Spielberg's tale is taut, not mawkish.
***image1***Before taking in
Munich
, your reviewer mentally steeled hersef for the backlash bound to result from a negative review. Sure, Steven Spielberg has made culture-defining movies (
ET, Saving Private Ryan
) and cinema-defining ones (
Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark
). His historical points of view, however, tend to be about as unbiased as Oliver Stone's; given the startlingly anti-Semitic, even sadistic mawkishness of
Schindler's List
, we had to be equally prepared for
Munich
to be a.) Zionist propaganda; b.) Palestinian propaganda or c.) some variant on
Why can't we all just get along
. Astoundingly, gratifyingly, it's none of the above. It's just good filmmaking, if at times a bit windy.
Eric Bana provides most of the film's dialogue and a good chunk of its energy as Avner, leader of a group of Mossad operatives. Golda Meir (Lynn Cohen) herself has commissioned the men to assassinate the 11 members of a Palestinian organization, Black September, held responsible by Israeli intelligence for the murders of 11 Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics. In the tradition of the best samurai movies, these five special agents are cut loose to do their best (or, as it were, worst) with no government acknowledgment or even support, apart from financial, other than occasional contact with the shadowy Ephraim (Rush). It's up to them to locate and take down their targets without being arrested, using their different talents; Mathieu Kassovitz is an explosives/munitions geek, Daniel Craig is the man of action, Hanns Zischler is an antiques expert with a gift for forgery and experienced operative Ciarán Hinds fusses over all of them. The actors display an instantaneous chemistry, but it's Avner who suffers as the group conscience, with brooding, Hamlet-like moral indecision, uncertain as to whether Israel has identified the right targets or simply wants the heads of any 11 Palestinian sympathizers, no matter their guilt or innocence.
***image2***
Much of
Munich
's pleasure comes from its photography. As the agents track their quarry across Europe, gradually becoming prey themselves, the film recreates the washed-out colors and choreography of 1970s spy thrillers
à la The Day of the Jackal
or
The French Connection.
Spielberg being Spielberg, he has to work in emotional family scenes, and it's these moments which bloat the film and distract from the action. Overall, though,
Munich
avoids the kind of homogenized, pre-packaged conclusions to which Spielberg has so often fallen prey in the past, presenting instead a surprisingly nuanced Realpolitik concerning the dangers and risks of occupation, resistance and revenge.
