled
wife. However, it’s debatable whether Spielberg unfurls his canvas too widely
by including Lincoln’s domestic tribulations. At times, the way topics are
broached through Mary Todd and, especially, his son Robert (Joseph
Gordon-Levitt, in a rate case of being able to do little with a one-note
character) comes dangerously close to being trite.
The latter represents Spielberg’s way in to
addressing the war; the son who wishes to be able to hold his head up in years
to come and say he did his bit held back by a concerned father (slightly
different in emphasis to more recent accusations of presidential draft-dodging,
but still pertinent). But, again, the director’s approach to this (Robert is
aghast at the sight of a pit filled with severed limbs) takes a hammer to crack
a nut. In another’s hands the same scene, same entire script even, might have
been more consistently successful, shorn of the urge to embolden every
emotional punctuation mark. The director is far more successful when he just
shows, rather than leads you by the nose; the opening battle sequence is
suitably horrific, lingering in the mind long after the film has shifted
attention to cloistered deal-making.
Perhaps I shouldn’t be too surprised. Tony
Kushner, the playwright who adapted (or, at least, was inspired by) Doris
Kearns Goodwin’s Team of Rivals: The
Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln, previously furnished Spielberg with
the screenplay for Munich. It’s
another film that strives for insight and nuance but muddles exploring a
subject with requiring its characters to address the same head-on. This is
particularly ironic with Lincoln, as so
much of the dialogue is both gloriously precise in its florid periodicity and
frequently uproariously funny. The result is an uneasy co-mingling of the inspired
and the inane.
There’s little to say about the technical
credits; regular editor Michael Kahn works seamlessly and unobtrusively while
Janus Kaminski is, in this case at least, the right director of photography for
job, suffusing the frame with muted browns.
It’s a shame that, for all its sterling qualities, Lincoln is prone to the kind of sentimentalising and veneration of its subject matter that diminished the likes of Schindler’s List and Saving Private Ryan. With great subject matter comes great responsibility, and I can’t help but conclude that, for his earnestness and desire to do right by his material, Spielberg’s is the wrong sensibility to explore the salient points and themes of significant episodes in history.
***1/2
Comments
Post a comment