Munich is inspired by the notorious Munich massacre at the 1972 Olympics and the ensuing aftermath. Avner, deftly played by Eric Bana, was appointed by Golda Meir, the Iron Lady of Israel, the grave task of leading an unofficial death squad on a mission to take out 11 Palestinians condemned by the Mossad as the architects of Munich. Avner started off as an inexperienced assassin who had a hard time firing his handgun. Instead of growing into a surefire executor, he remained jittery and showed a glaring lack of puritanical gusto. By the end of the film, we're told he's being haunted by his deeds, probably for the rest of his life.Munich doesn't mean to be 100% faithful to history (there're serious doubts about whether the Palestinians assassinated are really the perpetrators), but it manages to re-enact with painful precision the kidnap and rescue debacles. The film is also visually compelling with a robust sense of aesthetic. The assassination sequences are great Hitchcock-esque moments and provide the required narrative urgency. However, with the Oscar looming in the horizon, the film has been showered with extensive critical accolades not for its technical excellence, but for its courage in tackling a matter of great delicacy. But is it worthy of these praises? I doubt it.
Although the story is told from the point of view of Avner, an Israeli, Spielberg has taken painstaking care to make sure the causes of both Israel and Palestine are given fair airtime. Hence Golda's defense for the unspeakable act the Israel government was about to sanction; the awkward conversations between Avner and Ali in the safe house's landing; a constant display of reluctance by Avner and his team, save Steve (played by Daniel Craig; yet another attempt to maintain the balance of ideologies, this time within the death squad); and the rationalization of terrorism by Avner's mother and his boss, Ephraim (Geoffrey Rush). The result is a very confused idea about the nature of violence, or at best, a reiteration of its futility.
Sure, violence is a self-breeding monster that eventually is going to take the avenger and the avenged nose-diving in a downward spiral to complete destruction. And it's also true that both sides in this bloody conflict have reasons strong enough to fly the flag for their own prejudices, and their violent acts have indeed put a price tag on peace. But in the course of ensuring even-handedness, violence as a means to an end is never categorically denied (expectedly, it's not reassured as well). If Spielberg hasn't meandered and wallowed like a self-doubting whiner, sweating and panting, but instead charged headlong into making a critique of violence, Munich might pack a stronger punch than it is now. In its current form, it's merely a well shot, griping thriller soaked in wimpy idealism and manufactured sentimentality (speaking of which, having Avner to bang his wife as he relives the horror of Munich is a very lousy try at that - I swear I heard people laughing in the auditorium!).
Maybe I'm overly harsh, but making a film about a conflict known for the brutalities on both sides by applauding and condemning violence at once is hardly exemplary. The filmmaker doesn't go beyond standing on the sidelines, wringing his hands, shaking his heads in regrets and dismay and telling us how ugly this world is. Thank you very much, but Mr Spielberg, what should we do about it? The scene in which Steve and one of the PLO members vied for the control of the radio and finally found middle ground in a channel broadcasting Western music, perhaps, echoes the mentality of the filmmaker - Let's give up violence and start humming candy pop-tunes like the contestants of American Idol so that the world can be one and whole again!
Spielberg is in the habit of dispensing instant catharsis (remember the ridiculous happy ending of War of the Worlds?), so people love him. Many will leave the theatre grinding their teeth at the horrors of violence, vowing their sturdy stance against bloodshed and terrorism. But they'll not lose sleep over it and will merrily go on with their lives, contented that they've already played a small part in condemning the evil. There's a saying: being a pacifist between wars is as easy as being a vegetarian between meals - It's easy because we're not keen deep in blood and guts. But no one describes the apathy and hypocrisy of our generation in a more direct and pithy manner than Jack (Joaquin Phoenix) in Terry George's excellent Hotel Rwanda, "I think if people see this footage [the ethnic cleansing of Tutsis by Hutu militia in Rwanda], they'll say Oh, my God, that's horrible. And then they'll go on eating their dinners."
Is this film daring? No, it's safer than your four-wheel drive. Does it serve the cause of weaning off bloodshed and violence? Hell no. Is it good entertainment? You bet.
