Review: ‘The Hurt Locker’

by John Nolte

Katherine Bigelow’s direction of “The Hurt Locker” is masterful and might very well place her back where she belongs, at the top of anyone’s list looking for a top-shelf action director. But that’s not enough to save the film from episodic plotting, jarring and unnecessary political statements, a troubling depiction of our troops and an even worse portrayal of the Iraqi people. This is a movie you want to like, but an unsettling after-taste lingers long after the thrill of the set-pieces fades.

Produced and scripted by Mark Boal (who embedded with a U.S. Army bomb squad operating in Baghdad), the year is 2004 and Iraq is a country under siege, thanks mainly to determined insurgents and roadside IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices) that seem to be everywhere and frequently come with nearby triggermen lying in wait for the opportunity to do the most amount of damage, preferably to American servicemen and women.  Charged with the dangerous and technically complicated job of defusing these bombs is a three-man EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) team led by Staff Sergeant James (an excellent Jeremy Renner) and his squad mates Sanborn (Anthony Mackie) and Eldridge (Brian Geraghty).

The opening scene’s a wowser, and the 40 minutes that follow do their job in setting up characters, their relationships and at least giving off the appearance that we’re headed towards something bigger involving Beckham, a young Iraqi boy who sells DVDs on the base. When this storyline strangely pans out to be much ado about nothing, the plot slowly deflates into a series well-staged but interchangeable episodes with no over-arching story. You’re about an hour in when you start to feel the 130 minute runtime.

Every time “Locker” starts to weave any kind of spell something unnecessarily political comes along to break it. Mostly the sucker punches come at the end of a scene as if to say, “That will teach you for buying into it.”  A tense sequence involving an Iraqi cabdriver who runs a roadblock ends with our troopers roughly handcuffing him. This superfluous drama appears to have been filmed only to allow James to give this Leftist belief an airing, “If he wasn’t an insurgent, he sure the hell is now.”

And that’s just the beginning.

Most troubling is a frighteningly unstable, near-psychotic field commander, Colonel Reed (David Morse), who orders his men to let a wounded Iraqi civilian/suspect bleed out to death even after he’s informed the man could easily be saved with a simple radio call. After watching James work, Reed approaches him with crazy eyes gushing over what a “wild man” he is. Not only is this a monstrous depiction of an American Colonel, it’s faulty storytelling. Morse is a recognizable actor and the disturbing impression his character makes is so strong you keep expecting him to return – maybe even as the film’s antagonist.

Reed isn’t the only officer to take a hit. Christian Camargo plays the utterly clueless Colonel Cambridge, a therapist assigned to help Eldridge deal with battlefield trauma. He chirps cheerily, “Going to war is a once in a lifetime opportunity. It could be fun.”

The worst, however, comes near the end. In a moment of tender humanity James risks his life to treat the body of a dead Iraqi — who may or may not be someone he knows — with respect and care. But again, we’re not allowed a pure moment presenting our troops as they are. Instead we cut to Sanford and Eldridge – two characters we’ve come to admire – only to hear this coldly matter-of-fact exchange regarding the dead Iraqi: You think that’s the “little base rat?” “I don’t know man, they all look the same.”

Not one of these moments, and there are a handful of others, is in anyway necessary to the plot or the understanding of these characters. In a movie that’s already twenty-minutes too long, what motivated Bigelow to hang on to them in a film eager to be touted as being “above politics” is beyond me.

In a throwback to Hollywood’s stereotyped depiction of unstable Vietnam vets, the Iraq War has turned our protagonist, James, into an increasingly reckless adrenaline junkie whose disregard for safety and communication protocol puts everyone around him in danger. After defusing  873 of these things, James is certainly comfortable getting off cowboying around any kind of explosives he might come across (and enjoying a cigarette afterwards),  but he’s also a victim of this war, for he’s no longer in control of his own destiny. The film opens on the words “War is a drug,” and that drug is all James desires. So warped by war, even when looking into his infant son’s eyes, James can say out loud that there’s only one thing he loves … and it’s not the boy.

As the plot plods on James becomes increasingly reckless, eventually leading Eldridge and Sanborn on a night-time hunt for a single suspect through a dangerous urban neighborhood with about a million hiding places. James is beyond audacious now, he’s foolhardy and dangerous and this thoughtless venture results in the near-kidnapping of one of his own men who ends up severely wounded – and this wounded man speaks for all of us when he says, “We didn’t have to go out looking for trouble to get you your adrenaline fix, YOU FUCK!”

But because James has no character arc, he learns nothing from this tragic outing. He’s a slave to this drug … to war, an unprofessional loose cannon who can’t love his son, can’t function in the real world and is on a trajectory to either kill himself, or worse, someone else.  Like any junkie, he’s capable of humanity and leadership, he’s no coward and he knows his job, but he’s a victim to this thing and when we leave him we know it can’t end pretty.

It’s too bad the Iraqi people aren’t a protected class among Leftists. Of course, Leftists spent years lobbying in every imaginable way to abandon 25 million of them to death squads and terrorists, so why should it come as a surprise that Michael Bay’s satire of rap culture earns some outrage but “Hurt Locker” gets a pass.

The women are portrayed as either cannon fodder or screaming like savages, and other than a short, strange encounter with a man who wonders if James is CIA, the men are alternately terrorists, a menacing presence, victims, the butt of jokes or utterly clueless. The only Iraqi with a hint of personality is Beckam, but he’s never given a dimension beyond that of a hustler poisoned by our crass American consumer culture, “Wassup, my nigga…?  Want the cool shit?  I hook you up. Donkeykong? Gay sex…? Gangsta. Hey, man, fuck you!”

No, I’ve never been in the military, but when a film’s over I surely know what my opinion of the characters just portrayed up on that screen is, and I’ve seen this movie twice now trying to reconcile how everything listed above can add up to most every review labeling “The Hurt Locker” as “apolitical.”

Has Hollywood so worn us out that we’ve dumbed “apolitical” down to the point where this portrayal of our Iraqi allies, our troops and the officers who lead them qualifies? I’m not looking for John Wayne and I get battlefield cynicism. “Blackhawk Down” and “Brothers at War” do just fine by me. But when the men in the ranks display cold, casual racism, an American Colonel savagely orders that an Iraqi be left to bleed to death and a profoundly unprofessional protagonist, so demented by war he can no longer love his own son, repeatedly endangers himself and the men in his charge, I don’t see “nuance” or “depth” or “complicated” characters. What I see is politics of the worst kind.


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Posted Jul 2nd 2009 at 4:20 pm in Featured Story, Reviews | 103 Comments