Bridge of Spies

It's not an especially amazing time to be America right now. Ever since the concept of terrorism belted down the doors of common understanding almost 15 years ago, the country has seen a political shift that is arguably starting to reach its boiling point. We continue to amass information of these shifts; we know the lengths to which the government is going to in order to spy on its domestic citizens and allies, we know the lengths to which the government went to get information out of people who had the misfortune of being of the same nationality as a few zealots, we know that a day hasn't gone by that a domestic citizen hasn't pumped lead into another domestic citizen. The list of atrocities goes on, and yet the discourse isn't, "Where the fuck did we go wrong?", but instead a staunch adhesion to the values the country was founded upon, the political equivalent of one child telling another on the playground that they're stupid, to have that child retort, "No, you're stupid." It wasn't always this way. I don't need to be another Aaron Sorken-penned monologue reminding you of how great America once was (for one, he's a much better writer than I). The problem with this approach is how often it takes place in the present, and so the reminiscing is inevitably contrasted more negatively against the current state of affairs. I imagine it would have been tempting to any other director to do the same with Bridge of Spies, a Cold War-era reminder that the old trope of the gee-whiz great American hero was not rooted in fiction. It would have been tempting to reflect a conflict so dependent on behind-closed-doors subterfuge and deceit against today's conflict of out-in-the-open torture and sporadic, explosive violence, especially when the end goal of both was, and is, acquisition of information. Nobody does it like Steven Spielberg, though. What does Spielberg do? He reminds us that the old trope of the gee-whiz great American hero was not rooted in fiction by showing us a gee-whiz great American hero refuse to abandon the ideals of his homeland, in spite of all the officials who are pleading with him to see otherwise. He also reminds us that he's our greatest living director, by filming a movie that in anyone else's hands would be banal, middle of the road fair like The Imitation Game, but in his is profoundly, overwhelmingly positive, and uplifting, and sweet, and damn it all to hell, so fucking gloriously mediocre.

Nobody shoots a dinner scene like Spielberg - that's an objective observation. Let's set the table (heh): James Donovan (Tom Hanks), an insurance lawyer, has been recruited for his gee-whiz great American hero qualities to provide legal defence to Rudolf Abel (Mark Ryland), an Irish Soviet Spy in all but his own admission. The intended goal of this is to demonstrate to the world, the Soviets mainly, that America stands by its Constitution even in the most dire of circumstances. And what better way to communicate this than with a gee-whiz great American hero who will play the part and yessir Abel all the way to the electric chair, after his "fair trial", of course. Here's the thing, though: James, unlike his higher-up counterparts, is a little too gee-whiz. He actually believes in The Constitution, you see, and plans to actually give Abel proper legal defense. The nerve. Sitting down to dinner, he tells his wife Mary (Amy Ryan) that he's considering taking the job, even though he's clearly going to take it. Mary is livid and terrified at the notion of what her husband representing a Communist in court might do to his reputation and their safety. You see, all it takes is a healthy dollop of fear and anxiety of what might happen to cause humans to throw idealism and belief structures to the wind. This alone around a dinner table would be enough for any other director, but nobody does it like Spielberg. Happening simultaneously with this argument, James is consoling his daughter, Peggy (Jillian Lebling), who was stood up by a boy at school, and James is discussing the realities of terrorism with his son, Roger (Noah Schnapp). Halfway through this, James's assistant, Doug (Billy Magnussen), has dropped by with a tower of legal books for the two of them to pore over that night, and when Mary questions why James's assistant is bringing over legal books for a case James might not even be taking, Doug happily reveals that they are taking the case, and are really excited. But it doesn't end there: James and Mary invite Doug to dinner whilst James and Mary continue to argue, James and Peggy continue to talk about boys, and James and Roger continue to talk about the Red Fear. Then they say grace, and wordlessly, James extends his hands for everyone to join. Mary doesn't take it. James grips air expectantly, pleadingly. In the last second, Mary extends her hand, lightly runs her fingers over James's palm, and places them back on her lap. She disagrees with everything he is planning to do, out of fear, but stronger than that is the love she has for him, and her knowledge that he is, ultimately, doing the right thing. And in the face of all of the terror and danger that is potentially going to be thrust upon them, she recognises that it is a necessary risk to uphold the right values. But she needs to communicate to her husband the weight of that risk, so she brushes his hand instead of holding it. The subtle brilliance of Steven Spielberg has always been within his refusal to be subtle. When Chief Brody's son asks why his dad wants a kiss in Jaws, there is no subtext, no rhetoric. Chief Brody wants a kiss from his son because he's exhausted by, and terrified of, the gigantic shark waiting out there in the water. James needs his wife to touch his hand because he's exhausted by, and terrified of, the knowledge that soon America will be watching him try to prove that their legal system works because it is built upon honor, and decency. And if an American nuclear family can't display that decency in their home at the dinner table, what hope is left?

Not long after the trial begins, James is riding the train to work. Everyone but him has a newspaper, and everyone but him is reading op-eds labeling him a traitor. It's a grey, dreary scene, but for the one woman wearing red (only Spielberg could reference his own work so simultaneously gratuitously and elegantly), who stares and glares deep into James. How are they to know the truth that James could only have known after being afforded the chance to sit and talk with Abel; that he's naught but a man, who did a job, and did it well, and will continue to do so. It's a quality deeply entrenched in that so-elusive American Dream James is determined to uphold the potential of, but when mainstream media and the threat not of what has happened, but what could happen, has affected the general public so deeply, so profoundly, how could anyone fault the woman in red for gazing upon him with such scorn? It's not too difficult a stretch to connect that with today's state of affairs, is it? So, how does James prove to the world that what he fights to maintain is worth fighting for? Well, when a U-2 pilot is shot down over Soviet territory and is taken into custody (where the Soviets torture him for information, a nice contrast to the relatively civil treatment of Abel, and to the actions of the US government on supposed enemies 50 years later), James is sent to Berlin to negotiate a trade. On his way to the negotiations, his jacket is stolen by foreign youth. James does not waver. By walking through Berlin without a jacket, he catches a cold, one that stays with him through the rest of the film, and to any other person in a strange place attempting dangerous acts, would be a sign to throw in the towel. James does not waver. The negotiations begin to go well, until the US government gets word that an American student has been arrested as a spy at the Berlin wall, detained by the Berlin government. One American prisoner to the Soviets, one American prisoner to the East German government, one Soviet spy to negotiate with, wanted by both parties for different reasons. James kicks his gee-whiz great American hero powers into overdrive and attempts to organise a trade for both of them. Those he's negotiating with and the powers that be of the United States tell him to give up his idealism and go for the soldier; the bigger bargaining chip of the two. James does not waver. Every life is worth risking your own for. He talks, and he talks, and he swindles, and he pleads, and he begs, and he threatens, and he does not waver, and he gets them both. On Glienicke Bridge, James and Abel are reunited as the trade takes place, and Abel tells James to look for how he is treated when reunited with the Soviets. If they embrace him, he will see his family again. If they show him into the back of the car, he will not. Abel seems to know how it's going to go before he reaches the car. He knows this is a war built upon mistrust, and he will be tortured and killed for his unwavering service. But without his devotion to his service, what else did he have? To that end, what else does James have? When James comes home, offering gifts and souvenirs to his family to uphold the ruse that he was away on a fishing trip, and he heads upstairs, and Mary and the kids turn on the news to see the two American lives that James fought to save, and Mary goes upstairs to find him passed out face down on his bed, a line of drool leaking out of his gaping, snoring mouth, how can your heart not soar at the grand reminder of the potential of human decency? And if that's not enough, the next day James is once again on the train heading back to work, as any gee-whiz great American hero does after saving the world, and once again everyone is reading the paper, including the woman in red, sitting in the exact same spot. Only this time the op-eds praise James's journey into the mouth of the beast to get our boys home. The woman in red looks up at James, and the corners of her mouth delicately twitch into a smile of gratitude and regret. But no apology or thanks is necessary. All James did is show everyone what America used to do, what America needs to remember it used to do, what America needs to get back to doing. Sometimes a nuanced critique layered in subtext isn't the right thing to do. Sometimes you need a brick to the face. Nobody does it like Spielberg.