Ten years ago Errol Morris won the Best Documentary Oscar for his investigation of former Secretary of Defence, Robert S. McNamara. It’s telling that even Morris was surprised, noting in his speech that “I thought it would never happen.” Given his stance as one of the most important documentarians of his time, it genuinely was surprising that he had never even been nominated before let alone won. I guess it didn’t help that titles like Fast, Cheap & Out of Control and Gates of Heaven were likely easily swept aside as unsubstantial (however incorrect), but The Thin Blue Line? A Brief History of Time? It seemed like the documentary branch clearly weren’t fans.
Still, The Fog of War was fairly hard to ignore even for the Academy who have an innate ability to let grudges and bug bears continue for decades and vice versa (I hear Mia Farrow has an appointment to change her name to John Williams). Morris’ mesmerising film collage was and still is a fascinating insight into American history, investigating the hows and whys of war from the horse’s mouth. McNamara was a WWII Captain and later America’s Secretary of Defence under Kennedy during the Cuban Missile Crisis then Johnson during some of the Vietnam’s worst years. As he sits and tells his stories, lessons (the film was subtitled “Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara”) and secrets directly to the camera, Morris’ directorial frou frou of war footage, stock video and typically hyperactive Philip Glass score allows the film to expand into a far more cinematic territory than it otherwise might have. Such is one of Morris' gifts: turning ordinary conversations into thrilling cinema. It’s a simple formula that the documentarian has used time and time again with The Fog of War probably the finest example. At least outside of The Thin Blue Line, which was actually disqualified from competing for the documentary Oscar.
Morris hasn’t been nominated for an Oscar since, but the Academy did invite him in 2007 to direct a short film about movies imaginatively titled A Short Film about Movies that played at the start of the telecast. His brief flirtation with a controversial speech – not quite Michael Moore, but I remember the tenterhooks with which audiences sat expecting him to do so – didn’t sully him within the Academy.
It’s probably a good thing Morris won when he did. Given how much the documentary art form has changed in just the last ten years as well as the critical reception to it, I genuinely question whether The Fog of War would win today. With the genre – if we want to call “documentary” a genre, albeit a very broad one – expanding exponentially (I doubt there were 151 films competing for a nomination in 2003 like there is this year) it’s even easier for amazing works of documentary to get sidelined, especially something as remarkably unsexy as Morris’ film. That doesn’t make its importance and its quality any less great, but I am glad he made The Fog of War when he did.
For instance, it’s certainly unlikely that he could win, or even be nominated, for something like The Unknown Known. Morris’ sort of sequel is amongst that gargantuan list of 151 contenders, but I suspect we needn’t fuss over its nomination potential. The Unknown Known is a far less remarkable film, although it’s probably a bit timelier given its subject matter is recent Secretary of Defence Donald Rumsfeld and, predominantly, the Iraq war.
The Unknown Known is a less fussy production than Fog, sure, but in dialling down the amount of historical footage he has made a far less interesting picture. Rumsfeld is watchable, sure, and surprising charming (at least to a non-American such as myself whose experience with Rumsfeld was predominantly through newspaper text) to a rather alarming degree. But he’s also a far less interesting person. His story isn’t as captivating as McNamara’s and with the modern news landscape as it is much of the story that does unfold is already known. Whereas The Fog of War used recordings of White House meetings, most of The Unknown Known’s story is laid out by Rumsfeld himself and the memos he himself distributed. Thus, the film’s tone goes with it. Rumsfeld reads his memos and transcripts with a jovial nature that suggests any number of possibilities about the man. He seems defensive, for obvious reasons, but unwilling to admit much wrongdoing. He frequently appears to deliberately discombobulate Morris and the viewer, not least of which is through the oft-repeated cryptic “unknown known” speech. Whereas McNamara had decades to contemplate over his role in the Vietnam war, even at one point going so far as to suggest he was essentially a war criminal, Rumsfeld has not and it shows.
Passages relating to his desire to resign and then George W. Bush’s firing of him strike of poignancy, as do other brief moments here and there, but does it have anything as powerful as when McNamara recollects the day Kennedy died? No. Does it have anything as personally resonant as McNamara’s trip to Vietnam? Not particularly. Rumsfeld is let off relatively easy by Morris, which, given the amount of information that is out there, and Morris' own Standard Operating Procedure, doesn’t make much sense. It’s admirable that Morris took a decidedly nonpartisan tact to the material, but not having political affiliation doesn’t excuse the somewhat soft lobs that he fires at the slippery Rumsfeld. The film’s greatest asset is the toxic tension that comes from the man’s constant creepy grin, something that Morris certainly can’t take credit for exploiting since Rumsfeld appears to offer it up after every anecdote. I quite liked Danny Elfman's music, but could have done without the repetitive shots of vast oceans and swamps, the meaning of which was somewhat lost on me. The Unknown Known is a disappointing documentary and if audiences want to learn anything they'd be best to pop the DVD of The Fog of War back into the player.
The Unknown Known is the opening night film of DOC NYC tonight with screenings at 7pm and 7.30pm at IFC Center before opening on Dec 13.