A Few Good Men

A Few Good Men (Rob Reiner, 1992) This a time before "The West Wing." It was before "JAG." It was before anybody knew about Aaron Sorkin and the tropes of his writing. It was the third play that Sorkin wrote and his first big success, sold to producer David Brown for an amount "well into six figures" and a tenure as a writer-for-hire at Castle Rock Entertainment—he would work on the screenplay for A Few Good Men, Malice, and The American President.

But, A Few Good Men was the first one that launched the Sorkin brand. Based on a true incident (told to him by his JAG-sister Deborah) about a near-fatal hazing incident at Guantanamo Bay, the script is both a detective story and a story of personalities under pressure. It was turned down by Tri-Star Pictures for lack of star interest, but that all changed when Reiner, one of Castle Rock's founders, expressed interest in directing it.

Lieutenant Commander Joanne Galloway (Demi Moore), a lawyer of the NIS has been following up a complaint by PFC William Santiago about an incident at Guantano Bay, Cuba, but Santiago has turned up dead—supposedly at the hands of the subject of the complaint, Lance Corporal Harold Dawson (Wolfgang Bodison) and PFC Louden Downey (James Marshall). But, Galloway looks into the two's records, and finds them spotless and begins to suspect some foul-play. 

Dawson and Downey are transferred to a Washington D.C. prison for subsequent trial and Galloway requests the case, but it is assigned to Lieutenant JG Daniel Kaffee (Tom Cruise) a Navy JAG lawyer who has never litigated a case, preferring to plea deal, instead—that may be because he's a bit of a flake, but also because his father was considered a great trial lawyer and that reputation sets a very high bar. Galloway, despite reservations signs on as Dawson's lawyer and Kaffee picks Lt. Sam Weinberg (Kevin Pollak) as legal advisor.  

Galloway is convinced that Santiago died as a result of a "Code Red," an internal disciplinary action not sanctioned by the military, a "hazing" of sorts to put peer pressure on a soldier not meeting expectations. The team begin investigations: Kaffee meets with the defendants and finds them good soldiers, but Dawson's attitude towards Kaffee holds a slight contempt for Kaffee being a less than spit-and-polish officer; the defense team gets the go-ahead to fly to Guantanamo where they meet with base commander Colonel Jessup (Jack Nicholson), executive officer Lt. Col. Markinson (J. T. Walsh) and Lt. Kendrick (Keifer Sutherland), Santiago's commanding officer. In the interview. Jessup denies ordering a "Code Red" (even though he does see it as a means of strengthening the ranks), but did approve Santiago's leaving the base "for his own safety" once the report to the NIS was made. The meeting is cordial by flinty.

The matter is complicated by Jessup's regard in the military—he is in line to take an important position with the National Security Council, and there's more than a whiff of evidence to suggest that Kaffee was picked to head the team for his proclivity for plea deals, thus ensuring that the matter never makes it to trial. Indeed, Kaffee brings up the matter with Dawson as prosecutor Jack Ross (Kevin Bacon), knowing Kaffee's inclinations, has made an offer of six months in prison for the pair along with dishonorable discharges. Dawson refuses the offer as cowardly—he was following orders—refusing to salute Kaffee when their meeting concludes.

Knowing he is not playing his strengths, Kaffee tries to resign from the case, but is convinced to go through with the case. At the grand jury hearing, Kaffee offers a plea of nor guilty, setting up a formal trial for which he is ill-prepared while the minutiae of details pile up and Markinson—Jessup's executive officer—goes missing. It becomes clear that—as Kaffee sums up—"We're going to get creamed, aren't we?" and he's going to have to do battle with well-ordered, disciplined—and colluding—witnesses. The participants and the atmosphere are hostile.

A Few Good Men—and Reiner—benefit from a cracker-jack cast, many working outside of their comfort zone. Reiner, with a solid script and a solid cast, seems to up his game and, benefiting the military formalism, demonstrates a disciplined directing style, more than displayed in the restrictive courtroom scenes where the drama intensifies into shouting matches and acting fireworks, particularly between Nicholson and Cruise—Jessup's testimony, which is the fulcrum and climax of the story; the only false note is the series of shots that suggests Kaffee doesn't know what he's doing and doesn't have the evidence needed to goad Jessup into a confession (of course he does and it's false drama to suggest he doesn't). 

Nicholson is 100% on point—even sitting in a witness chair and shot from his chest-medals up. Cruise, on the other hand, was going through his "awkward phase"; he quickly became a star in Risky Business, but his next few years he spent trying to prove himself as an actor, frequently overdoing the histrionics, like a high jumper trying not just to clear the bar, but set records.* 

And it's funny:  A Few Good Men is famous for that "You Can't Handle the Truth" scene with its fiery speeches and dagger-projecting looks. It's good stuff. So good that Jessup's speech defending his actions frequently turns up as inspirational memes. The words may inspire. But, Jessup is a flawed human being and a flawed commander, because simmering under the speeches is an overriding arrogance. 

It's actions, not words that define character. Military leaders lead by example, lest their orders be seen as empty directives. While thinking of this film, John Ford's Cavalry Trilogy burbled up in me memory—particularly his 1948 film, Fort Apache and 1950's Rio Grande—and the character of Captain Kirby York (played by John Wayne in both films), who, in the first film is passed over for the command of a frontier fort by an arrogant commander (played by Henry Fonda), who is subsequently killed in a massacre by his own foolhardiness and rigidity. For the good of the Cavalry and "the Corps," York defends the man whom he had disagreements with, and in the second film, York—now in the position of leadership—is in danger of becoming the very same type of martinet commander played by Fonda in the earlier film. That conflict forms the emotional spine, and the qualities of character and leadership were very much a consideration of Ford, who struggled with those same issues in his own life as a commanding director on-set.

What makes A Few Good Men an interesting exercise is that Cruise's Kaffee can be accused of the exact same flaw of arrogance. That the two should lock horns makes for compelling drama and makes the film just a bit more mature than a cursory look would reveal.

* When I did a "Don't Make a Scene" of the Jessup—"You can't handle the truth!"—testimony, it was rough going: I could always find a frame where Nicholson looked great, but Cruise—trying to act up a storm—frequently was caught looking a bit silly. I poured over his shots frame by frame trying to present him at his best—I think I accomplished it—but, the asides and mugging (which might be effective on the screen) was, when frozen, looked like he was preparing to get to his good part without actually getting there. He's calmed down quite a bit—even if he's now constantly in motion hanging onto the sides of airplanes and being batted around on wires—but his tendency to over-do was a real issue for years. The thing is that star-making turn in Risky Business showed just how good an actor—and charismatic a star—he is.

The Front Runner

Everybody Knows
or
Hart the Herald Scriveners Zing

Every review of a movie is an opinion-piece, by its very nature. 

This one, however, is of, for, and by...opinion and is, as such, suffused with it. Like politicians, one shouldn't put too much trust in it. Proceed with caution. 

One wonders what would be the reason to make and release The Front Runner at this time other than as an exercise in nostalgia. Jason Reitman (second film released in a year—the first was Tully) has made a film based on the 1987 scandal that ruined the campaign of Senator Gary Hart, while he was running for president. Said scandal involved the Senator being linked with a woman not his wife, a practice that had been overlooked in the past, but, at that time, was not only not overlooked but blared in the nation's headlines. 

One could almost call the scandal quaint in this day and age, when the current President pays off porn-stars, admits it, then denies it, then probably brags about it when the microphones are off (are they?) then denies that he said it even when the tapes show up (Really, now, does this seem sane to you?). But, it isn't quaint. It's the age-old story of abuse of power and betrayal of trust. In this day and age, it has a hash-tag followed by "MeToo."

But, that year, many factors were in play. The Watergate scandal of the early 70's had put the public on alert to the duplicity of it's leaders, while the press, most of whom took no lead in the uncovering of the Watergate break-in and resulting White House cover-up were on high alert to any wrong-doing—that is, any wrong-doing that didn't hurt their access or financial stability. It had long been a standard practice among reporters to look away at the suspected infidelities of Presidents—certainly with FDR, Kennedy and Johnson. It was an "understanding" that such things were to be kept out of the press. After all, "the press" were equally capable of transgressing, such as Washington Post reporter and Watergate investigator Carl Bernstein's cheating on his wife Nora Ephron. What was good for the goose was not necessarily good for the gander who was trying to dig up dirt on the goose. 

Gary Hart was another matter. He was a senator who'd made a run for Democratic nominee for President in 1984 and lost to Walter Mondale. In 1987, after Mondale lost to Ronald Reagan, he was considered "the front-runner" for the nomination in the next year's presidential race, and it was assumed he'd get the nomination. Then, the events on board the private yacht "Monkey Business" happened. 

Now, what happened is a bit vague—and not a little, a lot. To this day, nobody can say for certain what happened. Hart was invited aboard the yacht, ostensibly to work on an economics speech, by a lobbyist loyal to the Democratic Party. Afterwards, Hart (played in the film by Hugh Jackman without an awful lot of the Kennedy-esque charisma that Hart radiated) went back to the nation's capitol. Reporters from the Miami Herald were tipped off that "a friend"* of the caller was having an affair with Hart (even the identity of "the tipper" and what that particular person knew when they knew it has some holes in the details) and was travelling from Miami to Washington for a tryst, and plans were made by reporters to follow the woman "who looks like a model" on the flight. There are rumors that Hart is a "womanizer" and the tip seems like a good bet, to the point where, when they lose track of her, they immediately go to Hart's D.C. townhouse, so they can stake the place out, take some pictures.

That is until Hart notices the car outside his house, and leads them unwittingly to a back-alley confrontation behind his town-house. To the reporters, they've got him dead to rights, despite not noticing that someone could—could—leave the place unnoticed from the street. Hart's attitude is that they have no right to cover it, or question him about it. These aren't things he has to answer. 

It is an attitude he will stay with throughout the three weeks it takes for him to decide to call off the campaign, and it is something that the reporters and his own campaign staff (including J.K. Simmons and Molly Ephraim) have a hard time grasping, as the attitude he adapts seems irrelevant to the crisis—it's happening and it needs to be addressed with something better than the candidate's standard "I don't have to answer that!"

Everybody knows that you love me baby

Everybody knows that you really do

Everybody knows that you've been faithful

Ah, give or take a night or two

Everybody knows you've been discreet

But there were so many people you just had to meet

Without your clothes

And everybody knows

See what I did there? I merged from fact to movie plot, without skipping a beat. That's because Reitman and his team essentially tell the story as it has been laid out in the public record, without any speculation, without any editorializing—other than to put words in people's mouths in those instances when notes weren't being taken, and in scenes—especially between movie-Hart and wife Lee (played superbly by Vera Farmiga)—where issues brought up by audience questions can be handled by "writing to silence" (as nobody seems to want to protest the veracity). But, Hart's actions appeared to be those of a guilty man and that is what Reitman—and we—have to go by.

It is entirely plausible. Because the issue is about power and its abuse—just as it can happen in politics and in statecraft—so it happens when somebody entitled thinks they can take advantage and get away with it. The issue crosses all party-lines and is more evident now than it was "way back when" this story came out. It's a matter of class structure and the assuming of privilege "because they can." And it doesn't seem to matter how sanctimonious the perpetrators are, they see it as a right and an opportunity. Maybe even a divine right. That much can be known, because we see it every day. Even at the highest levels, there are low human beings.

Recently—too recently to have been made a part of this movie—there have been allegations that the circumstances were a "set-up" by a very prominent Republican operative with a history of such things. How much that can be believed can be argued about (and the reporters who covered the story have been extraordinarily quick to defend "their" records saying it wasn't possible because they weren't privy to it. What one cannot argue with is if it was a set-up, it was a good one, and worked very well to achieve the ends that were sought. You don't have to read too many spy-stories to know how effective honey-traps can be. But, it's just another aspect to a story about the inevitability of a weakness of character.

I found the whole thing a dissatisfying enterprise. The Front Runner provides facts, but no answers. It doesn't delve into all the facts, just the encapsulated time-line of what went down in those three weeks, regurgitating publicly available records supported by those with their own axes to grind and their own records to defend. One wonders, however, if it is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Or merely what everybody knows.

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming
Everybody knows that it's moving fast
Everybody knows that the naked man and woman
Are just a shining artifact of the past
Everybody knows the scene is dead
But there's gonna be a meter on your bed
That will disclose
What everybody knows



* The movie ends with a line that says the Hart's are still together. Well, that's nice to know. They should have included what happened to "the other woman" Donna Rice, as well. She went back to her Christian roots, where she does advocacy work...and is an ardent Trump supporter. Donna, Donna, Donna. "Fool me once, shame on you; Fool me twice..."