A 'Toxic Genre': The Iraq War Films

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The disappearing Iraq war films

On 3 March 2010, the British Broadcasting Coorporation’s (BBC’s) evening news carried a lengthy item about the impending release of the film The Green Zone, Paul Greengrass’s dramatisation of the search for Weapons of Mass Destruction following the 2004 invasion of Iraq. Presenter Huw Edwards prefaced the filmed report with the comment that this was a new development in Hollywood. Up until this point, he declared, few films bar The Hurt Locker had yet tackled the Iraq conflict. How wrong he was. Between 2005 and 2008, at least 23 such fiction films emerged from in and around Hollywood, and most of them claimed a base in the real events and circumstances of the war. But the BBC could be forgiven for not knowing about this lengthy list of films. All of them, until the very last one in the cycle, bombed at the box office, if they made it there at all – and just about all of them vanished without trace. Indeed, for a time, the most important topic of debate about the films was precisely their failure.¹ Known collectively simply as the ‘Iraq war movies’, they were, to quote one report, ‘box office poison’ (Everhart 2009). This book is a study of these films.

These films were actually being awaited. Quite a few commentators were asking how long it would take Hollywood, this time, to get round to saying something about the war. Hollywood’s ‘cowardice’ over Vietnam was well-remembered, but there was a feeling that this time, perhaps, the studios might live up to their (partly-deserved) reputation for liberalism, and opposition to George W. Bush and his cronies. The expectations were, of course, different according to your politics. In 2004, the Washington Post ran an article about Jim Deutsch, a historian interested in the scars that wars leave on returning veterans, and the ways these are hidden from view:

The popular portrayals run contrary to the image of postwar boom and optimism that many people think of today. According to Deutsch, 1946 had the highest divorce rate until the 1970s. The disaffected vet from the Vietnam War is familiar, but World War II? Deutsch says it’s a recurring element of American culture after all wars. Bleak post-Iraq war movies and literature are next. ‘Some of these people literally went through hell,’ Deutsch says. ‘A common theme is the civilians back home don’t understand what they went through.’ (Montgomery 2004)

It was mostly assumed that the films, when they came, would be unlike the boosterist films of previous periods. But there were exceptions. The Democratic Underground, a forum on the left of the Democratic Party, feared that the studios were capable of delivering only military-friendly dross:

Now that the War against those Dastardly Saddam-backed 911 terrorists and the Enshrinement of Glorious Democratic Values in the Backwards Middle East and the Freeing of the latent American who resides inside every Iraqi has gone on longer than WWII where are the war films? Where is the Iraq equivalent of the Sands of Iwo Jima? Perhaps we could call it the Streets of Hadithah? … The DoD learned its lessons from Vietnam very well, they will not allow the unvarnished truth to make its way from Iraq. Service members are being censored in theater and at home. (Democratic Underground 2007)

Others on the Right saw ‘Hollywood’ quite differently – as a nest of radical vipers.

The cycle began with a little-noticed film from director Sidney Furie, whose credentials were good – he had directed The Boys in Company C (1978), one of the critical films about the Vietnam War. But American Soldiers: A Day in Iraq, where noticed at all, was judged by most early reviewers (professional or otherwise) to be a total disappointment. As others began to emerge, a pattern quickly emerged. Films would be reviewed in groups. Or if the focus was on one, it was examined for whether it looked any different from the flops that preceded or surrounded it.

In researching this book, there came a point where I had to make some hard decisions about which films to include in my list of ‘Iraq war movies’. I tried to include only those that were included in those comparative lists, for reasons which will become clear (see Chapter 5). Others could have been added. Some commentators have argued, with reason, that the cycle of ‘torture porn’ movies owes much to the revelations about Abu Ghraib and Guantánamo. As an example, consider this web report:

It’s hard to imagine that for every 15-year-old reading this article right now, the war has really been with them since they have probably been conscious of current events. This war has now run longer than World War II. Like the Vietnam War, which definitely influenced horror films of the early 1970s, the Iraq War had a real impact on the horror films of the past half decade. Filmmakers are all influenced by the current events they are operating in, so it’s no surprise that horror films have been affected too. So here are the Top 10 best Iraq War-influenced horror films. Hostel (2005): Eli Roth’s mega-hit horror film was undeniably influenced by the goings on at Abu Ghraib – whether Roth is conscious of it or not. Iraqi soldiers dehumanized, forced into naked human pyramids – vs. Americans dehumanized and cut up by twisted businessmen. Truth is often stranger than fiction … 28 Weeks Later (2007): With smiling faces, American troops take over a war ravaged nation – then attempt to exterminate that nation’s citizens when they lose control. This is what happens in Juan Carlos Fresnadillo’s superior sequel to 28 Days Later. The horror of 28 Weeks Later is actually quite real for a nation run by friendly, smiling occupiers – and it’s happening now. (Anon 2009)

The writer goes on to add Land of the Dead (dir. George A. Romero, 2005), The Hills Have Eyes (dir. Alexandre Aja, 2006), Planet Terror (dir. Robert Rodriguez, 2007), The Signal (dir. David Bruckner & Dan Bush, 2008), Diary of the Dead (dir. George A. Romero, 2007) and The Mist (dir. Frank Darabont, 2007) as further examples of Iraq-influenced horror. But this is Iraq-as-metaphor. Horror, fantasy and the like mark a distance from their topics. The films discussed here frequently made claims of direct relevance and – every bit as importantly – were seen by many commentators as contributions to the debate over the war. The 23 films in Table 1, then, constitute my primary focus.

The figures show the evident financial straits they all encountered. Although there are many important differences among them, we will see that there is a core set of themes, motifs and aesthetic choices which the films veer towards – and do so the more strongly, the more they seek to provide direct commentary on the Iraq War. Those which go elsewhere – The Marine, for instance, or The Objective – ditch those themes and tell their stories differently. And through those very differences we can still learn much.

Table 1 Details of films in the Iraq War film cycle

HOLLYWOOD POST-9/11

Histories such as this do not have starting points. But they can have turning points. And there is little doubt that the 11 September 2001 attacks on New York and Washington set in train many of the circumstances that shaped this cycle of films. Shortly after the attacks, on 17 October 2001, the White House announced the formation of an ‘Arts and Entertainment Task Force’ to help align Hollywood’s money and talents with the Bush Administration’s needs for films appropriate to this new era of ‘terror’. The announcement produced astonishment: was Hollywood ‘getting into bed with Bush’? In an overview of subsequent developments, David Chambers recalls the brief history and impact of this Task Force:

Between October 17 and December 6, there were a series of high-profile meetings in Los Angeles and Washington featuring Karl Rove, senior presidential advisor, and Jack Valenti, the long-time head of the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), the lobbying group for the major studios. The major outcome of these meetings was a repeated question from Hollywood, how can we help? while the White House, to avoid accusations of co-opting Hollywood into propaganda, could only answer, we can’t tell you how. (Chambers 2002)

Chambers details a number of small but significant developments that might be attributed to Valenti’s group: for example, free provision of films to American soldiers overseas; special programmes on MTV; the promulgation of exchanges and debates about terrorism among students across a number of countries. In the reverse direction, federal actions against Hollywood over ‘sex and violence’ were largely suspended. Just as importantly, incipient moves to challenge the increasing media monopolisation were transferred to the Federal Trade Commission, and stalled.

The impact on film-making itself was much more muted – not least because, as Chambers notes, the ‘creatives’ were not really part of the Task Force. A number of films (all 2002) were delayed and adjusted to the ‘new sensibilities’. This could involve altering New York skylines (Spiderman [dir. Sam Raimi, 2002]), or re-editing to reflect the ‘new mood’ (an airplane hijack was removed from Collateral Damage [dir. Andrew Davis, 2002]), while Black Hawk Down (dir. Ridley Scott, 2001) was substantially revised in ways which, it has been argued, dehumanised the Somali ‘enemy’ whilst cleaning up the American soldiers.

Films which came close to criticising American policies and motives got pulled back. Philip Noyce’s remake of The Quiet American (2002) made uncomfortable viewing, with its emphasis on American duplicity over war preparations. Due for distribution just days after the attacks, it was stopped; only a campaign by Michael Caine, who smelt a possible Oscar for his performance as world-weary journalist Thomas Fowler, got it a limited release. Even where a film was not it itself political, it could become edgy by dint of the politics of those in it. The UK’s Guardian quoted Peter Rainer, of the American society of film critics, on the makeup of the list of Oscar nominees: ‘If Susan Sarandon was nominated for The Banger Sisters, this would definitely be an issue’ (Campbell 2003). Sarandon was among the most vocal Hollywood star critics of Bush’s preparations for war. In the end, that year, the Oscars played safe with eleven awards to The Lord of the Rings (dir. Peter Jackson, 2001–03) where choosing sides and making wars happened safely in a fantasy world.³

Older films that had briefly been discussed for their uncanny prefiguration of the 9/11 attacks (where had they got such insightful storylines from?) dropped surprisingly out of view:

There seems to be little talk about recent, prophetic films such as The Siege (1998). In The Siege, director Ed Zwick and screenwriter Lawrence Wright unfolded their story as if they had glimpsed Osama bin Laden’s master plan. In the movie, Middle Eastern terrorists attack New York City by blowing up a bus, a theater, and the office tower housing the FBI’s New York headquarters. The terrorists are portrayed as Arab, Islamic militants, largely Palestinian and under the leadership of one mysterious ‘Sheikh Ahmed bin Talal.’ At its release, the Arab-American community roared in indignation, while film critics lambasted the plot’s unlikely scenarios. Now, there is just silence. (Chambers 2002)

However, if at an overt level the new Hollywood/Washington cuddling did not lead to a great deal, at other levels there were new strategic collaborations. Jonathan Burston (2003) caught some of the early forms of this, in the partnerships forged between studios and the military, particularly over the training potentials of new technologies. Resonantly-named new but secretive organisations were set up: Future Combat Systems; CADRE (College of Aerospace, Doctrine, Research, and Education) and the Institute of Creative Technologies – the last funded by a $45 million US military grant to the University of Southern California with the aim to ‘enlist the resources and talents of the entertainment and game development industries and to work collaboratively with computer scientists to advance the state of immersive training simulation’ (Burston 2003:166). Burston’s powerful argument is overstated in as much as he tends at crucial moments to speak of ‘Hollywood’ as if a single entity – without divisions, cautions and countervailing tendencies.

It was not in fact long before the general discomfort felt by many Hollywood liberals at the idea of working with the Bush Administration flared into renewed distrust, as the Republicans’ war plans became clear. The spread of conspiracy theories about (for example) Saudi involvement in 9/11, suspicions about government and military incompetence, revelations that an invasion of Iraq had long been on the political agenda all fuelled a fearful antagonism: a will to resist and decry, but an awareness that the charge of being soft on terror would easily stick. The challenge was undertaken by two 2006 films: United 93 (dir. Paul Greengrass, 2006) and World Trade Center (dir. Oliver Stone, 1996). The careful insulation of the attacks on New York from the surrounding penumbra of ‘the war on terror’ was an achievement in itself.⁴

But the film-maker who more than anyone threw down the gauntlet to the Republicans was of course Michael Moore. Many people have discussed the nature of Moore’s interventions, and I do not need to rehearse their accounts here. What does need emphasising is the way in which Moore’s Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004) became, for a time, a beacon for radical Democrats – to the point of believing that with this film they might tip the balance and defeat the Republicans in the 2004 Presidential election. Ben Dickensen’s ‘insider’ book on the history of the Hollywood Left captures this aspect very well. He describes the re-emergence of activism following the deep disappointment after Bill Clinton emerged as an anti-labour technocrat (Dickensen 2006). Despite their disappointment with him, attempts to impeach Clinton over his sex scandals were resisted by activists, including through the organisation MoveOn – which then evolved into an anti-war coalition alongside others such as ANSWER (Act Now to Stop War and End Racism), and Not In Our Name. Far from united, there were divisions over what kinds of anti-war position should be taken. It was these organisations which did much to promote Moore’s documentary:

MoveOn’s election activity was eye catching, and often required much effort on the part of the creative community. A cacophony of television adverts was produced by Hollywood talent: director Richard Linklater interviewed disgruntled Texans; Donal Logue exposed the 9/11 terrorists to be Saudi Arabians; actor Woody Harrelson hammered corruption in the decision to choose corporate oil giant Halliburton to rebuild Iraq; director Robert Reiner cut press conferences in which Bush denied mistakes with evidence of his errors. On 11 July the biggest grossing documentary of all time, Fahrenheit 9/11, became a campaign tool. Fifty-five thousand volunteers organised house parties where Fahrenheit 9/11 could be watched. In New York, Edie Falco, star of HBO’s hit series The Sopranos, joined movie actor Bull Pullman in the best publicised of these events. Outside, popular musicians including Pearl Jam, the Dixie Chicks, Bonnie Raitt and REM performed on the ‘Vote For Change’ tour, that peppered the country with politically-charged gigs. (Dickensen 2006:196)

But for all of the boost that Moore gave to the arguments and morale of the anti-Bush campaign, Bush, with much election finagling, won again. And Moore’s film came under intense fire, to the extent that it was even sometimes mooted that it backfired – angering and turning out Republican voters who might otherwise have abstained.⁵ In retrospect, therefore, the film was seen by many as a mixed blessing.⁶

2004 was in many ways the critical year. It was the year of Bush’s hugely controversial victory. It was the year of Moore’s film. But it was also the year when, for all kinds of reasons, public opinion was seen to be turning against Bush’s post-9/11 triumphalism and the associated major shifts in domestic policy – most notably the Patriot Acts and their infringements of civil rights. The shift is well caught in an essay by Jarice Hanson, citing a 2004 Village Voice article:

One year after 9/11, National Public Radio did a poll and found that only 7 per cent of Americans felt that they had given up important liberties in the war on terrorism. Two years after 9/11, NBC or CBS did a very similar poll and they found that now 52 per cent of Americans report that their civil liberties are being infringed by the Bush administration’s war on terrorism. That’s a huge shift. (Hanson 2008:56)⁷

But while public opinion was widely felt to be shifting, it simply didn’t turn into the kind of electoral shift radicals were looking for. Defeat in the election hurt, deeply.

Battered by the impact of 9/11, hurt by their failure to unseat Bush in 2004, Hollywood’s Left entered 2005 looking for ways to continue their propaganda struggle against the war machine. Some turned to documentary. A spate of important ones did what documentaries are good at: uncovering hidden aspects of the American war. Robert Greenwald’s Uncovered: the War on Iraq (2004) brought out many of the lies on which the war was based, and then again in Iraq for Sale: The War Profiteers (2006) he exposed the workings of companies like Halliburton and Blackwater. Eugene Jarecki’s Why We Fight (2005) drew ironically on the World War II propaganda series to expose some of the propaganda tricks being used now. James Longley’s Iraq in Fragments (2006) gave voice to the views of ordinary Iraqis about what the war meant, and had done, to them. Many others began to give voices to American soldiers, drawing out their thoughts on why they were there, and what the war was doing to them. These included Civia Tamarkin’s Jerabek (2007), which went on to show the impact on one American family of the death of their son in Iraq, and the self-questioning this entrained.⁸

But documentaries carried that risk of evidential challenges. Others chose a fiction route. But their makers were still desperately aware of the difficult atmosphere into which any films would emerge. Just how difficult is indicated in the next chapter, as I look at the fate of one planned film which would have been decidedly not anti-war.

THE HOLLYWOOD WAR FILM TRADITION

There is nothing at all new in film-makers finding themselves severely constrained. Since Hollywood’s beginnings, war films have been expected to play the patriotic game. But this became regularised after the 1940s. Since that time, Washington and Hollywood have been in a close and institutionalised embrace. They remain separate domains, but there are such strong and long-standing ties that it makes no sense to try to understand the production of war films, or their narratives, without reference to that context. Koppes and Black (1987) explain in great detail how the embrace began, as the Roosevelt administration readied itself for entry to World War II – and realised two things. They had no machinery of propaganda. And they had a large draft army that, they soon realised, neither knew nor cared about America’s ‘war aims’. A crucial step, therefore, was the creation of the Office of War Information (OWI) in 1940, among whose remits was the development of strategies for using film (identified as the medium most likely to reach soldiers and the general population) to propagate its messages.

Koppes and Black discuss the rising tensions between Hollywood, the Justice Department, Roosevelt, and America’s leading isolationists (led by Senator Gerald Nye). The occasion for these early battles was the late 1930s release of a series of anti-Nazi films from Hollywood, and accusations that these constituted illegal propaganda for American involvement in the war. But the isolationists’ case dissolved the moment news of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor reached America. From this point on, OWI’s mission was to work to build ‘national unity and morale’ at a time when many Americans suspected they might well lose the war – and in one poll 49 per cent of African–Americans in Harlem thought they would be no worse off under Japanese rule. This became the subject of intense research and intervention effort (about which I say more in Chapter 7).

The problem for the OWI was their real nervousness about giving any ammunition to Axis propaganda, which was already playing on racial hypocrisy over America’s claims to be a ‘free’ society. This nervousness fed into early negotiations between Washington and Hollywood over the planned film Tennessee Johnson (dir. William Dieterle, 1942). MGM were advised of a ‘major concern’ because of the film’s handling of the issue of race through its portrayal of Andrew Johnson and Thaddeus Stevens. But it was not only overtly political issues such as this which bothered the OWI. As Koppes and Black found, even a film like Palm Beach Story (dir. Preston Sturges, 1942), a fluffy upper-class romance set in that year, worried the OWI because of its ‘giddy disregard for war sacrifices’ (Koppes & Black 1987:91). When sacrifices were being demanded and when America needed friends to believe it was committed to the war, such a film could do no good.

The OWI wanted to intervene early, at the script development stage. But the risk was of producing utterly worthy films which audiences would reject, and thus antagonise Hollywood. When, therefore, in 1943, the OWI began talking of barring films it judged ‘bad for America’s image’ from export, a major Hollywood revolt began. The resultant battle redrew the lines and restricted the administration’s ability to intervene in films’ development. What emerges from Koppes and Black’s research is a picture of competing forces gradually evolving (under wartime conditions) arrangements that all sides could live with. This necessary pragmatism nonetheless gave rise to what they call ‘two core myths’:

Wartime movies fused two powerful myths that had