Just finished walking through Kathryn Bigelow’s “A House of Dynamite”. The film is about a missed ICBM atta… erm… Let’s call it “fly through” over Canada and into the USA.
Yes. You read it right. A single intercontinental ballistic missile. Launched from “somewhere in the North Pacific” by “no-one-knows-who”, with or without a payload… Nuclear or maybe not.
And the ensuing mayhem at the top of the Many Various Special Agencies of the American Government, unable to:
I admit I hold Bigelow in high esteem:
No.
Oh, you’re still reading?
What’s the point of adding new material to the very unsettling idea of a nuclear war? The question of military use had been raised since the 1930s by plenty of very smart, very non-artsy humans and machines: Szilard, Einstein, von Neumann, Oppenheimer, various supercomputers, et al. We’ve had Nash to help other bright minds to compute a simple answer from game theory: a nuclear war is a very, very bad game to play, unless we somehow solve The Coordination Problem.
We kinda already knew that since WW2 realities.
Cinema and TV? The BBC shot a horrifying “War Game” in the 1960s. The Americans followed in the 1980s with a very realistic “The Day After”.
The British “Threads”, aired a bit later. It’s so ultra-realistic it will haunt your memory forever — but I do recommend it.
Add the Soviet mind-benders like “Письма мёртвого человека”… Or the recent Chernobyl miniseries made by HBO you may have already seen. An equally horrific treatment of the subject of how incompetent and greedy any government is, capitalist or socialist.
Books? There is a rather recent one by Annie Jacobsen’s, eerily similar to Bigelow’s script.
Unfortunately, instead of a profound addendum to a long list of various forms of what I’d call a “creatives ways to cope with the helplessness in the face of psychopathic drive for human self-extermination”, the pre and post apocalyptic books, documentaries, films, computer games, some of which I’d just mentioned — Bigelow’s dynamite bunker surprisingly quickly dissolves into a banal “I love you” / “I hate you” suite of nuclear family moments. On repeat.
No blasts, no explosions. Instead: shots of oval, rectangular and hexagonal meeting rooms of various sizes. It’s an office drama.
The main idea of the film: show the same 16 minutes till (supposedly nuclear) impact over Chicago from the perspective of different participants in the highest echelons of the American government and military. All of them struggle with some family issue or attachment style. Change angle. Roll the end-titles. Wait, really?
Maybe Bigelow is showing her wise age and wished to glue a convincing montage of how we’re all family-oriented humans? That deep down all we really care about, seen in our last minutes, are our kids? Maslow be damned? In a somehow below replacement birth rate world?
Whatever the stats, the world in the film ends every 20 minutes, several times over, so the characters disregard the stringent not-to-do lists. They run for their dear… iPhone. To urge the relatives to leave urban areas. To discuss the new boyfriend, someone’s mom, a therapist. All unencrypted.
Is all that frantic phone calling, endless evacuation procedures and Rebecca Ferguson’s panic-fighting… is it enough to carry a feature film on a subject where no dynamite drywall was left standing unexamined? To form a bond with what’s happening on the screen?
How about all that gorgeous framing of some nondescript SCRN-INT-025_RM2 according to the Golden Ratio, switching to a DEFCON indicator, to a bigger screen full of trajectories, casualties, minutes to orbits and many other authentic-looking numbers and warnings?
Shouldn’t that resonate with you? According to those who work in those offices, seeing their workplace on the big screen was quite something.
And it’s trademark “shaky cam” Bigelow style… erm… corporate footage, really.
So what about the rest of us, the statistical numbers scheduled to disappear after a decade of nuclear winter? Something to warm and bond over? I don’t think so.
No. “Weak” would be the word to describe this mass-market film without a satisfying explanation of what actually happened, after all the patience and suspension of disbelief on our part.
For all I know, the whole plot might revolve around a cybersecurity breach! Simulated telemetry data. Should I remind you about the ongoing cyberwar? Do we see an ICBM actually ripping through the upper atmosphere at 20 Mach, or anything else optically valid? People film SpaceX launches and RUDs with their iPhones these days… but in this film, no, we don’t see anything we could be sure of for certain. Various radar feeds (which could have been compromised). A scary red triangle from Radar 1, then another red triangle from Radar 2. Not a single visual of the MIRVs entering the atmosphere. An IR plume? Could be generated and sent over the wire.
So yeah, like in the JFK days, the Americans call the Russians, who can neither confirm nor deny, in a cordial atmosphere of total and mutual distrust. If I understood correctly, the Chinese ask to leave a message after the tone. Everyone is scared and scrambling their nuclear triad and countermeasures. We’re being told, not shown.
But the costly war systems keep failing.
So maybe that ICBM will skinny-dip into Lake Michigan, as suggested by one of the numerous “Chief of…”?
The “mystery” is so unnerving, Jared Harris skips his helicopter and walks off the roof. Everyone is exhausted by the last-minute choices. Was there actually a nuclear strike on a city in the United States of America named Chicago?
We’ll never know, because the director breaks another cardinal law of “entertainment grade” cinema: no satisfaction at the end. No plot explanation. And last I’ve heard, Kathryn Bigelow is no David Lynch who never attempted to make sense of anything even to himself, because “art”.
So we’re left with quick cuts between military personnel on the phone, again, this time with a divorcing wife “tired of absence while on deployment”. The supposedly sweet domestic scenes of “our kid has a fever”. Some pro forma gender role reversals. A father inquiring about his daughter’s long term relationship during a last long-distance call — did I say there’s a lot of calling and texting in the film? — “Mom, I just wanted to say I love you.”
The opening titles remind us IN BIG LETTERS how current government officials have left one disarmament treaty after another. Yes, thank you for the depressing reminder. Also, thanks for the quick CUT TO pictures of Zelenskyy in negotiation, hanging on the wall of the White House. Very up-to-date.
But otherwise? Why choose an extensively documented, explained, filmed, acted out, rediscovered and re-discussed fear — after Germany reopened its coal power plants — and retweeted even by Elon Musk.
To add to it all, we’d need an exceptionally new take on the subject.
What happened? Where’s the dynamic reversal, the supermarket vs super-IEDs of the ambiguous “Hurt Locker”?
No. Here, we’re served a self-repeating Naomi Klein spiel on Bad State -Ism. No one brings anything new to the discussion, even less suggesting what to do. Idris Elba’s POTUS stares, clueless, at a list of possible retaliatory strike targets. A scene from a Chinese restaurant: a menu with random numbers to choose. Except they’re flying in a helicopter to a bomb shelter. Is yours ready and stocked for the next decade, by the way?
You may say it’s “the way the artist sees”. That art isn’t supposed to give answers. Art is supposed to ask questions. And I’d agree.
But The House of Dynamite isn’t an art house movie. Nor a “found footage” horror, either. It’s a big budget entertainment piece aspiring to sit on two chairs. Veggie protein popcorn with a hipster pretense. Nor here, nor there.
As in the film, I’ll feed you repetitions. Yes, form-wise, it’s a solid 4 out of 5 Kathryn Bigelow. Her recipe, again. The pseudo-documentary style, the framing, a bit of wry humor here and there, the as-realistic-as-it-can-gets. Though not quite: the Pentagon had to make a statement…
But soberly, the only 2 innovations in Bigelow’s own growth as an artist I’ve noticed are:
Ouch. That hasn’t been nor an FX-heavy spectacle, nor a philosophical call to disarm.
There’s references to Trump’s golfing… the obnoxious POTUS PR stunts to Phil Collins’ drums. We’re reminded that the ultimate faith of humanity depends on the incompetent psychopaths We, the People, elect. But, really, I have Twitter/X, Threads, YouTube and Bluesky for that. Even books where I can learn exactly why we choose psychopaths and nuclear wars RIGHT NOW, IRL.
Maybe I’m oversaturated by the reality, but the film hasn’t touched me in any emotional or intellectual way whatsoever. It left me indifferent.
So what might have been a different launch at the target, becomes a self-repeating cliché, “par for the course”, “reap what you sow,” et al. Oh, here comes the scene of a guy puking because he’s stressed. Someone always pukes under stress. Yet again we’re reminded that top to bottom, most people have no clue about what they’re doing, faking it without making, without reason nor adequate technology.
All true. But still disappointing from the rare female director capable of building genderless films.
Let me finish in kind: 01:45 of trivial repeats. Camera A, Camera B, Camera C. Diversity logo at the end.
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