Film Review: Trumbo

Simple political statements from pop-culture figures seem to go a long way these days. From both sides of the political spectrum, musicians have overcome deficiencies in songwriting, creativity and talent by appealing to generic pro or anti-war sentiments (see Toby Keith's "Courtesy of the Red White & Blue" and Green Day's "American Idiot"). Most notably, when the Dixie Chicks offended their largely conservative fan base by voicing dissatisfaction with President Bush, triggering a slew of right-wing invective, they became martyrs for free speech . The backlash was excessive and undeserved. Yet upon what cross were they crucified? Despite the pressure, they continued touring, albeit with a slightly diminished audience. They never had to testify before Congress, and were never sent to jail.
Dalton Trumbo was not so lucky. A gifted screenwriter, quite possibly the greatest of his generation, he paid the ultimate price for refusing to admit membership in the Communist party to the House Un-American Activities Committee during a congressional hearing in 1947. He was deprived of his livelihood and his freedom, not of a portion of his audience that objected to his politics. So if the Dixie Chicks warrant their own hagiogrphic tribute, the late Trumbo is certainly entitled to a grand epitaph.
Unfortunately, unlike a good literal epitaph, marked by concise profundity, Peter Askin's Trumbo overreaches in its quest to be profound, and leaves one wishing it had made more of an effort to be concise. It is an exercise in redundancy worthy of Game of Shadows , the book that meticulously recreated a decade's worth of annecdotes and interviews to tell the American public what they already knew: namely that Barry Bonds' suddenly increased head size was not the result of drinking protein shakes. Likewise, it is established early on that Trumbo is an endearing family man, a fiercely loyal friend, and a man unwavering in his convictions, standing by them as he was barred from his profession and sent to jail. He was a victim of injustice who was rightly vindicated later in life. Surprisingly, this filmic realization of a play by Trumbo's son merely repeats these points ad nauseam, slowly killing all the pathos, humor and drama that it musters.

The film relies heavily on his letters, which are interesting and well-written, creating a good portrait and a reasonable narrative basis. Not content with the Ken Burns-style voiceover cum photo montage, this film lets various notable actors give them a dramatic itnerpretation while sitting in front of an empty table or standing on an empty stage, as if they were auditionning for a play. The letters are powerful enough in and of themselves and the readings by David Strathairn, Liam Neeson, Paul Giamatti et al. come off as over-staged and almost comicly overwrought. At the end of each letter, there is invariably a dramatic pause where each actor is given a chance to glance meaningfully at the camera, into a glass of scotch or wherever they fancy. One can almost imagine Askin cutting a take and yelling, "I said more earnest, God Dammit!"

Dalton Trumbo was reasonably eccentric, and any documentary devoted to one man's life is served well by the humanizing and amusing details that lend poignancy to the larger narrative. However, it's hard to see what's so singular about his playfully ironic sense of humor, tendency towards drink, and affinity for animals. A large portion of the film is devoted to examining such tendencies, yet it is clearly the intersection of his public and private life that proves most interesting. For example, a scathing letter to his daughter's elementary school, where she has been shunned because of the stigma surrounding him, is one of the film's most effective moments. We truly feel the pain of his plight, his whole family bearing the burden of his principles. We see his humanity, his rhetorical skill and even a touch of dark humor. The film should have relied on such moments that achieve the dual purpose of adding shades to the portrait and telling his story.

Most excruciating of all was a seemingly endless letter written from prison by Trumbo to his son extolling the virtues of masturbation. Nathan Lane is given the honor of reading this ode, and arches his eyebrows at a particularly strained angle for the duration of the reading, as if to remind us to laugh. After all, what sort of arthouse documentary would this be if we didn't have a jarringly out-of-place reminder that even history's great figures enjoyed the feeling of sexual climax like the rest of us and weren't ashamed of it?

Indeed, the movie seems to have been made with conscious mind paid to its target audience. Askin's basic premise is that we all know and agree about Trumbo, and therfore does not bother to give much context about the McCarthy-era anxieties leading to the Blacklist or even his particular political views. There is too little here about the tradition of American Communism (it is mentioned in passing that it became fashionable in the depression) or why Trumbo was attracted to it. We are given an excerpt from his anti-war novel/screenplay Johnny Got His Gun, annecdotes about his service in World War II, but no connection between the two, or even mention of the trivial detail that he opposed US involvement therein.

This was a man who favored authoritarianism, and was open about his contempt for democracy, i.e. more than just a run-of-the-mill left-winger. Yet the film only talks about his anti-war stance, a tradition that was certainly not limited to those on his point on the political spectrum. There's plenty of time to give a more complete account of his views, yet Trumbo fails to deliver. As such, it unfortunatley opens itself to right-wing criticisms that it is a whitewash designed to make Trubmo's potlics seem more palatable to the mainstream. Of course the film's larger point, and the principle behind Trumbo's resistance was not a defense of Communism, but the idea that everyone was entitled to their own political beliefs and that they were not the business of the federal government. But Askin sees no need to strengthen that point by putting it in a suitably enlightening socio-political context, perhaps figuring the target audience is likely to have already read and agreed with Howard Zinn.

It is this lazy cynicism that kills the film as political dialectic, repeatedly hammering home a point that it never convincingly made. It doesn't even bother to preach to the choir, it merely sings hymns which eventually all start to sound alike. That would not be a damning flaw had the artistic elements of the film been better realized. Unfortunately, the film strives for a sense of self-importance it does not need and expends too much energy trying to justify. Askin did not need to hard-sell Trumbo, a compelling figure with an important story to tell. In trying to make him simultaneously heroic and human, they have only succeeded in making him seem ordinary. Many critics have picked up on the movie's strengths, but they shine through in spite of its execution, not because of it. This is why they do not redeem the film, and prevent it from being the masterpiece for which it has been widely mistaken.