Those who are prematurely calling it a modern masterpiece may wish to consider how a film as on the fence as this regarding divided societies could feasibly be seen as timid in an age of increasingly visceral division. Civil War is playing in cinemas nationwide from April 12.
If civil war were to break out in America tomorrow, it would almost certainly be between pro-Trumpers, whose denial of reality and cultish loyalty to a fragile, traitorous loser with peperami fingers is textbook fascism, and everyone else. One could argue that by staying apolitical and thus avoiding this examination of contemporary fascism, writer-director Alex Garland has missed an open goal with Civil War. This is also because the theme Garland is exploring – war’s ability to desensitise people until only apathy remains – could have potentially been enhanced under these circumstances.
In an alternative future, America has broken into a second civil war, with various states forming new factions. It’s never explained how this war began, but according to Wikipedia, it’s due to America becoming a dictatorship. However, this isn’t the story’s central point. Instead, we follow a group of photojournalists trying to capture this crucial historical event. Lee (Kirsten Dunst) is this group’s most prolific and stoic, believing you must abandon your empathy to be a great war photographer. They hope to catch an interview with the President (Nick Offerman) before D.C. falls to the rebels, which seems imminent, with their race to the Capitol, bringing them face to face with the horror of this rapidly escalating war.
By telling this story from the perspective of unbiased photojournalists, Garland and team are exploring a rich theme: desensitisation. War and horror are devastating no matter the circumstances, but when you are exposed to them daily – especially when your job is to neutrally film and photograph such horrific moments – it is upsettingly easy to become numb and jaded to the inhumanity of it all.
Garland’s direction captures the bleakness of a world tearing itself apart at the seams. The film temporarily freezes whenever the photojournalists take a photograph, blocking out the world to showcase the image. They’re powerful images highlighting the cost of war and how it chips away at one’s humanity. Those seconds in which all we see are the images demonstrate a detachedness that reflects the increasing detachment one feels when jaded to suffering.
This is reflected in the narrative, too. Before the photojournalists set off across the country, they are joined by 23-year-old Jess (Cailee Spaeny). Jess is an aspiring war photographer who admires Lee’s work and is initially shell-shocked by what she is walking into, just as Lee is numb, even indifferent, to conflict. But the more of the war she sees, the more she morphs into someone who represents the desensitisation to violence that the film is lambasting. That Lee is on a reverse arc of disillusionment from her occupation, and thus coming to understand empathy, is clever storytelling that enhances the themes superbly.
Dunst leads the film with gravitas and a fortitude whose walls slowly but surely come crumbling down as the story challenges her beliefs through the sheer abundance of death and destruction. At the same time, after dazzling us with her impeccable turn in Priscilla, Spaeny showcases further range as a girl whose transformation captures the cautionary heart of the story.
The bulk of our intrigue regarding these characters comes from these strong performances, as on their own, the characterisation is underdeveloped; for example, Wagner Mooura’s Joel feels like a tag-along character who seems relatively minimal as a supporting player. Lee’s moral code is compelling, but she sometimes feels more like a stand-in for the theme without knowing how she came to hold that belief. Jess is the strongest character in this regard, but because the film is so plot-driven, it can be hard to connect with its key players, whether due to their stoicism or our lack of knowledge of them beyond their occupation. Equally, the fact that the President is not presented in any kind of capacity beyond the opening and closing feels like a missed opportunity to explore further the loss of humanity in relation to our leaders.
Garland and his team capture the spectacle primarily through wide shots, long pauses of silence, and occasionally overheard shots. The production design and effects are certainly impressive in their scale and sense of authenticity. Yet this spectacularization of the violence depicted also somewhat undercuts its message. Particularly during the climactic action scenes, the film seems caught between wanting to be exciting and devastating, as it threatens to turn its captivating story into another generic shoot-them-up war film, just on a grander scale. If anything, the attempts at being more broadly immersive take away from the intimacy of its messaging.
This makes Civil War something of a mixed bag. Its objectives make for thematically rich food for thought, as per the course of any Alex Garland feature. At the same time, the performances complement the themes powerfully, and the close-up filmmaking does a solid job wallowing in the horror of what is happening to such a divided country. It’s an anti-war film that pulls the curtain back on war’s life-changing effects on the psyche. Yet its apolitical stance, underwritten characterisation and occasional reliance on spectacularization take away much of the bite from its otherwise formidable and timely observations.
There’s just enough here to endorse and recommend the film, especially for Garland fans who want to see one last hurrah from his pretty extraordinary directorial career. But those who are prematurely calling it a modern masterpiece may wish to consider how a film as on the fence as this regarding divided societies could feasibly be seen as timid in an age of increasingly visceral division.
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