You’ve heard the refrain from filmmakers before: making a movie is like going off to war. The director leads the troops, his actors are soldiers on the battlefield, and everyone leaves their loved ones behind for months. The crucial key to the battle plan is a vision and the unswerving belief in that ideal in the face of all odds and obstacles. For filmmakers, faith in what you’re doing — as you take the plunge and jump off the cliff to make a movie — is everything.
So, it’s a cruel, dark irony that “War Machine,” a movie where art imitates life about la guerre and blind faith in an objective, is a folly and near foolhardy disaster. Steven Soderbergh calls directing all-day problem solving. The Coen Brothers, with whom “War Machine” shares DNA with, describe it as tone management. But I don’t even know where to start with “War Machine” helmer David Michôd (“Animal Kingdom,” “The Rover“) and what he was thinking. But give him points at least for an unwavering commitment to his concept even as his massive missiles fail to launch before the movie even really begins.
Brad Pitt stars as Glen McMahon, a “rock star” General bequeathed the shit task of cleaning up the Afghani war during President Obama’s first term, following the exit of another unceremoniously fired Commander. As the suits and establishment try and institute the message of de-escalation and winding things down, McMahon, a career military man and born leader who knows of nothing but war, has some vastly different ideas to implement. With a team of aides that includes John Magaro, Topher Grace, Anthony Michael Hall, Anthony Hayes and Daniel Betts, the General and his team first head into war, but slam immediately into the realities of bureaucracy, the backfiring of counter-insurgency measures, and the gridlock of politicians on both sides. These are men who believe the pencil pushers stand in the way of their greatness, but to their own peril fail to recognize the outside world.
Adapted from Michael Hastings non-fiction book “The Operators: The Wild & Terrifying Inside Story of America’s War in Afghanistan,” with no plot to speak of, a baggy tangent across Europe in the mid-section, and no forward momentum, “War Machine” soon descends into the quicksand of its own design and never recovers. From there it’s an enervating slog of two hours that invites sleep.
Shapeless, astonishingly flat, and spectacularly ill-conceived, “War Machine” is the painful kind of satire that’s neither funny nor incisive. Laconically narrated by Scoot McNairy as a Rolling Stone reporter who’s introduced into the narrative far later than he should be, and told in a manner not dissimilar to “The Big Short,” “War Machine” lives and dies on its tone, which is often deadpan and sometimes goofy. Unfortunately, no one seems to know what that tone is except for maybe Brad Pitt who appears to be acting in an entirely different movie with his facial tics, gruff voice and overall grotesquely affected performance. Or actually, maybe it’s that Pitt — playing the Buzz Lightyear of Army Generals — is the only person not onboard, and you’ve got a director too embarrassed to tell him otherwise. Because there’s really no other explanation as to why Pitt seems so off-piste.
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Sadly, almost nothing in “War Machine” works. Lakeith Stanfield (who is very good in the movie, mind you) plays a dubious, anxious soldier disturbed by the lack of clarity in his mission and struggling with the new concept of courageous restraint. But he’s acting inside a serious, fearful drama with intense moments that are no laughing matter. Anthony Michael Hall might be in the same ballpark as Brad Pitt, but few thespians are acting in such ham-fisted, broad terms. There’s also a few moments of somber melancholy within the General’s slow realization that his confident march deeper into the corners of Afghanistan isn’t working. These disparate tones are tricky enough as it is and the transitions are mishandled to bungling effect. It’s as if Michôd is unsure of the movie he’s making or it’s just totally run away from him.
Co-starring Emory Cohen, Tilda Swinton, RJ Cyler, Will Poulter, Alan Ruck, Josh Stewart, Ben Kingsley, Meg Tilly, Griffin Dunne and more, there’s dozens of famous names in the movie, probably due to the generous $60 million price tag Netflix afforded the film. But nearly all these actors are appendages with very little to do.
“War Machine” appears to mercifully end around the 90-minute mark, only to reboot itself and plod on for another half an hour. Slack in pace, and disengaging, “War Machine” is a lifeless clusterfuck of inertia without bite, and often feels like the filmed dress rehearsal preparing for what should eventually be the first day of principal photography.
If the clichéd definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, this savage irony applies to both the resolute war makers and the unyielding filmmakers going all in. You can’t rebuild a nation at gunpoint, one of the few witty observations the film makes, but in its steadfast obligation to nailing its source material, “War Machine” loses sight of winning over the hearts and minds of its viewers along the way. You can’t win the trust of a nation by invading it, just as you can’t earn the attention of an audience by prescribing them sleeping pills. Or you could go the “War Machine” way, forge ahead and don’t stop believing. [D]
