Last night I had some time to myself so I decided to go to a movie. I don't go to many movies and I don't usually go just to be going, so I intentionally wanted to see United 93. I don't recall knowing that it was even being filmed. I became aware of it when it was released and I read about the controversy it generated. Too soon after 9/11? Trivializing a tragic event? Exploitative of the victims and their families?
From the very beginning it was apparent that this was no ordinary movie.
The director, Paul Greengrass, had his work cut out for him: The story is familiar. The outcome is known and it is not a happy ending. And I believe he handled it magnificently. He didn't have to try very hard to get the audience emotionally involved. To the contrary, his main job was not to patronize us with maudlin sentimentality and false drama. And so he presented the story with just the facts. No opening credits. No intrusive soundtrack. Fade in to terrorists praying in their hotel rooms. Cut to airport arrivals. Rudimentary security checkpoints. Gates. Op Centers. ATC towers. Boston ATC loses contact with a plane. Controller thinks he heard hijacker's voice but he can't be sure. Smoke from the World Trade Center. Small private plane? Contact lost with another plane. Where is the military? Where is the president? Can we engage these hijacked planes?
What he successfully did was take me back to that day. The disbelief. The confusion. The shock. Is this really happening? Another plane has hit the towers? The Pentagon? Does anybody know what the hell is going on? I became emotional as the reality of those events unfolded. The gaping hole in the first tower. The Newark controllers watching the second plane hit. The CNN camera showing the smoke from the Pentagon from a camera somewhere near the Old Executive building near the White House. He made me remember.
And it hurt.
I've never been so ready for a film to be over. To walk out into the fresh air. To see the stars. To hear my kids slam doors. To have someone cut me off on the highway. To be distracted by life again. To forget. But I can't.
The banter of the flight crew and passengers about anniversaries they weren't going to celebrate, restaurants they would never visit, e-mails they would never read, trails they would never hike. The phone calls home. Trying to reach family. Someone. Anyone. Just pray. I love you. Goodbye. The most sobering scene? Closeup of a passenger breathing the Lord's prayer. Cut to a second passenger breathing the Lord's prayer. Cut to a third passenger breathing the Lord's prayer. Cut to the terrorist in the cockpit, flying the plane. Breathing a prayer. Oh, my.
That, my friends, is my definition of art.
Random observations from this latest cinematic experience:
- There were no big name actors in this movie. The only person I recognized was the weird old lady who worked the ticket booth on Wings (Fay, maybe?) and had buried several husbands who had all died mysteriously. I think she had one line in this movie.
- Some of the acting was a little stilted, I thought at the time, and then when the closing credits ran I saw why. Several people in the film played themselves. Air Traffic Controllers, National Ops Center people (including the guy who decided to shut down all the US air space), military people, etc. I thought that was incredible. I hope it was cathartic for them.
- $3.65 for a small popcorn? I don't think so.
- I'm not ready for the digital revolution or the reality-based herky-jerky camera shots. This movie, technically speaking, was a 111 minute IMAX movie, and IMAX movies make me want to hurl. I'm still dizzy as I type this.
