As befits a libertarian, Clint Eastwood is admirably suited to look at both sides of a controversial question.

Dirty Harry could be both a hearty conservative slap to the Warren Court and also the only thing between democracy and a group of vigilante fascist cops.

“J. Edgar,” released today, is no different.

But to gauge Eastwood’s achievement in examining a controversial figure, virtues as well as warts and all, one should look at previous cinematic portrayals of the FBI director. In “Chaplin,” Hoover is depicted as a prissy anti-communist who does not forget the silent film star slighting him back in the twenties. His decades-long vengeance is complete when Chaplin gives him the sword to fell the actor with, courtesy of Charlie’s peccadilloes.

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The name was Fleming, Valentine Fleming. But to his four young boys, Bond creator Ian Fleming among them, he was “Mokie” — a baby-talk bastardization of “Smokie,” so called because he always had a pipe dangling from his lips, the same way Sean Connery would one day sport a cigarette in his debut appearance as James Bond in Dr. No. Curiously, no one in turn-of-the-century England thought to arrest Mr. Fleming for smoking in the presence of his children, nor did social services batter down his door to cart the poor cancer-threatened kids away. He was their Pop, and they adored him, smoke and all.

Child-abusing barbarians, I know.

They were rich, the Flemings. Grandfather made his fortune pioneering investment trusts, and when Valentine came of age he inherited hundreds of thousands of pounds. Thus it was that his second son Ian, born in 1908, grew up in a world of wealth and privilege. Mother was a typical socialite, a lover of status and all the good things that money could buy, but Father was different. He ran for government office as a conservative, and was by all accounts a thorough patriot of crown and country much admired by everyone who met him. When war became imminent, there was never any question whether he would use his money and influence to weasel out of the fight. Valentine joined the Queen’s Own Oxfordshire Hussars of his own volition and trained for combat, counting among his friends a fellow officer named Winston Churchill.

Ian and his family watched with dread as their Dad headed off to the front in 1914, and for the next three years they saw him but seldom. Valentine sent his family cheery letters to lift their spirits, but his missives to Churchill laid bare the truth: (more…)

That is one outstanding trailer and the first footage I’ve seen.

This era’s always proved difficult for present-day filmmakers to credibly recreate.  One major exception is “L.A. Confidential” (1997), but the rest, most notably Scorsese’s ridiculously over-praised “The Aviator“ (2004), overtax your suspension of disbelief with a sense that everyone’s play-acting with clothes found in grandma’s attic. Director Michael Mann appears to have figured out that stylizing the hell out of it is the way to go. The music and atmosphere make you want to dive right in. (more…)

Before Jack Valenti became president of the Motion Picture Association, he was an aide to President Lyndon Johnson–who investigated his underling’s sex life. The Washington Post report revealing the matter excuses Johnson’s snooping and blames–who else?–J. Edgar Hoover. In my piece at the American Spectator, I detail the familiar narrative of how Democratic Presidents from Woodrow Wilson to Harry Truman to John Kennedy get a pass on civil liberties abuses and these transgressions get blamed on Hoover. It’s as if we are to understand that presidents take their orders from the FBI director, and not the reverse. So don’t blame LBJ for investigating Jack Valenti’s private life. The devil made him do it.