While United 93 was released "too soon" for viewers' comfort, a mix of critically derided films and critically acclaimed series continue to depict the age of terror.
As Paul Greengrass’s United 93 bowed in theaters in April 2006, a common oppositional response was “too soon”. For some people, the timing of the film was ill considered in relationship to the events of September 11, 2001. The phrase “too soon” echoed across the media, perhaps becoming more widespread in mediated forms than it was in reality.
Media figures varied the phrase to give it new life. In the New York Times, Frank Rich asked (and answered), “Too Soon? It's Too Late for 'United 93'”, arguing, “the original war on terrorism has been diluted in its execution and robbed of its support from the American public.” In Slate’s “Hijacking the Hijacking: The problem with the United 93 films,” Ron Rosenbaum speculated that the question of “too soon” for films about United 93 and its heroic passengers, should be replaced with the question "Are there too many?" films about United 93.
The United 93 treatment/pitch is noteworthy for its multifariousness and tonal variety. Greengrass sets the scene of an immediate aftermath of tragedy and the questions therein, then introduces his intentions as an artist (quoted above) and establishes the metaphorical possibilities of the plane and its position in the sky. Next he asks the reader to identify with the passengers, then to “imagine the hijackers”, before throwing us into the “terrible dilemma” the passengers faced when the hijackers’ aims became known. From there, the treatment states his objective to cause viewers to “think very carefully about where we are right now”, acknowledges the ethical dimensions of making this sort of film, and outlines the circumstances necessary for production.
The completed film is the visible result of the filmmaker’s consideration of all of these aspects. Released to critical acclaim, the film is an expertly directed and edited blend of recreation, speculation, and observation, filtered through awareness that the audience will almost certainly know the outcome in advance. Thus Greengrass’s observational shooting style is one of the film’s energizing ironies: the events stoke the viewer’s hope that someone could intervene to save the day while these observed passengers realize it is they who must save the day.
Five years, and another five years, have passed since Greengrass marked that increment of time past a life-changing terror attack. In April 2016, we could look back on a seemingly unquantifiably large body of 9/11 media that has proliferated within film, television, theater, and music, and especially in online forms. In some corners of the Internet, the official history of 9/11 has long since been covered over by questions of intention and deception not present in works like United 93. A free media allows the freedom to ask questions, however circular those questions might be in their reasoning / arguments. It could be said that many who speculate on the events of 9/11 are also looking for “something much larger than the event itself”, but in a very different way than Greengrass intended when he wrote those words of purpose.
Further, the age of terror continues to expand as terrorists too look for something larger than the last event. Enter “worse than 9/11” in a search engine and you see threats and fears tuned to a scale only imaginable because of the lingering memory of an inconceivable attack become reality. In time, terror redefines place. Boston, Jerusalem, Beirut, Paris, Yola, Bamako, Kandahar, San Bernardino, Homs, Brussels, Lahore -- these places and their people suffer the devastation of recent acts of terror.
The capacity or tendency for fictional entertainment to involve and/or respond to the onslaught of global terrorism has also seemed to grow. Perhaps terror is so common that “too soon” has lost its meaning. So what comes after “too soon” as an evaluative standard for the appropriateness of terrorism reimagined in media? I would argue that Greengrass offers a model in his treatment/pitch, because he starts with 9/11 as a large and life-changing event and then examines it closely, microscopically, in order to find a large (perhaps larger than the event itself) resulting meaning. Picture this creative process as an hourglass, with the fine, discriminative examination as the intermediary check between the two wide ends of inspiration (real-life terror) and execution (its presence in entertainment).
Any work of entertainment intended to reimagine or depict the age of terror should also to some degree be evaluated in the context of informed definitions of terror. In Wilhelm Heitmeyer and John Hagan’s International Handbook of Violence Research, Volume 1, Fernando Reinares synthesizes existing information about terror from Raymond Aron, Ronald Crelinsten, J.B.S Hardman, Joseph S. Roucek, Thomas Thornton, and Eugene V. Walter in order to outline “three basic traits” that “allow us to distinguish terrorism from other types of violent social interaction.”
According to Reinares, the first basic trait is when the “psychical effects” of the act, “within a certain population or social aggregate, in terms of widespread emotional reactions such as fear and anxiety, likely to condition attitudes and behavior in a determined direction, are out of proportion with respect to its actual or potential material consequences … physical damage to both people and things.” The second trait is that in order to be effective, the violence “must be systematic and rather unpredictable, usually directed against targets selected because of their symbolic relevance within a prevailing cultural frame and in a given institutional context.” The third trait is that “the harming of such targets is used to convey messages and threats that make terrorism a mechanism of both communication and social control.”
There exist many other definitions of terror from additional perspectives, but these traits are useful in considering the dimensions of terrorism within entertainment. Additionally, Reinares’ attention to scale, place, and purpose corresponds to the formal arrangement of narrative that is any filmmaker’s responsibility as a storyteller. An examination of recent examples of films that evoke the age of terror reveals that sometimes the works most derided by critics explore terror in a fuller manner than programs whose reception is comparatively positive. This seemingly inverse relationship further motivates the use of the above considerations as evaluative criteria for terror-related media.
If online aggregators of film reviews are to be believed, there is a strong consensus that Zack Snyder’s Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016) is a bad movie. Despite its commercially successful opening weekend, the bad word of mouth surrounding the film’s rollout has already begun to affect its box office staying power and its reputation as a film intended to launch the DC Extended Universe. The first film in that universe, Snyder’s Man of Steel (2013) was criticized for the violent interaction of Superman (Henry Cavill) and villain General Zod (Michael Shannon), which takes place both on a large scale (the destruction of Metropolis) and an individual one (Superman kills Zod).
Batman v Superman begins with Bruce Wayne [Batman] (Ben Affleck) witnessing that destruction and experiencing it from many perspectives: from the outside, from the inside, mindful of the “mass deaths” (Snyder’s words from a 2013 interview with the Japan Times), and intervening to help individuals. Snyder’s staging (of David S. Goyer and Chris Terrio’s script) invites the audience to share these perspectives with Wayne, an initial exposure to destruction that sets up his later choice to go to war with Superman: “Count the dead. It's thousands of people. What's next? Millions? He has the power to wipe out the entire human race and if we believe there is even a one percent chance that he's our enemy we have to take it as an absolute certainty, and we have to destroy him."
The “one percent” line is provocative for the way in which it seems to redefine Batman’s approach to crime and punishment, as well as its possible allusion to Ron Suskind's The One Percent Doctrine. Yet it rings true within the context of the skewed proportionality Reinares describes as a component of terrorism. As a statement of readiness, it also responds to the historical memory of the IRA’s missive about the 1984 Brighton bomb blast: “Today we were unlucky, but remember, we only have to be lucky once; you will have to be lucky always.” Batman would rather be lucky always than risk any threat level Superman poses.
Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016)
Batman v Superman involves “targets selected because of their symbolic relevance”, and the “cultural frame” and “institutional context” are especially complex because the plot concerns a fight between two worlds that do not share the same rules and powers. Batman and Superman are representative of these distinct worlds, both have double identities, and both bear symbols that mark them as hero and villain, depending on changing perspectives of their actions. All of this, including the fact that mankind will enjoy the resultant peace they reach or the ongoing war of their conflicts, creates within the film an engaging illustration of the doctrine of double effect.
In John Horgan and Kurt Braddock's Terrorism Studies: A Reader Andrew Silke writes, “in considering the risks associated with the use of harsh measures to combat terrorism, it is worth returning to the story of the Hydra”, in which violence becomes “more destructive and intense” following counteraction. Doomsday, the common enemy that Batman and Superman encounter, is literally born from a combination of threats old and new, born from two worlds and impervious to most weapons.
The conflict of symbolic relevance recedes as Batman and Superman find a couple of shared values, one strictly nominal and the other being the need to stop Doomsday, the ultimate threat. Critics’ charges that the film is incoherently constructed and lacking in humor lose some of their power in light of the overall plot. The mechanics of terror produce grim confoundedness. To inject the movie with jokes and slick transitions might conform more to the Marvel style of feature film comic book stories, but it would also work against this film’s understanding of terror.
London Has Fallen (2016)
Babak Najafi’s London Has Fallen, written by Creighton Rothenberger, Katrin Benedikt, Chad St. John, and Christian Gudegast, is another 2016 release that received widespread negative reviews despite its effectiveness in conveying the experiences and effects of terror. A sequel to Olympus Has Fallen (2013), a film in which the White House was attacked by North Korean terrorists, London Has Fallen begins by showing the effects of that attack on the survivors. Secret Service agent Mike Banning (Gerard Butler), who met the challenge in the first film, now faces a future of being a new father in a violent world. The six security cameras in his child’s nursery suggest that this child will be born into a family for which there’s no such thing as excessive precautions.
As this is a fairly traditional action film, the nursery camera detail and some other plot points like Banning’s relationship to President Asher (Aaron Eckhart) are expressed with some levity. Unlike Batman v Superman, London Has Fallen is situated in the world as we know it, yet the tone of the film vacillates between the seriousness of warfare and terror threats versus the need to appreciate the lighter moments of life while they’re still available. To that end, Banning is about to submit his resignation when he is called into action to protect Asher in London.
The view of terror in London Has Fallen is one in which remote actions have close consequences. The film’s lead terrorist is Aamir Barkawi (Alon Moni Aboutboul), a powerful arms dealer. In Punjab, Pakistan for a family member’s wedding, Barkawi is the target of a drone strike carried out by the US. This strike kills Barkawi’s family members but not Barkawi, and his revenge includes murdering the Prime Minister with poison so that dozens of world leaders will convene in London for the funeral. At this gathering, the world leaders and their respective security teams are the very embodiment of what Reinares calls “targets selected because of their symbolic relevance within a prevailing cultural frame and in a given institutional context.”
Thus, London Has Fallen opens with an admission that war claims some victims strictly because they are related to enemies and/or are in close proximity when an operation occurs. The film also illustrates that the escalation of war in response to operations such as this drone strike comes to involve casualties (these world leaders and their security teams and civilians) who were similarly uninvolved in the initial strike. In London Has Fallen, the concept of warring “sides” is one in which everyone on earth could be implicated and/or eliminated on a long enough timeline of intensifying responses. Critics who write the film off as pure jingoism seem to miss this point.
The well-connected Barkawi orchestrates an operation that utterly devastates the site of a gathering that the media within the film characterize as “the most protected event on earth”. Most viewers choosing to see London Has Fallen will know that this protection will not stop the coming attack, because the movie is named and promoted as a film in which London is hit, in a sequel to a film in which another heavily protected structure was invaded. What distinguishes London Has Fallen from United 93’s narrative foregone conclusion is that most of these expectations have to do with the demands of the form, genre, and franchise.