November 18, 2008
“The camera never lies.”
“That’s bullshit.”
To ‘redact’ is a to make multiple texts appear unified by theme, famously in One Thousand and One Nights. More commonly, ‘redacted’ refers to the removal of sensitive information prior to publication, such as in an intelligence dossier or by editing a video so it’s ironic that despite the title, and narrative device of a video diary, nothing is really ‘redacted’ here.
The film follows the exploits of a would-be auteur Angel Salazar (Izzy Diaz, a three time valet on Entourage heads a no-name cast), who chronicles the often banal, yet at times intensely harrowing exploits of his fellow squadron members stationed in Samarra, Iraq, with video footage he hopes will one day get him into film school.
His pals include the usual assortment of war movie stereotypes, the gruff, yet kind African American Sergeant Sweet, the backwoods trigger-happy dimwit, ridiculously named ‘Reno’ (with a sibling ‘Vegas’), who doesn’t even bother feigning a Cajun accent, the honorable do-gooder McCoy (the real?) and the nervous nebbish, the butt of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ jokes, ‘Blix’, a highly unlikely nickname derived from the Swedish UN weapons inspector.
Without a backstory to engage, they’re all left to react solely on instinct and the southerner and gruff sergeant happily oblige, dispassionately blowing away a pregnant mother and son and warning the “Midget Ali Babas’ tugging at their gear are all spies, respectively.
Blix is interviewed on camera by Salazar reading aloud the Maugham-penned epigraph to ‘The Appointment in Samarra‘, about meeting your maker in Iraq—not exactly ‘Win one for the Gipper’ reading material on the battlefront and then the young documentarian is fascinated by a large scorpion, which he films succumbing to an attack by numerous tiny ants. With warriors like these, the exit strategy should be a quick exit.
POV camera work interspersed with fake French documentary footage about the extreme dangers of checkpoints, online video clips, blogs and grainy security footage sets the backdrop of the film—intensely claustrophobic and innards-wrenching, with bomb sniffing dogs and fingers on trigger, split seconds between life and breathing a final breath, eased with comic relief during down time: ‘You’re so white, you wouldn’t wear yourself after Labor Day’ or ‘Is it wrong to fall in love with the King of Clubs?’ during a poker game with nudie cards.
However before and after the main plot point—a plan to rape a young girl whose home was just raided— is introduced, Salazar’s camera details racism, bigotry, xenophobia, sexism of every stripe that is not only extremely patronizing to soldiers, but the audience as well, expected to believe that a video camera can be casually brought out at every turn and without any recourse through the chains of command.
‘Hajjis’ and ‘Shit-birds’ are used in every day conservation as is ‘Sand Nigger’, casual racism despite their professed admiration for and camaraderie with the black Sergeant Sweet.
When the rape scheme reaches its ugly conclusion, the do-gooder McCoy who took no part in it, yet didn’t tip off any hire ups, confides in his no-nonsense military dad over webcam and is sternly warned against whistle-blowing, yet another bad apple in De Palma’s orchard harvest.
Platitudes like ‘an American life is worth that of 100 Iraqis’, and ‘Welcome to the fuckin’ army!’, are sounded and grim statistics flashed across the screen courtesy of the mock impartial French doc (as if their hands were clean as a major international arms dealer).
The film then reaches a conclusion as inevitable as an exploded IED: McCoy’s testimony discounted, subsequent mental breakdown and justice unserved—not by anything ‘redacted’ mind you, but by good old fashioned threats, lack of video evidence, witness corroboration, and then moral equivalency justice meted out through Jihadist beheading.
As the Puccini score reaches a crescendo, a photo montage of Iraqi victims attempts a poignancy not delivered by the preceding 90 minutes (and even then, their eyes were apparently blacked out for fear they might sue), 90 minutes of flunked cinema verite, uni-dimensional characters and bi-national condescension.
Chris, Toronto
November 19th, 2008 at 9:46 am
I found “In the Valley of Elah” bad for many of the same reasons. Its political bent was obvious. The director hated the Iraq War, and he fashioned an incredibly unbelievable plot to drive the point home that the war was wrong. A really good and subtle performance by Tommy Lee Jones was wasted in a trashy, heavy-handed plot. I’m no fan of the Irag War, but the conclusion of that film was insulting. Liberals don’t help anybody by making their own propaganda films. Give me a classy piece of work like say “Good Night and Good Luck” and I’ll take the message on board.