The Fog of War, one of the best film of 2003, is because of the chances that Errol Morris takes with filming his subject, former defense secretary Robert McNamara, combined with the countless images either in montage or slow-motion or brief archival footage mode. It's an assembly of very insightful, if (of course) not altogether the whole truth and nothing but, interview clips by letting the viewer into the way of thinking of this man who became apart and witness to World War 2, Cuba and Vietnam conflicts. It would be one thing to just have a simple sit-down interview with the man and his total life and career choices and the like. But just right in the way Morris films McNamara you know you're getting something different. He is shown (practically) going on in his sharp, raspy 80-something voiced monologues, and he is always looking at the viewer into the camera. It's something a little better than a trick, as it's a special camera set-up where the viewer is given a more personalized take on the subject looking right on. It's left up to the viewer, then, to decide how much is real reflections and honest accounts, or maybe not.
It's amazing to see such a man as McNamara go on- holding a great interest- in the cross-sections of his life, which was never planned but taken in stride for better and for lesser times. McNamara's tips, or 'lessons' as they are sectioned off in the film, range from delivering hard facts and even poignant touches. And there are so many lessons that come through the film, not just in the overall point of each segment but in the little marks of knowledge about the nature of mass warfare, conflicting with the other side (and the possible empathy needed for it), that sometimes one not living around in that time of McNamara in the white house may wonder how he grew to be disliked in the press and public. Of course, even McNamara has to say "there are some things I can't talk about", and once this is understood what information is given is presented in a very nifty way. Sometimes even still images showing McNamara listening or talking to his Presidents speak many words. The symbolism is great, too, as dominoes fall, or reverse.
The Fog of War succeeds so well in presenting McNamara's reflections and stories and accounts, it even borders on being emotional, or having at least a sentiment (not sentimentality) about the many errors in human judgment in times of crisis. When he talks of people who were rather flawed like Curtis Le May, it's with a kind of logic though that measures out the wrong with what was at least considered right. The morals of men under pressure are a big component in the film, and as the Vietnam section rolls along- and a lesson learned from the Cuba crisis is left by the wayside- it becomes as close to shocking as the PG-13 film could get. For all of the mistakes or faults in judgment or of the dreaded uncertain times McNamara found himself in with those around him, there was good accomplished as well, if for the future to see. One of the best moments in the film is when the former defense man tells of a meeting he had in 1995 with an old Vietnam leader, who has to set the record straight for him to understand the real core of conflict. Such moments have a haunting resonance that also acts in other sections of the film.
That all of the stories are fascinating, and then wrapped in this expertly edited style of old clips (as well as ultra-rare audio tapes from inside the white house) with Phillip Glass's better than usual score, only adds to its appeal. It's straightforward in that it is quite the subjective document and testimony, but it's also a unique film for how it pushes into demanding its audience be smart enough to grasp all that McNamara, and Morris, have in mind. It's the kind of film, too, that I watch almost any time it's on TV.
It's amazing to see such a man as McNamara go on- holding a great interest- in the cross-sections of his life, which was never planned but taken in stride for better and for lesser times. McNamara's tips, or 'lessons' as they are sectioned off in the film, range from delivering hard facts and even poignant touches. And there are so many lessons that come through the film, not just in the overall point of each segment but in the little marks of knowledge about the nature of mass warfare, conflicting with the other side (and the possible empathy needed for it), that sometimes one not living around in that time of McNamara in the white house may wonder how he grew to be disliked in the press and public. Of course, even McNamara has to say "there are some things I can't talk about", and once this is understood what information is given is presented in a very nifty way. Sometimes even still images showing McNamara listening or talking to his Presidents speak many words. The symbolism is great, too, as dominoes fall, or reverse.
The Fog of War succeeds so well in presenting McNamara's reflections and stories and accounts, it even borders on being emotional, or having at least a sentiment (not sentimentality) about the many errors in human judgment in times of crisis. When he talks of people who were rather flawed like Curtis Le May, it's with a kind of logic though that measures out the wrong with what was at least considered right. The morals of men under pressure are a big component in the film, and as the Vietnam section rolls along- and a lesson learned from the Cuba crisis is left by the wayside- it becomes as close to shocking as the PG-13 film could get. For all of the mistakes or faults in judgment or of the dreaded uncertain times McNamara found himself in with those around him, there was good accomplished as well, if for the future to see. One of the best moments in the film is when the former defense man tells of a meeting he had in 1995 with an old Vietnam leader, who has to set the record straight for him to understand the real core of conflict. Such moments have a haunting resonance that also acts in other sections of the film.
That all of the stories are fascinating, and then wrapped in this expertly edited style of old clips (as well as ultra-rare audio tapes from inside the white house) with Phillip Glass's better than usual score, only adds to its appeal. It's straightforward in that it is quite the subjective document and testimony, but it's also a unique film for how it pushes into demanding its audience be smart enough to grasp all that McNamara, and Morris, have in mind. It's the kind of film, too, that I watch almost any time it's on TV.