Zero Dark Thirty
At the BAFTAS last week, Stephen Fry confessed of having certain misgivings about seeing a film whose previous 29 instalments he had missed. He also expressed surprise that the film billed as History’s Greatest Manhunt did not prove to be about the NRA’s hunt for Piers Morgan. However, as etiquette required a few kind words to best film nominees, the host for the night then went on to praise Kathryn Bigelow’s film as an important work on current affairs.
But the politics of sequels and gun control aside, the greatest controversy over Zero Dark Thirty continues to be its portrayal of torture.
The media appears to be divided roughly into two camps: those who believe the film promotes torture as a legitimate means of acquiring intelligence, and those who claim it demonstrates that waterboarding (amongst other things) is not the sort of thing one would voluntarily submit to in one’s spare time (unless, of course, one is Christopher Hitchens, who treated himself to a session perhaps to be absolutely sure that the “technique” was not as enjoyable as it sounds. A chain smoker and a hard drinker, Hitchens no doubt harboured hopes of adding waterboarding to his list of vices and going one up on his literary precursor Oscar Wilde).
In any case, if we are to believe Bigelow, then both camps are equally mistaken. She explained to the LA Times and other news outlets that she had never intended to make a film that would promote torture, nor was she striving to make a civil rights film. Instead, she claims that any attempt to censor the film will be an infringement of the First Amendment (something to do with her civil rights, I believe), and she never tires of stressing the journalistic aspirations of her work. By drawing a comparison with journalism, Bigelow hopes that her film will somehow acquire the lustre of that profession and its objectivity and its unimpeachable integrity (and its complete lack of ties to lobbies and corporate interests and criminals and police corruption).
This journalistic fervour is nowhere more apparent than the opening few minutes of the film. An inter-title accosts the audience with the words: September 11, 2001, followed by a black screen accompanied by a confused babel of news reports, eyewitness accounts and 911 distress calls, mixed with the strains of emergency sirens. Perhaps the idea is to treat the calamity with respect. By denying the audience any images of the event but supplying in its stead a collage of various sounds, Bigelow hopes the audience’s minds will fill in the blank space (and the girl who sat in front of me amply complied, by whipping out her cell phone. But she was, and we must give her the benefit of the doubt, surely communicating with Walter Murch, informing him that the Queen of the senses – Sound – had once more regained the throne taken over by the pretender – Sight).
This was an admirable if somewhat clichéd approach (cf. Michael Moore’s Fahrenheit 911), but the restless observer, untrained in the arts of creative censorship, may soon find himself nodding off.
Until (s)he is rudely awoken by the sound of a man being tortured. And so begin the scenes that have caused all the fuss in the first place.
Some of you may be wondering what the big deal about torture is anyway. After all, both Plato and Aristotle were in favour of torture (for slaves). And if someone should know the hiding place of a bomb or where al-Zawahiri’s favourite kebab shop is, then he should bloody well come out with it. Maya, the female protagonist of the film, shares these sentiments exactly. And when some of her CIA colleagues are blown to smithereens by a suicide bomber, she decides that she will do “whatever it takes” to get bin Laden (UBL in bureaucratic parlance). The wallpaper on her desktop, a photo of her fallen friend, reminds her of this task every day.
While Bigelow may be correct in saying that the film does not promote torture, it may certainly be justifying its use in extraordinary circumstances, as we, the audience, no doubt would like Maya to succeed at whatever cost necessary.
We never feel guilty for cheerleading her as we never see what ultimately happens to the torture victims or, indeed, what long term effect it has on the perpetrators themselves (Maya’s predecessor, for example, appears to have settled into life in Washington with ease).
Indeed, one of the most impressive arguments against torture is that the torturer will not remain unscathed, that a person who tortures for a living is doing irreparable harm to him or herself.
If I have a complaint about those who claim Zero Dark Thirty is an anti-torture film, it is this. Maya does not suffer enough. Sure, she becomes abusive and has the occasional expletive ridden outburst and even sheds a few tears at the end.
But it is a pity she is not institutionalized at the finale, or appears to be addicted to Jackson Pollock paintings and shown staring at them for hours on end. Or anything else that would demonstrate her traumatized state of mind. Perhaps if she woke up one morning and found herself married to an NFL player it would have sent a stern warning to all future purveyors of torture.
Ultimately, however, one is grateful that Fox News does not share Bigelow’s passion for ambivalence.
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