Warning: The following contains spoilers about the movie American Sniper. Proceed with caution.
Reading the various reactions to Clint Eastwood’s new movie American Sniper, two facts immediately leap out.
First: No one can seem to agree on the movie’s point of view vis-à-vis the Iraq War. Some say it’s neutral or apolitical, while others consider it a full-throated endorsement of the theory that American involvement in Mesopotamia was (and is) a good idea.
And second: In nearly every analysis of what American Sniper is about—and whether it’s any good—the conclusion perfectly matches the politics of the person making the analysis. Generally speaking, those who opposed the Iraq War also dislike the film, while those who considered the war necessary and just think the movie is great. Those whose politics are ambivalent, private or nonexistent fall somewhere in between.
Joined with the debate about the movie’s version of Iraq is the depiction of its protagonist, Chris Kyle, the real-life Navy SEAL who killed more Iraqis than any other sniper and, as a consequence, spent the rest of his life struggling with posttraumatic stress disorder. That is, until he was killed by a fellow veteran who was, himself, stricken with PTSD.
Does American Sniper portray Kyle as a pure All-American Hero and—far more interestingly—should it have? Here, too, individual answers seem to track with whatever people happened to already think about these subjects.
What is clear, in any case, is that Kyle is given highly sympathetic treatment by Eastwood and is meant to be shown, in the end, as a Good Guy. What is more, the movie is ultimately meant to be about Kyle and Kyle alone—his experience, his struggles—and is not necessarily interested in the world that is going on around him.
Is this a valid approach to filmmaking? Can a movie like this be truly apolitical, as so many critics say it is?
In a fiery column in Rolling Stone, journalist Matt Taibbi says no. Referring to “the Rumsfelds and Cheneys and other officials up the chain” as “the real villains in this movie,” Taibbi argues, “Sometimes there’s no such thing as ‘just a human story.’ Sometimes a story is meaningless or worse without real context, and this is one of them.”
Taking this theory a step further, I think it’s worth considering whether any movie can lay claim to being completely removed from politics of one sort or another. Or, indeed, whether there is any point in trying. My inkling is that it can’t and there isn’t, and it’s just as well that this is so.
As it happens, this is not the first time that an ostensibly “personal” Clint Eastwood project has been attacked for having a secret political agenda.
In 2004, Eastwood made a movie called Million Dollar Baby, about a woman who believes her sole purpose in life is to be a professional boxer. (Warning: Massive spoilers ahead!) When she is sucker-punched by an opponent and left paralyzed below the neck, she decides she has no further reason to live, and pleads with her trainer and only friend (played by Eastwood) to unplug her life support and allow her to die. After a period of struggle and a talk with a local priest, he does just that.
Because both the boxer (played by Hilary Swank) and the trainer are shown as sympathetic characters, the movie was considered by some to be an “endorsement” of assisted suicide, leading to a brief but intense national debate about both the movie and the issue itself. How irresponsible, many said, for a serious film to portray assisted suicide in a sort-of positive light.
Against this wave of condemnation, the critic Roger Ebert offered the following rebuke: “Million Dollar Baby raises fundamental moral issues. At a moment of crisis, the characters arrive at a decision. I do not agree with their decision. But here is the crucial point: I do believe that these characters would do what they do in this film. It is entirely consistent with who they are and everything we have come to know about them.”
In other words, movies are about individuals, not causes. Directors are free to have their characters behave however is natural to them, and it is up to us, the audience, to make moral judgments. In all cases, however, we should understand such behavior as being specific to those characters—Chris Kyle included—and not infer them to be representative of any larger philosophy of life.
The problem, though, is that we just can’t help ourselves. As Taibbi points out vis-à-vis American Sniper, movies do not exist in a vacuum. It’s silly and naïve to think otherwise.
The truth is that everything is political, whether we realize it or not. Politics is life. The word itself, in its original Greek form, means “relating to citizens,” meaning every one of us is on the hook. So long as you’re alive and occasionally leave the house to interact with the rest of humanity (tiresome as it can often be), then you are engaging in the art of politics.
As such, once a movie presumes to be about anything at all, it becomes a political document, and we are free—encouraged, even—to wade through any possible larger meanings it might hold, whatever the director’s intent.
In the current Oscar race, for instance, the big pre-Sniper controversy concerned whether Ava DuVernay’s Selma is unfair in its depiction of Lyndon Johnson circa 1965. Because it’s about the Civil Rights Movement and its present-day parallels, Selma is political to its core. (Its theme song, “Glory,” even includes a reference to Ferguson, Mo.)
However, take a deeper look and you’ll find politics intruding upon every last entry on the Oscar shortlist.
Richard Linklater’s Boyhood is ostensibly about nothing more than the experience of growing up in 21st century America. But it’s also about single mothers, deadbeat fathers, alcoholic stepfathers, inspiring teachers, and the virtues of hard work. Do you mean to tell me those are not political issues? Open a newspaper: When have they ever not been on the front page?
Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Birdman is a dark comedy about a washed-up movie star attempting to resurrect himself by putting on a Broadway show. As such, it’s also about the nature of celebrity and fame, the integrity of art and (again) what it means to be a good father. All political matters.
Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash is about an aspiring drummer and the terrifying music teacher who pushes him to within an inch of his life. Which means it’s really about the costs of ambition and the lengths that some people will go to achieve greatness and immortality. In America’s hyper-competitive culture, coupled with our meritocratic national work ethic, what could be more political than that?
And so forth.
So when people say that American Sniper is not a political movie, they are wrong twice. First, in the view that the movie has no opinion about America’s adventures in Iraq (to wit: could it really be a coincidence that the one soldier who questions the war’s purpose ends up getting shot in the face?). And second, in the implication that a Navy sniper’s psychological profile has no political dimension. As if killing Arabs for a living were a purely personal matter.
Indeed, if American Sniper were truly non-political, we would not be arguing about it at all. We wouldn’t need to. And what a boring, worthless movie it would be.
No, the film’s inherent relevance to our national conversation about foreign affairs is what makes it so valuable and compelling.
This doesn’t mean it isn’t a deeply personal story as well. Of course it is. That’s what the cliché “the personal is political” is all about. Chris Kyle’s suffering is real, but it has a context that we must acknowledge in order for it to make any sense. We can only heed Eastwood’s central message—America must take better care of its veterans—by understanding what makes their return to civilian life so difficult. There’s no way to do that without returning, sooner or later, to the policies that sent people like Kyle to Iraq in the first place.
Eastwood has been rightly criticized for simplifying this narrative into an old-fashioned “good guys vs. bad guys” story (every Iraqi in the film serves no purpose except to be killed), but that doesn’t mean the rest of us should follow his lead. Judging from the contentious response it has garnered thus far, we haven’t. However unwittingly, American Sniper has re-ignited one of the most important debates in contemporary American life—namely, have the past dozen years of U.S. foreign policy been one giant dead end?
To that extent, the movie has served a useful purpose. Through the profile of one person, however lionized, it has provoked people to think more seriously about a subject of global importance they would just as well ignore.
Not bad for a movie that isn’t interested in politics.