Charlie Wilson's War
Directed by Mike Nichols
“You’re Helen of Troy!” exclaims Tom Hanks as Texas Congressman Charlie Wilson, praising his oil-millionaire mistress Joanne Herring who manipulates him to manipulate Congress into secretly financing Afghanistan’s 1980s battle against the invading Soviet army. This flirtation sets the power-chic tone of Charlie Wilson’s War. Wilson’s reference to antiquity treats contemporary warfare as a joke, a power couple’s caprice. By having Julia Roberts play Joanne Herring in an upswept blonde hairdo that makes her look like Chelsea tranny Amanda Lepore—thus trivializing Herring’s professed Christian commitment—director Mike Nichols confirms his legendary, heartless wit.
Power-chic distinguishes Charlie Wilson’s War from other recent films that took critical, self-important notice of America’s Mideast foreign policy. It reveals the true insensitivity beneath Left Hollywood’s moralistic facade. Although Charlie Wilson’s War is more watchable than such dreck as In the Valley of Elah or De Palma’s discombobulated Redacted, it is worse than either just because it is so slickly watchable. Nichols and screenwriter Aaron Sorkin replace the solemnity of war with irreverent shtick. Congressman Wilson is introduced soaking in a Vegas hot tub with strippers, a TV actress, pot-smokers and hard drinkers; his mistress enters at a swanky Houston fundraiser for her anti-Communist cause. These good-timers supposedly glamorize the tired idea of personal conviction.
Numerous sitcom gimmicks come into play: Wilson’s harem of leggy, buxom beltway secretaries; a foul-mouthed, gruffly principled, blue-collar CIA agent (Philip Seymour Hoffman doing a sentimental stand-up routine); and images of Afghanistan’s maimed women and children to prove these icy filmmakers still have hearts. Nichols and Sorkin are modern Dr. Strangeloves; they’ve learned to stop worrying and giggle at the long trail of government subterfuge that eventually led up to 9/11 and the Iraq War.
This satire is the height of self-righteous insensitivity. Style and the fast-living are meant to redeem the personal arrogance of politicians and their bedmate/lobbyists. Critics are easier on this trash than they were on Lions for Lambs (slaughtered for its sincerity); Nichols, Sorkin, Hanks and Roberts don’t risk the embarrassment; they enjoy the privileged distance of wartime decision-makers. There hasn’t been an American comedy this shamelessly obtuse since Brangelina’s Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
It’s a wonder Nichols still gets respect, considering his string of lousy movies for the past 25 years with no end in sight. But a comparison between Charlie Wilson’s War and the critically acclaimed documentary No End in Sight tells why. Doc director Bruce Ferguson critiqued the Iraq War as a series of bureaucratic blunders—a backstage comedy of errors like Nichols and Sorkin parody. He crosscut complaints from a cast of wonks, vets, politicians and pen-pushers who resembled a “Charlie Rose Show” guest list—just like Nichols & Co. Yet Ferguson conveniently avoided the issue of privilege-class sang-froid, the same apathy peddled by Nichols & Co. They don’t subvert indifference with beguiling humor; they’re Trojan whores.
Only smartass Trojan whores would begin a movie with a comic book silhouette of a praying Muslim that turns into an insurgent armed with a rocket-launcher, or end a war movie hinting at jihads to come but with “This Little Light of Mine” playing sarcastically in the background. Between those cynical bookends comes Sorkin’s walking-while-jabbering routines from “The West Wing” and Nichols’ version of Top Gun-style CGI aerial battles. When Nichols dissolves from an Afghani shot down in the desert to a secretary’s legs, rump and swinging ponytail, it’s clear he has no respect for tragedy or humanity. Couldn’t someone redact this entire film?
Directed by Mike Nichols
“You’re Helen of Troy!” exclaims Tom Hanks as Texas Congressman Charlie Wilson, praising his oil-millionaire mistress Joanne Herring who manipulates him to manipulate Congress into secretly financing Afghanistan’s 1980s battle against the invading Soviet army. This flirtation sets the power-chic tone of Charlie Wilson’s War. Wilson’s reference to antiquity treats contemporary warfare as a joke, a power couple’s caprice. By having Julia Roberts play Joanne Herring in an upswept blonde hairdo that makes her look like Chelsea tranny Amanda Lepore—thus trivializing Herring’s professed Christian commitment—director Mike Nichols confirms his legendary, heartless wit.
Power-chic distinguishes Charlie Wilson’s War from other recent films that took critical, self-important notice of America’s Mideast foreign policy. It reveals the true insensitivity beneath Left Hollywood’s moralistic facade. Although Charlie Wilson’s War is more watchable than such dreck as In the Valley of Elah or De Palma’s discombobulated Redacted, it is worse than either just because it is so slickly watchable. Nichols and screenwriter Aaron Sorkin replace the solemnity of war with irreverent shtick. Congressman Wilson is introduced soaking in a Vegas hot tub with strippers, a TV actress, pot-smokers and hard drinkers; his mistress enters at a swanky Houston fundraiser for her anti-Communist cause. These good-timers supposedly glamorize the tired idea of personal conviction.
Numerous sitcom gimmicks come into play: Wilson’s harem of leggy, buxom beltway secretaries; a foul-mouthed, gruffly principled, blue-collar CIA agent (Philip Seymour Hoffman doing a sentimental stand-up routine); and images of Afghanistan’s maimed women and children to prove these icy filmmakers still have hearts. Nichols and Sorkin are modern Dr. Strangeloves; they’ve learned to stop worrying and giggle at the long trail of government subterfuge that eventually led up to 9/11 and the Iraq War.
This satire is the height of self-righteous insensitivity. Style and the fast-living are meant to redeem the personal arrogance of politicians and their bedmate/lobbyists. Critics are easier on this trash than they were on Lions for Lambs (slaughtered for its sincerity); Nichols, Sorkin, Hanks and Roberts don’t risk the embarrassment; they enjoy the privileged distance of wartime decision-makers. There hasn’t been an American comedy this shamelessly obtuse since Brangelina’s Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
It’s a wonder Nichols still gets respect, considering his string of lousy movies for the past 25 years with no end in sight. But a comparison between Charlie Wilson’s War and the critically acclaimed documentary No End in Sight tells why. Doc director Bruce Ferguson critiqued the Iraq War as a series of bureaucratic blunders—a backstage comedy of errors like Nichols and Sorkin parody. He crosscut complaints from a cast of wonks, vets, politicians and pen-pushers who resembled a “Charlie Rose Show” guest list—just like Nichols & Co. Yet Ferguson conveniently avoided the issue of privilege-class sang-froid, the same apathy peddled by Nichols & Co. They don’t subvert indifference with beguiling humor; they’re Trojan whores.
Only smartass Trojan whores would begin a movie with a comic book silhouette of a praying Muslim that turns into an insurgent armed with a rocket-launcher, or end a war movie hinting at jihads to come but with “This Little Light of Mine” playing sarcastically in the background. Between those cynical bookends comes Sorkin’s walking-while-jabbering routines from “The West Wing” and Nichols’ version of Top Gun-style CGI aerial battles. When Nichols dissolves from an Afghani shot down in the desert to a secretary’s legs, rump and swinging ponytail, it’s clear he has no respect for tragedy or humanity. Couldn’t someone redact this entire film?
