Writing

1. The Fog of War, (Errol Morris, 2003)

The Fog of War is a film about the life of Robert S. McNamara, focused primarily on his role as U.S. Secretary of Defense between 1961 and 1968 at the peak of the Vietnam War. In an intimate account, McNamara reflects on the 11 lessons he has come to distill from his engagements in warfare. He was 85 years old at the moment the film was made.

Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara.

Errol Morris masterfully crafts a narrative that casts light on the precarious nature of the decision-making process that defines the United States foreign policy, illustrating how crucial decisions are rarely based on sound judgment, but rather, on the rationalizations of fear, ignorance and stereotypical preconceptions about the Other.

The film goes beyond McNamara’s personal points of view, as it delves into the U.S. political imaginary (Castoriadis), opening a window to understand the seminal tensions that have allowed for the construction of a cohesive national identity: The institutional arrangements that determine the place and self-perception of the country in relation to others. In other words, McNamara’s account is a lens through which we can observe from where the American society looks at itself in tension with the Other, an enemy seemingly determined to destroy the American society. In light of this apocalyptic vision, it is understandable why there is no real clarity of the consequences of one’s actions, as reality is constantly perceived (and politically constructed) as a precarious narrative and theatrical event. The fog of war, as a military term, further expands and exploits this level of ambiguity.

Furthermore, Morris quietly introduces what has come of the seemingly well-intended, messianic attempts of American foreign policy around the world, focusing particularly on the years of the Cold War. Through an old and now reflexive Robert McNamara, one can look beyond the mythologized U.S. narrative of freedom and democracy, and examine the burden and the mistakes this narrative has placed on the American society and the world. We are also faced with a man that, on one hand, responded to the demands and constraints of a system, but also with this man’s personal responsibility for subscribing to such a system with little or no introspection during his tenure as a Secretary of Defense .

Morris’s silences and deep and prolonged pauses, first-person narration and the gaze of McNamara looking into the camera (The Interrotron) help build a narrative style that provides a strong and genuine connection with the character. The cinematography and the editing complement the construction of an intimate dialogue that further serves this purpose. These devices help present a McNamara stripped from his previously invested (symbolic) power held during the different administrations he served. At the same time, the film does not make Robert McNamara a hero despite the reflexive nature of his account, nor does it demonize him.

Despite the fact that McNamara issued his own ten additional lessons from the ones originally showcased in the story, the film still offers an open forum to present his ideas, while at the same time, audiences will find revealing and numerous historical and political facts of the past decades that contextualize and balance McNamara’s account. One might argue that considering McNamara’s involvement in the decision-making process during the Vietnam War, Morris could have held him more directly accountable for the outcome of his actions. Nonetheless, audiences will find there was no need to continue pressing McNamara on his personal responsibility for the events; as his continuous efforts to avoid exploring certain topics more deeply come across as axiomatic. Furthermore, there is a level of accountability in the relationship McNamara and Morris establish in the interview. In other words, the dialogue depends on the questioning. The film is then not a monologue despite its construction.

Ultimately, the film presents a fair account on a man who has been crushed by his own ambitions and obligations, and for whom time and personal loss has forced him to redefine his Weltanschauung.

The Question of Credibility

The film is based on a credible source himself: Robert McNamara; not only through the multiple public office positions he held, but particularly, by his entire life experiences. One can also witness McNamara’s departure from his own conduct as a younger man. In the archival footage he can be perceived egotistical and power-thirsty. As an older man though, he shows himself relieved from his younger self, as he opens up to share the burden of his pains and mistakes. In this sense, the interview approach Morris uses in the film contributes to McNamara’s reflexive state, and it continues to successfully hold throughout the entire treatment of the film. Moreover, an elegant montage, the minimalistic music of Phillip Glass and an excellent choice and treatment of the archival footage give this film a sense of earnestness that contributes greatly to its credibility.

The Fog of War very successfully conveys how precarious human existence is, especially in light of our fears, prejudice and preconceptions. The film excels in putting into perspective(s) the consequences of our actions (empathize with your enemy). By allowing McNamara to look directly into the camera as he presents disturbing war-related facts, Morris manages to place the audience in the dialogue and strongly heightens the sense of danger of mankind’s mutual destruction. Despite generational gaps, the overarching nature of the film’s narrative offers a sort of universality in its language that facilitates to draw conclusions on new events, such as the U.S. invasion of Iraq.

The narrative devices used by Morris, far from deceiving the audience, help look at the story from different viewpoints (The Thin Blue Line). This allows the viewer to draw his or her own conclusions. Moreover, the film fulfills one of the main characteristics of a documentary: it is informative. It reveals historical facts and offers additional input from the different angles it explores in the construction of its narrative and examination of the facts.

Morris shows how truthful treatment does not have to mean literal treatment. What he undertakes in this documentary has been also covered extensively by multiple disciplines such as history and journalism. But his approach allows a level of interaction that offers opportunities to intimately discover what are the personal implications of those events, and therefore it helps elaborate new levels of meaning and experience. In this sense, the visually appealing reenactments engage the audience in this personal exploration, without becoming misleading or self-serving narrative devices.


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