THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
There's a chilling Psycho moment in Clint Eastwood's otherwise tepid biopic J Edgar. Following the death of his mother Annie (Judi Dench) J Edgar Hoover, the founding father of the FBI, stands before the mirror wearing her pearls, puts on her dress and in a desperate imitation of her voice, asks himself "to stay strong" before collapsing in a heap sobbing uncontrollably.
In another rousing scene, Edgar gets into a passionate fist-fight with his deputy and possible lover Clyde Tolson (Armie Hammer) who is incensed to hear that Hoover may want to propose marriage to an actress. These two flashes of insight, sadly, aren't enough to make Eastwood's protagonist an interesting enough character -- and certainly inadequate to humanise a man who is often vilified in American history as a paranoid tyrant who trusted nobody and blackmailed everyone he needed to to keep his position as the Director of the FBI for a staggering 48 years.
The question that remains topmost in the viewer's mind is, what is Eastwood's motive behind sketching this wishy-washy, semi-sympathetic picture of a figure who left behind a legacy of mistrust and an organisation that he formed and controlled with an iron hand, manufacturing its reputation through clever PR when hard facts failed? Hoover's place in 20th century America and a contemporary take on his life, motives, achievements and failings would have perhaps made for compelling cinema. But Eastwood's narrative (written by Dustin Lance Black whose Milk one greatly admires) is a confused mass of vignettes that fail to come together properly as a whole giving us a fragmented sense of the man.
If J Edgar is to be believed, the entire essence of Hoover's personality lies in his repressed homosexuality and his obsessive, stifling mother-love. Does that even begin to explain or justify the machinations of a Machiavellian mind? Or the manner in which he influenced the political climate or the lives of common folk? The sweep of this screenplay is too broad to encompass individual incidents and details that can best throw light on historical events in hindsight.
Ultimately, a good biopic is one in which the viewer finds resonance irrespective of whether she knows the facts of the person's life or not. In that sense, even if it works purely at the level of fiction, a biography is a worthy effort. Sadly J Edgar falls way short of this benchmark leaving you feeling cold and disconnected from an effort heavy on style and low on substance.
Comments