FILM REVIEW
J Edgar
Leonardo DiCaprio, Judi Dench; dir Clint Eastwood
In case of any doubt, the title refers to J Edgar Hoover, the instigator and head of the FBI in America for almost half a century.
This film, not unlike The Iron Lady, employs the technique of an old man dictating his memoirs to a succession of FBI typists – interestingly all male. We are then taken on a journey back through his life. The stories are not chronological but the narrative works well in this form.
Obviously Americans will be more familiar with Mr Hoover’s story, but from this side of the pond Eastwood creates a fascinating picture of a man devoted to his dominant mother, with a fixation on order, method (his idea of a first date is go to the Library of Congress and show off his cataloguing system) and an almost pathological hatred of Communism. To this end almost any wrongdoing in America is blamed on the Bolsheviks, from the Depression and the gangs of Capone to the assassination of Kennedy. He has a fanatical approach to what he sees as right, and to that end organises a central library of fingerprints, encurages the science of forensics and introduces a police force with federal powers. All quite laudable, but the way in which he does this is the subject of the film. He will not tolerate intoxication on duty, facial hair, poor dressing or any disloyalty among his agents. The girl he took out (Naomi Watts) becomes his personal secretary and remains with him till the end, being privy to much information and files that Hoover has taken on himself to copy in case he needs them. Presidents come and go, each having an interview with Hoover in which, we are led to believe, he makes them aware of any secret information he holds about them or their family, the inference being that as long as J Edgar is in charge of the FBI, they can sleep easy in the knowledge that their secrets will never see the light of day.
Hoover never married and Eastwood leaves us in no doubt as to the reason – enter the implausibly handsome Clyde Tolson (Arnie Hammer) whom Hoover soon promotes to his deputy, provided – as Tolson stipulates – they will always have lunch and dinner together. They prove almost inseparable throughout their lives, though their relationship is never commented on. The only time they quarrel is when Hoover suggests he might take a wife whereupon Tolson explodes with rage and suppressed love. Hoover may have had affairs with Dorothy Lamour and Lela Rogers (Ginger’s mother) but his one enduring relationship was with Tolson.
The problem with a film like this is the casting, whether to cast two or more actors in the main role, as was done in Atonement to great effect, or else to use one younger actor and make-up. Eastwood has chosen the latter approach. DiCaprio suits this approach, assuming the mantle of the old man well, but I missed the commanding authority that, say, Frank Langella or Anthony Hopkins would have had. In fact the ‘old’ DiCaprio bears a strong resemblance to Jack Nicholson or perhaps Orson Welles as Charles Foster Kane. The others don't fare so well – Judi Dench can easily manage to become an old woman by simply acting and the depiction of Tolson as an old man put me in mind of Freddie Krueger. If there was more confidence in the ability of actors to act and less in the ingenuity of the make-up artists then films such as this would be more engaging and less distracting.
The period detail is excellent and Eastwood, though not the most subtle of directors, knows how to pace a film and it is not overlong, even at almost two-and-a-half hours. The music, by Eastwood himself, is not intrusive, and it’s a strange co-incidence that this film and The Iron Lady, about domineering, controlling characters, both end with a piece of Bach.
Glyn James
Partly Cloudy (41oF • 5oC)
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