The events of September 11, 2001, were unique in American history, public tragedies so overwhelming that they altered not just the politics of the nation, but its entire cultural consciousness. Nearly five years later, the political consequences of that day are apparent, if far from resolved. The cultural effects, however, are just beginning to take shape. From a host of mediocre novels to TV shows like 24 and The Sopranos, the lingering effects of that day have brushed up against our popular culture. But until recently, the day itself remained sacrosanct, as artists and critics have struggled with how one ought to depict the most horrific and politically significant day in recent history.
Last weekend saw the release of director Paul Greengrass’s United 93, the first Hollywood-produced narrative feature to directly depict 9/11. For once, Hollywood got it right. The film, which deals primarily with the passenger uprising that kept the hijacked United Flight 93 from hitting its Washington, D.C. target, is a devastating experience, a solemn memorial, and a harrowing reminder of both the enemy we face and the heroism and sacrifice required to overcome it. Eschewing overt political statements, United 93 takes a broadly experienced national tragedy and makes it intensely personal. Meticulously researched and detailed, there is none of the usual manipulation involved in a big screen retelling. Such exaggeration would be unnecessary: The horror speaks for itself.
The critical response to the film has been largely positive, but a vocal minority have come out against it, not for any particular aesthetic reason, but because it is refuses to take sides in the contentious world of post-9/11 politics. Complaining that the film is too narrow, too neutral, even too hopeful, these contrarian critics seem disappointed that United 93 is a stirring memorial instead of a political diatribe. In the run-up to the film’s release, the oft-asked question was “is it too soon?” But the prevailing cry has shifted to “why was this made?”
The bluntest criticism of the film comes from two separate essays in Slate. In one piece, Ron Rosenbaum grouses that the movie is “a symptom of our addiction to fables of redemptive uplift,” while another essay has film critic Dana Stevens writing that “Greengrass’ exquisite delicacy and tact toward all sides… smack[s] of political pussyfooting. What is Greengrass actually trying to say about 9/11?” In the New York Press, Matt Zoller-Seitz echoes this sentiment, claiming the film is “dismaying precisely because it is so outwardly safe and neutral in its politics.” In somewhat more favorable reviews, Salon’s Stephanie Zacharek and the New York Times’s Manohla Dargis also question the film’s intent, with Dargis writing that the film’s “narrow focus, along with the lack of fully realized characters, and the absence of any historical or political context, raises the question of why…this particular movie was made.”
Part of this reaction might be chalked up to simple critical contrarianism. There is a tendency amongst critics to want to make bold, standoffish statements, as few critics make names for themselves by falling in line with the consensus.
But I wonder if there might be something else at work, a frustration that many left-leaning critics rarely face: how to deal with a well-made film that is also deeply conservative in its values. United 93 doesn’t follow the rules of the politically correct playbook: The heroes are ordinary Americans, mostly white, who say prayers and love their families. They are lead by strong, quick-thinking males who understand that it is their duty as men to take violent, physical action against foreign attackers. The villains are religiously motivated Islamic terrorists who unabashedly celebrate news of the World Trade Center’s destruction and cry “In the name of God!” while slitting a flight attendant’s throat. A European-accented passenger who insists on negotiating is tackled when he tries to warn the terrorists of the other passengers’ plan to storm the cabin.
But for once, there can be no complaints about diversity, about male dominance, about “unbalanced” portrayals of foreign terrorists or any of the left’s other pet causes, because what the film shows is exactly what happened.
Nor can there be much in the way of criticism made on technical grounds. Seitz agrees that “[t]here’s not any single egregious creative misstep,” and Zacharek writes that the film is “brilliantly crafted” and “made with tremendous care.”
None of the others offer any substantive critique of the film’s craft.
So what’s a contrarian critic to do? The only thing that’s left: complain about what’s there. Thus, in a film that is scrupulously neutral on specific political issues–most notably the war in Iraq–its neutrality gets recast as hollowness, as an unwillingness to take a divisive stand. But what would these cavilers have instead? Does anyone really want to see an openly biased, partisan film about 9/11? Maybe that day will come–and with Oliver Stone’s film World Trade Center slated for release later this year, it may come sooner rather than later–but for now, the place for debate about post-9/11 politics is the op-ed page, not the multiplex.
Those looking only for broad political assertions will find none, for United 93 is not about specific politics; it is about people. From the passengers who stormed the cockpit to the air traffic controllers harangued by unimaginable chaos, it is a real-life reminder of how ordinary Americans can become heroes. Ron Rosenbaum may find the film’s glimmer of hope to be a “symptom of our addiction to fables of redemptive uplift”–as if only a fool would find anything other than despair in the courageous actions of those passengers–but he can keep his fashionable pessimism. United 93 is as free of schmaltz and emotional manipulation as a movie can be, but it is not too dour to recognize acts of genuine bravery.
And, of course, the film acts as a memorial–a way to honor the dead in public fashion. We are a nation of moviegoers, and it is only fitting that we use cinema to tell this story. Though this memorial is celluloid rather than engraved stone, its concern is nonetheless with portraying the dead–creating a permanent public memory around which to gather. With its carefully researched depictions of each passenger and crew member, that is exactly what the film does.
But a film memorial does something that a stone monument cannot: Not only does it restage the events of 9/11, it recreates the overpowering experience–the sense of loss, the bewilderment and shock, the unshakeable feeling that everything, somehow, has changed. What has changed, exactly, may not be clear, but it is certain that the world is no longer the same. When I walked out of the theater on Friday afternoon, it was to the sound of adults weeping. Moving through the streets of Washington, I felt an otherworldly disconnection from the day-to-day occurrences around me, as if reality had undergone some sudden, drastic shift. The events of September 11th, 2001, changed our world, not just as a nation, but as individuals. To watch United 93 is to experience that deeply personal change once again.
Asking why this film was made is like asking why we go to funerals, why we visit gravesites, why we build monuments. We do it because we need to remember. We do it as a public expression of grief. We do it to honor the dead. We do it because we must.
— Peter Suderman is assistant editorial director at the Competitive Enterprise Institute. He maintains a blog on film and culture at www.alarm-alarm.com.