Director: Clint Eastwood
As a director, Clint Eastwood’s most persistent fixation is the concept of legacy, and particularly what heroes are made of. Heroism to Eastwood, as it is was to Howard Hawks, is often linked with duty or professionalism—many audiences found American Sniper a tough pill to swallow because it asked us to identify (to some: celebrate) with a man who was particularly gifted at killing people. Just like that film, Sully showcases the mundane merits of doing a job well. Captain Sullenberger (Tom Hanks) isn’t cut for the part of hero—he’s traumatized by the horror of what could have happened—and yet the mantle of savior is thrust upon him, disregarding whether or not he is suited to it. In the extended sequences in which pilots in simulations are forced to recreate the situation that made a legend out of Captain Sullenberger, the mechanical recreations are treated as dryly comic. Because it is ridiculous to attempt to relive the events that made Sully a household name, these sequences argue that heroism is found not only technical skill, but in the instincts learned on the job. Eastwood’s own instincts as a director (and ultimately what leads his films to becoming understood) is to deal with these semantic complexities—his worldview is defined by seeming contradictions and logical flaws. To Eastwood, a character like American Sniper‘s Chris Kyle can be both a hero and monster, just as Captain Sullenberger can be both a hero and a man who just did his job.
Director: Clint Eastwood
American Sniper might be the most misunderstood movie of the year in that its filmmaking is largely an afterthought in popular conversation. While many embrace or dismiss it based on their own political beliefs, in close examination it follows the trend of many Hollywood movies by playing both sides–that is, whatever one’s political perspective might be, they’ll likely find ammunition in the text to support it. That’s not to say that Clint Eastwood is impervious to criticism–his portrayal of the Iraqi people is questionable, even considering the fact that the film is told from the point-of-view of a bloodthirsty American soldier. In a pivotal scene, he treats the audience with a slow-motion killshot in what is certainly the picture’s most misguided moment. And yet, even that minor victory is followed by a brownout sandstorm, rendering the success nearly irrelevant because of the danger that immediately follows in its wake. Perhaps Eastwood is undercutting such a victory by arguing that, in the end, Chris Kyle’s (Bradley Cooper) kills don’t add up to a hill of beans. Cooper’s performance is astonishing. He’s the right amount of tense and uncomfortable in every scene–when he’s confronted by a soldier whose life he saved (played by Jonathan Groff), he comes off as embarrassed and disinterested. While some have tried to claim that the film is a glorification, that sequence renders such criticisms irrelevant. Here’s a man who is so mentally wounded that embracing his earned “glory” is no longer a possibility.
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