The Post:
What initially seems like dull subject matter is actually quite engaging, sharing the same shades and point-by-point breakdown of events that co-writer Josh Singer also brought to Spotlight. Making what feels like a great companion piece to All the President's Men, there's great sense of timeliness to the events portrayed in the film that still stands decades later. Time and time again, many have tried to paint figures within the press media as a leech, thriving off of defaming or smearing the name of people in their high positions, all in an attempt to retain relevancy. It's an especially heated issue of debate, when said writers of those stories find themselves growing connections to their topics, forming what could be seen as an opportunistic move for personal benefit for both sides.
But for as much controversy as these issues stir, and as much as those figures may try to smear the name of those "Fake News" outlets, to go so far in silencing those voices says a lot more about the character of that person in power, than any essay cooked up by The New York Times. Even if we may forget it ourselves, reliance on these outlets is still so vital to our daily routine, a crucial tool as a means of expression and free speaking. A tool of objectivity pushing aside bias, cutting straight through the fat to reach the truth, and in the wake of tide-changing events such as the #MeToo movement and the shifting political spectrum, we truly depend on it more than ever.
As usual, Spielberg's directing prowess is on point, with standout notice going to his usual editor Michael Kahn - assisted by Sarah Broshar, whose transitions and jumps to crucial events feel seamless and always flowing, while still giving the large (if sometimes underused) supporting cast a great opportunity to stretch their legs. Although, major kudos go to the big ticket stars, the ever-reliable Tom Hanks able to hit hard and command the room with his presence, as well as Meryl Streep whose own presence is more toned down, but no less commanding in her dedication, welcoming the chance to surround herself with a crew willing to challenge her, rather than idly play "Yes" men to her every decision. Lincoln it may not be, but the finished film is as compelling as any with Spielberg's stamp of quality.
****1/2 / *****
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri:
McDonagh's latest feature is a film boiling in anger, best encapsulated by Frances McDormand as Mildred Hayes, the mother of a teenage girl who was raped and murdered, who has been deeply rocked to her core. She's a woman of seeding bitterness, regret, and trauma, having previously been involved in a toxic marriage to her alcoholic ex-husband (John Hawkes), and driven to obsession by the case surrounding her daughter. But mainly she's defined by frustration, frustration aimed at the local Ebbing Police Department, who've yet to make an arrest. It's a frustration we can sympathize with, drawing inspiration from real life cases of missing persons and cold cases that go unsolved, each with an accompanying desperation to tie up loose ends, and find satisfaction in an unfortunate event, showcased in extreme but powerful effect by Mildred's title billboards, publicly shaming the police in an effort to reach her end means.
But at the end of it all, it's a painful fact that not every case has such satisfaction. For as much hassle as she tends to give the police, even directly calling out their chief (Woody Harrelson), it's still made perfectly clear that try as they might, what minor hopes for closure may ultimately be futile. Not simply due to the case forever remaining a mystery, but this misguided belief that any ills and holes could instantly be healed by filling in the blanks. In fact, by directly drawing attention to her daughter's final moments, and making that what defined her even if unintentionally, said wounds are only made worse by continually dragging them out rather than privately grieving. Even if justice is achieved, Mildred is still such a damaged individual, at times even self-righteous in taking matters into her own hand, that change is unlikely to come from it anyway.
McDonagh certainly gets a lot of mileage out of current politics surrounding the action of the police force, in addition to missing persons cases remaining unsolved, cover topics involving testy race relations, and the misguided belief of "to embarrass one is to embarrass all." It would have been very easy to play the police officers as easy villains, but McDonagh deserves major credit for taking a more objective stance on the matter. No doubt he has some scathing thoughts on the more negative side of police dealings, but he also blesses those that are a part of it with a much-needed sense of humanity, even taking a double-edged sword approach in confronting the aggression towards those people, and their symbols, causing just as much damage through their blind hatred, and undercutting the context of their own messages and causes.
That humanity is immeasurably supplied by its two most prominent surrogates, Chief Willoughby, and Officer Dixon. Taking a more sympathetic approach is the former, as played by Woody Harrelson. Always etched on his face is this powerful sense of compassion and understanding for Mildred's fuming hostility, and even as she mocks the force and belittles him for his actions, you can always see his own sense of desperation to find closure for her, even though he's well aware that such a day may never come, and that bitterness will never be quenched.
As for the latter, played by Sam Rockwell, this is a true force of nature, and one of McDonagh's finest creations. If anyone's anger could ever hope to match Mildred's, Dixon would be the man for the job, having garnered himself a reputation for being a ruthless and violent cop, and building a deeply racist streak in the meantime. As he goes through the movie, and we see him follow one debauched act after another, as he shows just how dirty he's willing to get his hands, it feels hard to believe that McDonagh would be able to do what he accomplishes with Dixon, gradually turning him from "pathetic"... to "sympathetic". At his core, Dixon is still capable of becoming a decent person, if only he were to shed his fury, and allow more compassion and love into his heart, the kind that made him gravitate to Willoughby as if he were a father figure. We're presented with a character continually forced to confront the consequences of his actions, and how they've only served to make him more miserable, crafting along the way a powerful and tender path to redemption.
McDonagh is terrific at handling that balance between hard-hitting drama and darkly comical moments, as well as evoking the mood of his title town, a worn-down podunk country town of seeming insignificance, but whose minor charms and subdued sense of beauty make it feel like its own character. It's a film unafraid to hurl you into hard moral quandaries, or to deliberately undercut satisfaction for more honest and ambiguous conclusions - including its fantastic ending scene which is among the year's absolute best, but it's also a film that hits hard with its earnest and emotional center, even as it faces glimpses into the most cynical the world has to offer.
***** / *****
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