George Clooney (23 page)

Quickly disabling the guard holding the husband of the murdered woman, we have lengthy shots of the grieving family, a little girl in particular in a powerful microcosmic image of the results of U.S. policy. This is certainly stated explicitly by the rebels in the cave, turning on Gates for starting a war and then not supporting the uprising. In miniature, Gates's actions reflect the wider military and political processes: by killing Iraqi soldiers, they have broken the ceasefire (the very agreement that Gates had trumpeted on entry) and now must bear the consequences, which involve a responsibility to those they have liberated (here, taking the rebels to safety at the Iranian border). There is a tense stand-off as we cut between the two groups of men both with guns drawn, almost western style, with the tension focused on the two leaders. The battle of wills between Gates and the Iraqi officer becomes more physical as Gates grabs the other man's gun so that it fires a round into his foot. At this stage, Gates has shown moderation, limited force, and some statesmanship in taking a moral stance.

However, his subsequent shooting of the Iraqi officer is problematic. Undoubtedly, the man is cruel and has ordered the murder of the dissident's wife, but it is debatable whether Gates as a senior officer is right to act in a way that can only be seen as revenge, shooting the man in the head in the same way (and Russell making the parallel clear with slow motion in both events) even though the man was offering no direct threat to the Americans and could have been just tied up. There is even calculation here as Gates holds his gun beneath the man's chin for a second or two; that is, it is a morally compromised act, not performed in the heat of the moment. A low-angle shot of Gates looking down as clouds race nonnaturalistically overhead produces the vision of the dying man and elevates Gates to the God-like status of the giver of life and death. Perhaps there is the implication of divine intervention, of Gates saving innocent lives (and of Barlow miraculously surviving being shot by his Kevlar vest), but if Gates is a savior, he is a very Machiavellian one. Having made this change of role, despite Barlow's repeated call to “stick to the plan,” Gates now orders the political prisoners into the truck, which they commandeer. In a moment, the mission has changed from one of acquisition to one of rescue.

Cruz's sudden bursting into tears at the sight of pathetically oiled birds or the shots of Barlow being force-fed oil with his mouth jammed open with a CD case both make a fairly crude political point about the underlying economics of the conflict, but there are also some more effective images: a coffin full of passports, suggesting where they have come from; the glimpse of Rodney King on a TV being beaten in LA (possibly as a
time reference for the viewer or as inspiration for the torturers); the sudden stumbling on a family, huddled together underground, waiting to be tortured; and the bizarre reality of global communications by which Barlow is able to get a call through from one of a box of discarded phones direct to his wife back home. Turning a corner in the Citadel, Gates crashes into a man running the other way, who offers no threat but drops his pile of jeans. Western imperialism collides with Eastern consumerism.

Moral absolutes are questioned as the chief torturer, Captain Said (Saïd Taghmaoui), talks of the death of his baby in an air strike (the shot of falling masonry onto a cot repeated in slow motion), but there is also a suffocating literalism here too. As soon as a character talks of something, we see a shot of it. Barlow mentions his wife, so we have a shot of her at home; he thinks of his greatest fear and we see a wall exploding back home. As the motivation and actions of the enemy are humanized, the only clear villain remains the ubiquitous Saddam, much talked about, much feared, and seen in iconic pictures but not represented on-screen. Possibly after
Hot Shots II
(Jim Abrahams, 1993), he would seem a purely comic figure.

A times, there seems a dissonance between nostalgia for a particular generic form and the more gritty content. The soundtrack seems to hanker after a purer heist narrative like the original
The Italian Job
(Peter Collinson, 1969) with freestyle jazz drumming accompanying some of the loading of the gold and Barlow's search for a truck.
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The ubiquitous Western music reflects a sense of cultural imperialism, and its use in scenes like the entrance to the refugee camp gives the characters the appearance of figures in a pop video or models on a catwalk, walking in time to the beat. Elgin's more openness to Eastern influences, reflected in his willingness to kneel and pray alongside Muslims, is reflected in his taste in music in the car, much to Vig's disgust but to the contentment of his two smiling passengers. Russell uses the Carpenters' easy-listening classic “If You Leave Me Now” from the in-car stereo as the luxury vehicles approach, but it also bleeds over the subsequent exchange of gunfire. Vig manages to lock himself out of one car, which also contains his gun. Luckily, a stray bullet shatters the glass and he can reach in to retrieve it, at which point the volume of the Carpenters' song rises on the soundtrack.

Some effects suggest elements of an action movie, like the scene in which Elgin throws an explosive football at a helicopter, the brief exchange of fire earlier where the path of the American bullets are slowed down so that we hear them thud into their targets, the flight from the compound and the attack from bazookas firing gas, or the truck crashing
into a minefield, but such scenes seem contrived for the pleasures of spectacle. Clearly, any director would want to get the most from his stunts, but Russell's use of slow motion becomes almost predictable in depicting any act of violence.

Gates eventually locates Troy and shoots two soldiers who raise their weapons and wounds the chief torturer, who is unarmed. The force he uses here is proportionate to the threat. However, the handing of his pistol to Troy means that he is explicitly condoning killing former captors. Barlow's choice to shoot wide saves both men from the moral ambiguity of when revenge tips over into cold-blooded murder. Gates goes back to rescue his fellow soldier at considerable risk to himself with no prospect of material gain. It is unclear if he always intended to search for Troy, feels a sense of residual guilt (in involving soldiers, who have little training and no combat experience), or responds to the pleading of Vig, but Gates performs the role of military hero, even if this is contrary to his training. There may be an element of some hubris here too. He may be highly trained, but attacking a compound containing an unknown number of soldiers with only a handful of men seems a little foolhardy.

As a microcosm for the war as a whole, the heist conveys a powerful sense of an apparently easy mission with clear aims, which is then rapidly compromised into a dangerous mess by the complexity of local and regional politics. When Gates and Troy emerge into daylight, there is a pan around the scene outside the compound for several seconds without music, as we also survey a scene of destruction, framed with a fluttering Iraqi flag. Unlike the first sight of him with a junior reporter, Gates remains a professional soldier once in the field. The shot rotating around Gates as he looks out into the scrubland underlines that he remains alert and aware there is still danger, and he reacts quickly to Vig being shot, riddling his attacker on the ground with bullets. The speed and effectiveness with which he puts his head to Troy's chest, diagnoses a hole in his lungs, and improvises a device to relieve pressure on internal organs is like a positive version of the sepsis sequence (as well as injecting a new narrative impetus into the narrative with the need to relieve the pressure in the valve every 15 minutes).

The reality of bullet wounds is conveyed by the speed with which Vig loses consciousness and the reduced sound that accompanies shots of Troy looking up at Elgin and Gates as they try and treat them. Alternate point-of-view shots from Vig and Troy's perspective as they are lying on the ground, side by side, effectively conveys their helplessness (a device also subsequently used in David Fincher's
Zodiac
[2007],
showing the point of view of victims of a serial killer at Berryessa).
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Gates recognizes death and breaks the news to Troy with a simple “He's gone,” and subsequently, as Troy cries over Vig's body, Gates silently crosses himself and the scene ends with a fade to black.

By this stage, the pursuit of the gold has been largely forgotten and eclipsed by the suffering of the Iraqi people, symbolized by a small group of dissidents, Troy's torture, and Vig's senseless death. There are small glimpses of the heist genre but it has been transformed into something more akin to a parable. There is the familiar element of the division of the spoils, but here it is an almost biblical scene of the group of Iraqis lining up to receive a bar of gold each as payment for their help. The manner in which Troy introduces the Iraqi refugees to his fellow officers marks the breakdown of barriers that the main characters feel with those they have saved and who in turn saved them. When the medical assistance arrives, Cruz, who has eventually found her story, asks if he has the gold, to which Gates replies evasively, “We helped a lot of people.”

Three Kings
is not a film without weaknesses. The resistance shelter (with a tepee-like entrance clearly above ground) suddenly appearing right next to the site of the accident of the three protagonists' vehicles is patently ridiculous and feels more like the revelation of Q's latest laboratory in a Bond film. However, although it certainly simplifies the complex political and religious situation in Iraq, it also creates dramatically engaging situations. At the Iran border, the dilemma of the Iraqi rebels is made concrete: if they are not allowed to cross, Saddam's forces will slaughter them. The discussion between the American senior officers and the Iraqi leaders is shown in only long-shot, without dialogue, almost like a dumb show.

With the consent of his men, Gates offers to reveal the whereabouts of the gold, if the rebels are guaranteed safe passage across the border. When it comes to a confrontation, Gates puts the welfare of people before material gain (although it could be said that even a single bar of gold would be worth a great deal). Like the scene where he gains the luxury cars, Gates uses his charm to persuade Horn to support the rebels in crossing the border, lacing heroism with self-interest: “Save some people, get that star.” In standing by his word, in going back for his men, in showing bravery (not all of which with material reward to be gained), Gates comes to represent what he describes to Horn as “Soldiers' honor.”

By the close, we see Elgin and Gates working, ironically, in Hollywood as military consultants and demonstrating fighting techniques on set. Barlow is running his own carpet company with his wife, now with two children. With U2's “In God's Country” coming up on the soundtrack,
the ending is decidedly upbeat as if the men have been rewarded for their bravery, selflessness, and possibly entrepreneurial appropriation of some of the Kuwaiti gold.

Hill wonders if the subject matter would have also appealed to Tarantino (who indeed went on to make his own war story,
Inglorious Basterds
[2009]), or “it's something that perhaps a director like David Fincher would have darkly fashioned.”
⁴
The crafting of the bullet sequences through Troy's body may have appealed to the latter but perhaps he would not have adopted Russell's apparent chaotic style of improvised direction. Hill terms it “a morally coherent, visually daring and truly subversive anti-war film,”
⁵
and it certainly stands as a memorable expression of the delicate balance of tragedy and absurdity that characterizes the lived experience of many veterans.

Along with
The Peacemaker
,
The Good German
, and
The Men Who Stare at Goats
, this is one of several appearances by Clooney in uniform—in all three playing a senior intelligence officer, rather than a front-line soldier. As in
Syriana
(also set in the Middle East), his character understands the political complexities of a situation and goes some way to explain them to his fellow characters (and by extension, the viewers). Despite personal and professional differences with Russell, Clooney shares a strong commitment to try and shed light on contemporary conflicts and, by raising awareness, help to end them. His own particular passion is the ongoing fighting and atrocities that have been committed in Darfur, and he continues to lend his voice to those opposing the situation in that troubled region.

Beyond the title, Ted Griffin's screenplay includes few links with Lewis Milestone's 1960 film. There is a plan to steal from several casinos on one night (the Bellagio, the Mirage, and the MGM Grand), led by a charismatic leader, Danny Ocean (George Clooney), with an able sidekick, Rusty (Brad Pitt), and a black member of the gang, Basher Tarr (Don Cheadle). But Soderbergh, forced to ditch original plans to shoot in black-and-white, also cut an original first shot of Rusty framed with a large mural of Sinatra, suggesting he was not keen to underline parallels with the earlier film.

A key difference from the original film is the nature of the cast. In 1960, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Sammy Davis Jr. represented the epitome of uncontrived cool, the center of the so-called Rat Pack. The cast of the films in this chapter operates in a completely different world. Forty years later, in place of excessive smoking, drinking, and partying
we have hard bodies and celebrities sworn to fairly strict exercise regimes. Rather than singers who acted for a little distraction, we have film actors who definitely have no pretensions as singers (except Catherine Zeta-Jones for a brief spell in the 1990s). The three films use musical accompaniments to suggest the Sinatra era (the snatch of Elvis's “A Little Less Conversation” was enough to reanimate global interest in the singer's back catalog) but none of it is produced by the cast themselves. For them, Vegas is purely a place of financial opportunity, not a performance venue. Rather than figures, particularly Sinatra, who operated on the fringes of criminality, we have actors who use their profiles for political activism, such as Clooney's work on behalf of Darfur or Pitt's involvement with post-Katrina reconstruction.