The Fog of War': Sobering reality

The age of reality has invaded the big screen. Fortunately, it is not the crass and tasteless reality programming that has poisoned television with sadistic schadenfreudue. Instead, the documentary has become a wildly successful and introspective genre in today's film business.

Last year alone saw three intriguing documentaries (Spellbound, Winged Migration, Capturing the Friedmans) enjoy widespread critical and public praise, each with their own unique theses. Even Bowling for Columbine, whose status as a "documentary" is debatable, redefined the genre as something other than PBS-material.

But don't tell that to Errol Morris, the preeminent documentarian of our times. Since the release of his first documentary Gates of Heaven in 1978, Morris has kept the genre alive with other highly-regarded films like The Thin Blue Line. His latest, The Fog of War, belongs on a list of the greatest documentaries ever, because of its fascinating probe into the life of one of the Cold War's most troubled individuals, Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara.

The film begins with McNamara's earliest memory of an Armistice Day parade celebrating the end of World War I at the raw age of two. The Fog of War follows the extraordinary life of this Harvard MBA graduate who eventually became the first President of the Ford Company from outside the Ford family, as well as John Kennedy and Lyndon Johnson's Secretary of Defense -- thereby being intensively involved in the Cuban Missile Crisis and the Vietnam War.

The film is subtitled: "Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert McNamara," and is divided chapter-like by each lesson. Each one is monumentally important to understanding the psyche and rationale of Robert McNamara. In his ninth lesson -- "in order to do good, you may have to engage in evil" --McNamara says, "I think the human race needs to think more about killing. How much evil must we do in order to do good?" Therein lies the central motif of McNamara's post-Vietnam life.

Morris uses a unique interview process by using a machine called Interrotron, patented and invented by the director. Working as a quasi-teleprompter, the Interrotron projects Morris' image on a mirror located above the camera, thereby providing an effect that is simultaneously inviting and impersonal. As McNamara speaks to Morris' image eye-to-eye, he is also speaking directly to the audience in the theater, imploring them to understand his position.

The result is uncanny as McNamara seems to age with the public blame of the disaster of the Vietnam War weighing down on his shoulders. To this day, he seems to believe he is inculpable for his actions during that era. His attempts to throw the responsibility onto President Johnson and General Curtis LeMay seem half-hearted and even unfair, as neither of those two political giants are around to defend themselves. When he says, "We saw Vietnam as an element of the Cold war. Not what they saw it as, a civil war. We were wrong," he seems only slightly remorseful.

But to feel anger towards McNamara would be contrary to Morris' goal in The Fog of War. Morris' mastery in generating an empathetic representation of McNamara is the heartbreaking conceit of the film. This man, who used to be consul to Presidents, is now a grizzled and depressing shadow of his former self.

If McNamara can be considered the "star" of The Fog of War, than Philip Glass' moving score is the supporting cast. The unending and gut-wrenching stringed ostinato is coupled with a mournful, high-pitched woodwind, producing a memorable score that fits the film perfectly. The loud booms of Vietnam's Operation Rolling Thunder serve as an impressive contrast to the smooth, rolling rhythms in Glass' minimalist compositions.

For anyone who doubts the importance of studying history, this documentary is a must-see. Whether McNamara knew of the contemporary relevance of his words at the time is irrelevant, as Morris is sure to pick up on it. The number one lesson, according to the life of Robert McNamara is "empathize with your enemy." He says, "We must try to put ourselves inside their skin and look at us through their eyes, just to understand the thought that lie behind their decisions... I do not believe that we should ever apply our economic, political, and military power unilaterally. If we had followed that rule in Vietnam, we would not have been there."

The connections to the war in Iraq are countless. McNamara, even in his older, obstinate, days said it best, "...the conventional wisdom is: don't make the same mistake twice. Learn from your mistakes." To start, no one should make the mistake of not seeing this documentary. It is a mind-numbing and eye-opening trip through the real reality.