Thoughts on World Trade Center

At first, I couldn't help but feel awful about myself because I didn't cry during or after Oliver Stone's World Trade Center (and believe me - it doesn't take much to make me shed a tear in a movie.) But I realize that I don't need a movie to make me feel worse (or better?) about what happened September 11th. I don't need a movie to inform me about what happened that day (everyone already knows, don't they?) and I certainly don't need a movie that makes me look at Nicolas Cage's ugly mug for a couple of hours.



The most common facial expression I seemed to be wearing during World Trade Center involved rolling eyes, instead of a melancholy puppy-dog face or a bit of beaming for the greatness of humanity. Don't get me wrong, the brave men and women of NYC who put their lives on the line to save and rescue others are wonderful people, deserving of all the respect the world has to offer. Maybe I'm being too crabby, but I could've done without a movie that thrusts upon me images of dying men having visions of Jesus carrying a water-bottle and confessing their (completely un-homoerotic) love for one another.

But if there are good things to say about this movie it has to be about the performances of the "grieving wives". They're stereotypical and very numerous in cinema, and Maria Bello, Maggie Gyllenhaal and Donna Murphy don't really take their roles to new levels. But I'll be damned if I said I didn't greatly enjoy their work. Even when they aren't breaking down in fits of tears, getting sick or yelling at police officers, we can feel their grief, love and fading hope with every glance they give and every word they speak.

World Trade Center will no doubt get much Oscar speculation this winter because it's just the sort of movie that the Academy seems to adore these days - low on subtlety and grace and high on grandeur and clichés.

Grade : C (C-?)