Civil War - I’m Afraid Of Americans
What’s so civil about war anyway?
Civil War (Alex Garland) 2024
⭐⭐⭐⭐ and a 1/2
How much you love (or not) Alex Garland’s Civil War is likely to depend on how you feel about his approach to what, heading in, seemed to be the critical question - how did we get here? How do you create a realistic scenario for splintering America that sets out that crucial point of divergence, where everything that flows from it makes logical sense? There’s a long and a short answer here. Let’s go with the short.
You can’t.
There are multiple reasons why. The primary one is that the movie would become entirely bogged down in wordy exposition, to the detriment of the storytelling. This is a sub-2hr movie, not a lengthy limited series with the headroom to explore that level of detail. But there’s also something else at play that I don’t want to describe as a ‘business decision’, even if it’s hard not to think of it in those terms. If you were to define this split within the movie as Right v Left, Conservative v Liberal, Republican vs Democrat or, maybe more controversially still, Christian v Non-Christian, you risk alienating a sizeable chunk of your potential audience, even if you merely hint at such divides. As it is, the demarcation is vague and arbitrary. For many, I’m sure that will grate on them and feel like a copout, perhaps more so for Americans.
Look at the hate we're breeding
Look at the fear we're feeding
Look at the lives we're leading
The way we've always done before
But this isn’t some alternate historical document setting out the factional splitting of society in America. Rather, it explores a world where the polarising nature of beliefs, values, politics, self-interest, fear, and a hundred other things, might have collided. It chooses not to pick sides, yet recognises the tectonic rifts, not just in America but elsewhere, that can be traced back even further than 6 January, Covid-19, Trump’s first term in office, or even the Financial Crisis of 2007-8, but have become noticeably more pronounced in the last four years. In its simplest terms, Garland takes a 6 January scenario to its ultimate conclusion, as far more than a mere thought experiment, to shine a light on both human nature and the state of the world, not just America. By choosing not to clearly define opposing forces, the movie serves as a warning for all, even those who consider themselves to be on the ‘Right Side Of History’.
More and more, ambiguity has crept into Garland’s writing, either as a result of his obsession with the image he curates for the screen, or as a deliberate device. Here, though, it is reserved for broader themes, not the actual morality of the piece. He is very clear about the nature of violence even when his camera appears dispassionate, seemingly offering tacit acceptance of its use. A suicide bomb in a crowd, the gleeful machine-gunning of unarmed prisoners, the torture of looters, and worse. Far worse.
It is not about the film’s reaction to this, but ours.
A hundred agonies in black and white
Telling the story through, figuratively and literally, the lens of photojournalists, is an inspired move. It’s meta, not merely for its own sake but with clear purpose. It challenges us to explore our relationship with the images of violence and atrocity captured for us for commodifiable consumption. The question is asked here, do those images ever change things, or are they soon forgotten as they are replaced in an unending cycle? Has the photographer suppressed their feelings, isolated their emotions from the immediacy of the event, only to pay a terrible cost later, for nothing. When do we learn? What do we learn?
Garland shows two seemingly divergent perspectives, one the outwardly dispassionate professional (a potentially career best Kirsten Dunst, demonstrating a certain mature worldliness), the other hard-drinking, weed-smoking (Wagner Moura offering what is hopefully his breakthrough performance), who appears to live for the adrenaline rush of combat. Yet, they may not be so different, beyond the coping strategies each uses as they face their biggest assignment - perhaps the biggest assignment - to interview the sitting President.
Through their stories the film is able also to explore the nature of truth, even as mis- and dis-information run riot across the internet and through our TV channels, in our own lives outside the movie theatre. Lines of good and bad that blur or even are reversed, depending on the source. Is what is not said, not captured, as important as what is? How much faith can we have in what we hear and see when the defining word of the century to date appears to be narrative? Indeed, the movie begins with the spinning of a narrative to emphasise this point.
Garland’s central protagonists are rounded out with youth and inexperience, conveyed through budding war photographer Cailee Spaeny (the titular Priscilla in Sofia Coppola’s 2023 movie), appearing far younger than the 23 year-old she portrays onscreen, and wisdom and realism, in the form of ageing reporter Stephen McKinley Henderson. In many ways it is Spaeny’s performance as Jessie that is the most critical to the movie’s story, as her innocence is lost and she too must find ways to detach herself from the horrors she witnesses to survive. She has the chance to see the end of an America, and perhaps the rebirth of a new one, though it is unclear if the future offers more hope. That Garland ambiguity again.
Look at the shoes you're filling
Look at the blood we're spilling
Look at the world we're killing
The way we've always done before
At its heart, this is a macabre road trip through an alternate America fighting for its identity, maybe even its soul. To define itself for future generations. Though we are focussed on the immediate, it’s hard not to recognise, through a series of chilling vignettes, how small actions multiply. These vignettes serve as a microcosm of the psyche of a nation, any nation. When the question “What kind of American are you?” is defined solely by something as arbitrary as a state border, we see where othering of those not like us could lead. The film expresses a lurking fear; that our baser instincts are not far below the surface.
Regardless of how you engage with the narrative at work here, from a visual and technical perspective the movie is rarely less than outstanding, and frequently truly stunning. The idea of an A24 movie being played out on this scale on an IMAX screen seems crazy, but I desperately wish I had access to a screening in that format. What now seems a key part of the Garland experience is the composition of each frame. There is an artistry conveyed through the aesthetic. It’s legitimate to wonder if the focus on the visual has caused him to take his eye off the ball in respect of the writing. Does the narrative set up the shot, or vice versa? Those unimpressed by some of his narrative decisions here are unlikely to be swayed by just how good looking this is, and that’s a real shame because a lot of thought and effort has gone into this.
Few things sum this up better than the image of a sniper team in a gaudy abandoned Winter Wonderland theme park. In isolation the image of a soldier with bright green paint in his hair, the artfully shaped disruptive wrap of grass round his long gun, and his painted fingernails, makes no sense. Even with that context, the idea of attempting concealment in such a manner is wholly unrealistic. Yet it sits there as a truly striking piece of framing, where the visual is everything. It’s hard not to admire the detail that has gone into a mere moment.
The journalism plot device allows Garland to take the essence of capturing a moment in time further still, as moving film is interspersed with single frame camera shots, often in black and white. They almost form a montage of their own, particularly during the film’s final minutes, capturing both significance and minutiae to tell a story, though which is which will only be discovered after the fact.
Combat is amongst the best I’ve seen captured on film in recent years and has its own rhythm and feel. It’s coupled with some truly exceptional sound design and, in concert, these elements perfectly complement each other. Camera placement and framing in tandem with long-term Garland cinematographer Rob Hardy (who also lensed Mission: Impossible - Fallout) is well considered with impressive flow, conveying organised chaos while still capable of being understood by the viewer. CG is also used effectively here, unobtrusively, to create realistic scenes with real characters largely unseen to date on the big screen, even if the structure of some of them echoes the original Call Of Duty Modern Warfare trilogy and similar games. But this never feels like a game. The opposite in fact. His recreation of a bombing at the start of the movie is violent and impactful, rattling our ears, even if the biggest impact is its aftermath. Once more we are offered no explanation, no motive, little if any context.
There are scenes, moments, that will stick with you here. Armed militia unafraid to pose with the destroyed bodies of their trophies. A mass grave. Scenes we’ve seen in other countries. Why not here? When an uncredited Jesse Plemons, in the film’s most iconic moment, dressed in military BDUs and red fairground plastic sunglasses asks “What kind of American are you?”, the question is not solely about geography or affiliation.
Perhaps the better question is, “What kind of American do you want to be?”
Selected words and lyrics from: ‘I’m Afraid of Americans’ (David Bowie); ‘Civil War’ (Guns N Roses); and ‘War Photographer’ (Carol Ann Duffy)
