Four stars. Rated R, for strong violence, dramatic intensity, pervasive profanity and fleeting nudity
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.4.17
Very few dramatic films — as
distinguished from documentaries — have left me feeling nauseous, in response
to the monstrous behavior of human beings.
Schindler’s List is one; that was a
quarter-century ago.
 |
| Racist cop Philip Krauss (Will Poulter, center left) gleefully takes charge of the lit-fuse "interrogation" of half a dozen wholly innocent Algiers Motel residents, using the greater Detroit riot as an excuse to terrorize and torture them. |
Detroit is the most recent; that was a few nights
ago.
Director Kathryn Bigelow and
journalist-turned-screenwriter Mark Boal both took home well-deserved Academy
Awards for 2009’s The Hurt Locker;
they re-teamed for 2012’s Zero Dark Thirty, their equally mesmerizing portrayal of the decade-long hunt for
Osama bin Laden, which concluded with his death during a Navy SEAL raid in May
2011.
The latter film lost some of its luster
— and probably a few Oscars — due to political sniping over the accuracy of the
CIA’s depicted use of torture (an accusation that still seems specious, given
that relevant documents remain classified). That controversy tainted a film
that deserves better recognition both as a nail-biting drama, and for having
gotten “the important stuff” right.
Bigelow and Boal may run into the
same problem with Detroit, which
would be an even greater tragedy. Although their riveting new film shines a
necessary spotlight on a grievously under-remembered tragedy in American
history — the so-called 12th Street Riot, which consumed Detroit, Mich., from
July 23-27, 1967 — Boal’s script suffers somewhat from tunnel vision, differs
at times from long-established eyewitness accounts, and in one conspicuous case
succumbs to flat-out speculation.
We experienced this problem with
2000’s The Perfect Storm, which
detailed the real-world fate of the fishing vessel Andrea Gail, lost at sea
during the nor’easter that developed in late October 1991. The paradox was
obvious: Since everybody on board died, nobody could possibly know what
actually happened during the boat’s final hours. That didn’t diminish the
film’s impact, but one had to acknowledge the contrivance of its entire third
act.
Bigelow and Boal obviously are
aware of the liberties taken here, and concerned enough to conclude their film
with a text block that acknowledges “necessary” extrapolation.
I hope that’s good enough,
because it would be awful if Detroit
were caught up in petty arguments over detail, thereby obscuring the
incontrovertible, big-picture degree to which clearly innocent, mostly black
civilians were brutalized by blatantly racist, thuggish white cops during a
particularly ghastly incident triggered during the riot.
