The silver screen's struggle to tackle the darker aspects of Trump-era America is a cinematic conundrum that's become all too familiar. As the democratic system faces an existential threat from the hands of autocratic forces, Hollywood seems to be struggling with how to bring these quiet threats to life on screen.
A recent Netflix release, Anniversary, epitomizes this struggle. The film takes aim at an America in which a charismatic, right-wing leader orchestrates a coup, selling democracy short on its value and instead touting a sinister vision of unity through "plurality". While the first half of the movie is engaging, it soon devolves into a shallow exploration of the stakes, glossing over the messy details that would make the dystopian narrative feel more grounded.
This trend of Hollywood opting for explosions over nuance has become all too common. Paul Thomas Anderson's One Battle After Another attempts to address this by depicting a brutal military establishment hell-bent on enforcing immigration laws. While not perfect, the film effectively channels a sense of unease and foreboding, which is perhaps its greatest strength.
However, it's Alex Garland's Civil War that has truly resonated with me in recent days. Despite its limitations, the film taps into a peculiar nostalgia for a bygone era when America was less embroiled in conflict and more concerned with symbolic gestures like those in Charlottesville. This quaint pre-ICE order feels alarmingly close to the world we live in today, where a wave of vitriolic protests can lead to violent clashes.
It's this disquieting feeling that lingers long after watching Civil War. Unlike Anniversary, which seemed content to rest on its laurels and leave the viewer wondering what could have been, Civil War makes a disturbingly prescient point about the state of America in 2024. As we continue to grapple with issues like immigration, voter suppression, and the erosion of democratic institutions, it's clear that the creative industries must do better than simply dodging these problems.
Perhaps the problem lies not so much with the filmmakers themselves but rather our collective apathy towards the intricacies of American politics. We've become accustomed to only paying attention to the explosive moments in our national conversation, relegating the quiet, tedious work of subterfuge and manipulation to the periphery. It's time for us to demand more from our entertainment – more nuance, more subtlety, and a willingness to confront the messy realities that shape our world.
For now, though, we're left with Civil War, its haunting images seared into our collective consciousness like a warning sign on a deserted highway: "Turn back while you still can."
A recent Netflix release, Anniversary, epitomizes this struggle. The film takes aim at an America in which a charismatic, right-wing leader orchestrates a coup, selling democracy short on its value and instead touting a sinister vision of unity through "plurality". While the first half of the movie is engaging, it soon devolves into a shallow exploration of the stakes, glossing over the messy details that would make the dystopian narrative feel more grounded.
This trend of Hollywood opting for explosions over nuance has become all too common. Paul Thomas Anderson's One Battle After Another attempts to address this by depicting a brutal military establishment hell-bent on enforcing immigration laws. While not perfect, the film effectively channels a sense of unease and foreboding, which is perhaps its greatest strength.
However, it's Alex Garland's Civil War that has truly resonated with me in recent days. Despite its limitations, the film taps into a peculiar nostalgia for a bygone era when America was less embroiled in conflict and more concerned with symbolic gestures like those in Charlottesville. This quaint pre-ICE order feels alarmingly close to the world we live in today, where a wave of vitriolic protests can lead to violent clashes.
It's this disquieting feeling that lingers long after watching Civil War. Unlike Anniversary, which seemed content to rest on its laurels and leave the viewer wondering what could have been, Civil War makes a disturbingly prescient point about the state of America in 2024. As we continue to grapple with issues like immigration, voter suppression, and the erosion of democratic institutions, it's clear that the creative industries must do better than simply dodging these problems.
Perhaps the problem lies not so much with the filmmakers themselves but rather our collective apathy towards the intricacies of American politics. We've become accustomed to only paying attention to the explosive moments in our national conversation, relegating the quiet, tedious work of subterfuge and manipulation to the periphery. It's time for us to demand more from our entertainment – more nuance, more subtlety, and a willingness to confront the messy realities that shape our world.
For now, though, we're left with Civil War, its haunting images seared into our collective consciousness like a warning sign on a deserted highway: "Turn back while you still can."