Films > Film Reviews

The Post

Cinema City

20/01/18

The Spielberg of the 2010s knows no bounds when it comes to his fascination of historical dramas with current affairs resonance: following up from Lincoln,War Horse and Bridge of Spies, he has created his most ‘historical drama with current affairs resonance’-y film yet; one that is asking, no pleading, for you to understand why it is so damn IMPORTANT (in big, bold letters with tacky neon lighting) to our modern era. Yet timeliness does not a good film make, and as far as The Post is concerned, those words have never been truer.

For The Post is as mediocre as they come; a competently made drama that’s informative, engaging, even sporadically gripping, but never thrilling. Its ‘topic’ is the Pentagon Papers (classified documents exposing how the American government knew that the Vietnam war was lost and yet still sent troops in to not face embarrassment, among other, grimier things) and Nixon’s fierce rebuttal of the newspapers who revealed these documents to the public, and its topic is Trump, and his fierce dismissal of any journalistic endeavour to condemns him, as ‘fake news’.

Beginning with an expedition into Vietnam territory, fit with a lazy needle drop and some jittery camerawork, it’s very clear from the outset that The Post just wants to get out of the war and into the other war, between press and government. Cue STREEP (in big, bold letters with tacky... you get it) as Kay Graham, publisher of The Washington Post and unknowingly diving headlong into a storm of controversy.

After some contextualisation (The Pentagon Papers have been leaked to the New York Times, they then published the papers, and now they’re facing the wrath of the Government, who are suing them), the crux of the story forms: should The Washington Post publish the rest of The Pentagon Papers and defy the government’s stamping-down on free speech, at the very real risk of imprisonment?

Involved in the mess is Ben Bradlee (played by HANKS), executive editor of The Washington Post and in charge of the operation - his scenes are some of The Post ’s best, revealing the underbelly of ruthless journalism and its machinations - when Hanks gets access to the papers, all hell breaks loose, and with Spielberg’s guiding hands, Hanks’ ease in selling the stress, and a charming lemonade-selling joke coursing through it, this set-piece is an outlier that breaks free from the suffocating mediocrity.

Streep’s scenes, comparatively, are anything but interesting. The problem is that while Hanks has everything to do, Streep has very little; she’s at a dinner party, hosting a dinner party, waking up with books and papers by her side so you know that she’s a workhorse without ever really seeing it. It’s only in the final third of the movie that Streep comes into her own - resolute character development, sure, but it makes for a plodding, stop-starting narrative.

Part of the issue may be that if you know the story, then The Post hardly carries any semblance of suspense; not an issue for Dunkirk , for example, because Christopher Nolan manufactures that suspense with aplomb. But it’s certainly an issue for Spielberg, whose idea of suspense is to strip the escalating tension with diversion after diversion from the meat of the narrative. Alternatively, if you don’t know the story, then The Post doesn’t provide enough initial information to showcase exactly why you should be invested.

Because, for a film dealing with the machinations of exposition, The Post certainly struggles in going about delivering its own. It seems to realise that not enough of Streep’s character is established, and so strives to resolve that through some shockingly clunky exposition. Stretches in its second act display a character explaining to another character details that both already know, for the benefit of its audience. In one particular scene during a talk between Streep and her daughter, an under-utilised Alison Brie, never has this method looked so blatant.

Once that’s out the way, and the big decision of ‘Do I publish or do I not?’ has been made, the film rushes through its third act - a flurry of trials and convoluted thematic angles (Streep walking down a courtroom’s steps, cutting a Messiah-figure as she parts a red sea of feminists) which only serve to give the impression that Spielberg simply wants to reach the finish line. In doing so, he forgets to tie up some loose strands - for instance, Ellsberg, the man who actually leaked the papers, is left in the dust. Spielberg finished this film nine months after first reading its script - perhaps his rushing to get this finished in time for the Oscars was bound to lead to some degree of carelessness.

Nevertheless, The Post remains competent: Streep provides charm with the cheese, like a mawkish Edam, while Hanks is as great as we’ve all come to expect from him. Shots of machinery, or of newspapers billowing in the wind, are stunning (though the weird, artificial sheen applied to Bridge of Spies remains) - and resemble a film greater than the one we get. The useless, meandering score does the film no favours though, and Spielberg does occasionally succumb to his saccharine sensibilities (the aforementioned talk between mother and daughter, or its overwhelmingly silly, Marvel-post-credits-esque ending). The Post is a film about the press that is less pressing than depressing - competently made, sure, but hardly inspiring; Spotlight has never looked so arthouse. This is exactly as good as the trailers made it look: flat, safe, and a teensy bit worthy. Very much by-the-letters.

5/10