oliver stone

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Dubya

W. (Oliver Stone, 2008)

Oliver Stone’s W. is a solid dramatisation of George W. Bush’s life, but Stone has conditioned us to expect something that is both flashier and more incendiary. At his best Stone is an exceptional filmmaker – his earlier political drama JFK is one of the best films of the 1990s, whatever you might think of its central thesis – and with his reputation for shooting from the hip there is no doubt many expected W. to be an extended polemic. Instead, the film is traditionally constructed and fairly measured in its tone. Judging from some of the reviews, which have generally been lukewarm, Stone might have overestimated the willingness of the public to accept a fair-minded account.

I have seen some characterise the film as almost a defence of Bush. I don’t think that’s the case; some of the reviews seem to have set up a false dichotomy between “balanced” and “anti-Bush,” and suggested that because Stone’s film is the former, it can’t be the latter. But Bush is the kind of figure about whom a fair account can still be scathing. Stone is far from defensive of Bush, but he does humanise him and mostly avoids cheap shots. Why take cheap shots when the big picture provides such a compelling condemnation?

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Two Murders in Dallas: Documentary, Reality, and Dubious Truths

“It’s plausibility, its authority, is the special quality of the documentary – its attraction to those who use it, regardless of motive – the source of its power to enlighten or deceive.” – Eric Barnouw1

The distinction between fictional and non-fictional filmmaking is seldom neat. While the terms invite the suggestion that fiction and non-fiction can be readily separated (“fiction” is that which is invented, and “non-fiction” is everything else), most writing on documentary cinema recognises that the waters are muddier than the terms imply. The link to “truth” or “reality” that might seem documentary’s defining feature is often a tenuous one, since every stage of the production of a film apparently distorts the subject. This includes not only the artistic devices imposed upon a film to give it some sense of structure or coherency (editing, framing, narration etc), but also the choices of subject and the mere act of filming. These elements of construction separate the documentary text from the original referent, and are for the most part shared with fiction films. Since both fiction and non-fiction films often employ these techniques to similar ends (to create narratives, for example) this has led to suggestions that documentaries must themselves be considered fictional constructions. Even if the two forms aren’t merged in such a fashion, certainly such an approach to documentaries casts deep doubt over any claim a documentary might express towards stating a truth. This is particularly true where the statement of fact being expressed is itself a controversial or strongly contested one. But is it perverse to argue that claims to truth or reality in documentary are illusory if these are the essence of the form? In this essay I look at two films, Erroll Morris’s The Thin Blue Line (1988), and Oliver Stone’s JFK (1990), against the context of this debate. Both these texts are hybrids of fictional and non-fictional techniques, although most would agree that Morris’ film is ultimately a documentary while Stone’s film is a fiction. They each take real events as their subject, and make a claim to revealing a truth about an event. In each case, that statement of truth contests an official, government endorsed verdict. Since the quest for the true story is a central motivating concern of each film, they make ideal case studies when examining the idea that documentaries must be considered a form of fictional filmmaking. This essay will explore the differences and similarities between the two films (and the two forms), the ways in which fictional and non-fictional traits cross from one form to another, and the implications this has for the representation of real events by the cinema.

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