FILM REVIEW: JACK RYAN SHADOW RECRUIT

A scene from Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit

Communist Hollywood

By Ed Rampell

Reactionary espionage novelist Tom Clancy may have died last year, but his heroic CIA agent, Jack Ryan, lives on, as does the rightwing pro-CIA Military-Industrial-Intelligence-Entertainment Complex’s agitprop. To be sure, Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit, Paramount’s reboot of the Clancy-derived, highly lucrative Ryan film franchise, is a slickly made, entertaining piece of moviemaking full of the usual suspects usually found in spy movies: motorcycle and car chases galore, assassins, gunfire, dastardly villains hellbent on world domination, a little romance and all those other endless spy movie clichés. Jack Ryan Shadow Recruit is also a sophisticated cinematic piece of propaganda masquerading under the guise of mass entertainment.

In this latest installment of the Ryan franchise (definition of a Hollywood franchise -- beating a dead horse into the ground until viewers wise up and quit buying tickets to see these sequels and remakes) Jumping Jack Smash is tepidly played by 33-year-old Chris Pine, who previously played Captain Kirk in another profitable motion picture franchise, Star Trek. In the 2014 chapter of the spy series Jack is an Afghan War veteran -- never mind that Alec Baldwin played Ryan in 1990's The Hunt for Red October and Harrison Ford started portraying Ryan in 1992's Patriot Games, when Pine was a mere wisp of a lad presumably pining after super stardom in empty headed action flicks.

The actor may be new but the premise is tired and old, reviving Cold War tensions between Washington and Moscow, as America's enemy is the same in Jack Ryan Shadow Recruitas it was almost a quarter century ago in The Hunt for Red October. There may be much that’s objectionable in Vladimir Putin’s Russia -- from the repression of gays, Ukrainians, Pussy Riot, Greenpeace and so on -- but none of that is alluded to in this simpleminded yarn with a convoluted plot harkening back to the deepest, darkest days of the Cold War between the USA and USSR.

In a bit of clever central casting real life Soviet defector/ballet dancer Mikhail Baryshnikov plays a Kremlin killer in a cameo. Kenneth Branagh, who also directs, portrays dastardly oligarch Viktor Cherevin, a stereotypical Ruskie out to stage terrorist attacks on the good ol’ USA and to topple our economy. It doesn't matter that the Ruskies have traded corporatist ideology in for communism -- they're still the bad guys in this hackneyed plot extolling the virtues of the CIA, as latter day Cold Warriors battle it out from Moscow to Manhattan. It doesn’t matter that as America’s ally during World War II 20 million Soviets died, and then their approximation of socialism failed and the Russians “embraced” the private enterprise system: They remain our implacable enemy. I mean, who does a Ruskie have to fuck to catch a break from Hollywood?!

Speaking of which, the extremely gifted Keira Knightley squanders her talents playing Cathy Muller, Jack’s nurse-cum-live-in-lover-cum-damsel-in-distress. She was far superior in the 2011 Freud-versus-Jung film A Dangerous Method, but I suppose there’s a method to her career madness. The cast includes Kevin Costner as the CIA covert ops agent Thomas Harper. (BTW, the characters’ globetrotting from Manhattan to Moscow and beyond via commercial airliners in what seems to be mere hours is inherently incredible, as is the fact that these jetsetters never get jet lag.)

In between munching popcorn auds should be aware of Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit’s real shadowy message: The CIA are heroic good guys who are also technical whiz kids -- their supposed high-tech prowess is intended to impress and intimidate opponents -- saving the world from the baddies. Jack Ryan; Shadow Recruit is the latest recruit in what I called the intelligence community’s “Operation Image Control” in my May 2013 cover story for CounterPunch Magazine called “Hollywood’s Year of Living Clandestinely.” Jack Ryan has enlisted to fight to make the world safe for U.S. imperialism, along with: The ABC mini-series The Assets, about real life CIA double agent/traitor Aldrich Ames; the just launched Intelligence TV series about a bionic agent; plus The Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Blacklist series that premiered on network TV in the fall. On the big screen the FBI prominently features in American Hustle about the 1970s AbScam scandal.

Make no mistake about: With the possible exception of American Hustle, which is critical of the FBI, these big and small screen productions appear to be intended to project positive images of the CIA, NSA, etc., as part of the Military-Industrial-Intelligence-Entertainment Complex’s never ending campaign to win hearts, minds and viewers. This propaganda barrage aims to hoodwink taxpayers and, in particular, are a counter-offensive aimed against the revelations of the super-surveillance state by whistleblowers.

 

In particular, The Assets may be intended as an attack on Edward Snowden, who is rather stupidly (or perhaps, I should say, quite cleverly) likened to Ames by feckless pundits/dopes/dupes, although Ames traded CIA secrets for rubles, while Snowden does not appear to have cashed in on his revelations about the Orwellian NSA hyper-surveillance state he is, rather patriotically and at great risk to himself, warning us all about. Snowden, of course, is ensconced in icy exile in Mother Russia -- and isn’t it hilarious how the imperialists and their media lackeys use this against Snowden, while conveniently forgetting that Washington revoked his passport and even forced Bolivian President Evo Morales’ jet down in an effort to prevent Snowden from possibly leaving Russia.

 

The Central Intelligence Agency definitely does have an entertainment liaison officer and actively seeks to influence movie and TV productions for propagandistic purposes. I asked Paramount if the CIA was involved in any way with Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit but, as to be expected when dealing with the shadowy world of cloak and dagger, got no response. While they want to know everything about you, they don’t want you to know anything about them and how they operate behind the scenes. Hollywood will tell us.

 

But consider what former CIA officer Bob Baer (George Clooney played Baer in 2005’s Syriana, which was based on his exploits) said in my CounterPunch expose about an earlier Jack Ryan iteration: “I’m pretty sure Ben Affleck was able to get meetings with those in the CIA… He was in The Sum of All Fears, a heavily assisted text by the CIA. They were involved in everything from set design to script review to meeting with the actors, director, writers… to shape their image of that Agency. [Tom Clancy’s] Jack Ryan series has always been more positive in terms of its depiction of the CIA than other film franchises, but… Sum of All Fears of all Jack Ryan films is the most positive in its depiction.” Affleck, of course, went on to star in and direct 2012’s pro-CIA Argo, which -- for the first time in Academy Award history -- had its Best Picture Oscar winner announced by a sitting First Lady, Michelle “Support the Troops” Obama, live at the White House, surrounded by military personnel.

 

Viewer beware!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THEATER REVIEW: EUGENE ONEGIN

Despina  (Roxana Constantinescu) in Eugene Onegin. 

In Russia with love

By Ed Rampell

L.A. Opera has launched its new season with two operas that have a single, controversial theme: Infidelity. Both works are conducted by James Conlon. One, Eugene Onegin, is a Russian tragedy composed by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, based on Alexander Pushkin’s novel in verse. The other, Così Fan Tutte, is an Opera buffa, an Italian comedy composed by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, libretto by Lorenzo Da Ponte.

Sung almost entirely in Russian, in Eugene Onegin’s Act I Tatiana (Ukrainian soprano Oksana Dyka) is a virginal, repressed young woman living in Russia’s countryside. Tatiana throws herself at the dashing newcomer from Petrograd, Onegin (Slovakian baritone Dalibor Jenis), the friend of her sister Olga’s (Russian mezzo-soprano Ekaterina Semenchuk) fiancée, the poet Lensky (Russian tenor Vsevolod Grivnov). However, for some reason -- unlike the Beatles – “well, the Ukraine girls don’t really knock Onegin out, Moscow girls don’t make him sing and shout and Georgia’s apparently not always on his mind.” Onegin declines Tatiana’s impulsive proposal, declaring their marriage would never work due to certain unspecified characteristics he possesses which would inflict misery upon her.

At a party in Act II Onegin dances with and ogles Olga, prompting his jealous best friend Lensky to challenge him to a duel. The outcome propels Onegin to embark upon a self-imposed exile; in Act III Onegin is back in the pre-U.S.S.R. He’s been away so long he hardly knows the place; gee, it’s good to be back home. At Saint Petersburg he stumbles upon a ball being thrown by elderly Prince Gremin (American bass James Creswell), who has wed a now radiantly beautiful and worldly Tatiana. In a moment of lucidity, Onegin realizes his woes were triggered by snubbing Tatiana, and pursues the now married sophisticated beauty. Although she still has the hots for Onegin, Tatiana won’t come and keep her comrade warm; the tables are turned and now it’s Tanya’s doing the rejecting. You don’t know how unlucky you are, boy! (My sincere apologies to Lenin and Lennon/McCartney.)

Eugene Onegin’s sets are co-stars in L.A. Opera productions, and while scenic designer Antony McDonald’s ho-hum interiors are serviceable, his glowing exteriors are glorious. In the first act McDonald brings alive Mother Russia’s vast steppes, as reapers rhapsodize about the harvest in a great ensemble number with about 40 performers onstage. Old McDonald’s farm is truly beautiful. As at Caesar’s Palace in Las Vegas, lighting designer Peter Mumford creates a sense of the natural passage of time with his colorful, lovely lights. A pond of water makes a big splash and is imaginatively put to good use; it later serves as a skating rink as winter sports are enacted in the third act, wherein McDonald provides a sumptuous, panoramic view of Petrograd (which I recognized from all of those Eisenstein and Pudovkin films about the storming of the Winter Palace). McDonald also acquits himself well with the cast’s 1820s costumes, but those Russian exteriors are eye popping. Bravo1

The score is sonorous and well-conducted; director Francesca Gilpin’s mise-en-scene and choreographer Linda Dobell’s dances are on point. There is, however, a gremlin in the Kremlin. Gremin is played by a performer who is much younger than the prince is supposed to be – and his age is an important plot point obscured by this casting of 30-something Creswell. But this is a mere quibble that should not deter opera lovers from experiencing Tchaikovsky’s lamentation of love loss. 

Eugene Onegin runs through Oct. 9 at L.A. Opera at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, 135 N. Grand Ave. For more info: 213/972-8001; www.laopera.com.

DVD REVIEW: ILLEGAL

A scene from Illégal.

Belgium ail

By Don Simpson

A former French teacher in Russia, Tania (Anne Coesens), and her son, Ivan (Alexandre Gontcharov), have come to live in Belgium as illegal immigrants. Tania must rely on her corrupt landlord, Mr. Nowak (Tomasz Bialkowski), to provide her with an apartment as well as forged documents so that she can work as a janitor.

Tania knows that this charade will not last forever but continues to hold on to the hope that the Belgian government will approve her request for permanent residence. When Tania receives the letter from the Belgian government officially declining her request, she drowns her sorrows in vodka -- the vodka serves a dual purpose of dulling the pain as she subsequently burns her fingerprints off with an iron (an act that serves as a clue to the audience that Tania knows that her arrest is imminent).

It is not much longer before Tania is captured by the police and imprisoned in a holding facility for illegal immigrants. Ivan is kept free and safe by Tania’s friend, Zina (Olga Zhdanova). Unwilling to divulge her true identity -- to avoid deportation and to keep Ivan safe -- Tania attempts to navigate her way back to Ivan and freedom.

Recently Belgium's Oscar entry for Best Film in a Foreign Language, it is not without irony that Film Movement scheduled the DVD release of Illégal the day after Independence Day in the United States, as writer-director Olivier Masset-Depasse’s film presents an age old international dilemma that continues to strip human beings of their personal freedoms. Unfortunately, Masset-Depasse’s only explanation of why we should discontinue the jailing of innocent people -- who are merely performing their integral yet unsatisfying and grossly underpaid roles in the capitalist system -- is the ridiculous over-zealousness of the government officials in chasing down and punishing undocumented immigrants. By not offering any justification for Tania’s move from Russia -- where she was presumably well-educated and adequately employed as a teacher -- to Belgium -- where she is forced to the bottom of the employment pool -- Masset-Depasse fails to convince us why Tania should be granted the Belgian residence papers that she hopelessly desires. In his failure to effectively explain Tania’s situation, Masset-Depasse seems to be suggesting that anyone should be able to live and work anywhere in the world -- an extreme and overly idealistic suggestion that could only work if we were living in a Utopian fantasy world. Under our current economic environment, this solution is totally unfeasible.

Masset-Depasse sacrifices a fruitful discussion on immigration issues in lieu of a profound feminist manifesto in which he focuses on the masculinity of the government officials and the femininity of the captives. Tania is a woman helplessly struggling to survive in an oppressive world ruled by violent and fear-mongering men. The women whom Tania encounters -- including a few female guards -- are incredibly supportive and helpful, while the men are all close-minded and one-dimensional. It is also not without purpose that Ivan is, for all intents and purposes, fatherless. Being raised solely by women provides Ivan with the hope of developing into a well-rounded and sympathetic human being, rather than an angry and pigheaded man.

FILM REVIEW: MY PERESTROIKA

Olga Durikova in My Perestroika.

Cold war and pieces

By John Esther

During my undergraduate studies as a Russian and Soviet Studies major I had the opportunity to witness the tumultuous transitions of the latter days of that experiment known as the Soviet Union. From the comfort zone of a university campus in Tucson, Arizona to ground zeroes in major Soviet cities, I witnessed the "evil empire" as it openly embraced perestroika (restructuring) and glasnost (openness).

As anger, frustration and hope mounted in the streets of Moscow and Leningrad (St. Petersburg), friends and strangers spoke openly with westerners during those days. Those English-Russian conversations over vodka, bread, butter and caviar were some of the concise I ever took part in. The Russians of that generation often had a gift for being direct and to the point when they spoke (or drank) -- whether it came to the necessary dismantling of the brutal Soviet Union political system, U.S. President Ronald Reagen's doublespeak about the USSR or personal friendship.

After years of failed Party propaganda and populace hardships these Russians could see the inevitable turning of the tyrannical tide and how hard it would be for the President of the Soviet Union Mikhail Gorbachev to push against entrenched interests in order to create a new Soviet Union. They also viewed the boisterous speeches of Reagen (and subsequent U.S. President George H.W. Bush) at once counterproductive, because it fed the Soviet Union hardliners who wanted the friction that kept the people afraid and them in power, as well as disingenuous brouhaha because the United States government needed the bear in the east as an enemy to justify its military industrial complex (which had given the US a clear superiority in arms) just as much as those right-wingers back here in the USSR.

Regarding friendship, Russians did not play games when it came to camaraderie. It was very serious and very endearing. It was also something Americans needed to mind. If an American said to another American, "We should do lunch sometime," it remained open ended. If you said this to a Russian, it was an invitation to be taken up immediately -- the next day if they knew where you were staying. Accordingly, late sleepers did not dare to casually suggest meeting for breakfast. 

(I occasionally wonder how Russians treat friendship these days. I have not been back for many years and no Russian films I am aware of have really explored the subject.)

It is some of that generation, alive and dwelling today, which is captured quite impressively in Robin Hessman's documentary, My Perestroika.

Today Borya Meyerson and his wife, Lyuba, are now history teachers with a son; single-mom Olga Durikova sells pool tables (and seems to chain smoke); and single-dad Ruslan performs in public places for money. Scraping by to buy into capitalist Russia, none of them would be any poorer under Soviet communism (America, on the other hand…). A little luckier is Andrei Yevgrafov, who owns a successful men's clothing boutique and lives in a nice condominium. These five Muscovites were among the last generation to wear the anti-riotous red scarf of the Pioneers and leave the Komsomol for the stampede into the western promise. Their insights offer a microcosm of a nation that moved from totalitarianism to kleptocracy – sometimes unsure which was or is the bigger evil.

Some of the more precious observations in the documentary are when Durikova laments the hard work for insufficient wages and the fact she will probably work long past the Soviet retirement of 60 or when Borya quite accurately damns the jingoistic rule of Vladimir Putin's Russia. Without effort or consciousness they are honest. They have that gift. On another hand, when Yevgrafov disdains the popular risings of 1991 as a wave of insecurity about food rather than a demand for change, among the other reasons he did not participate in them, is laughably incredulous. 

Engulfed in a bittersweet symphony of getting what one wants and losing what one once had, the documentary's personal conversations manifest themselves into something greater than a few Russians weighing in on current affairs. That My Perestroika takes a view of history from the autobiographical testimony of ordinary people and splices it with greater mass-ive historical events such as a 1977 event saluting the new Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the Soviet Union, Leonid Brezhnev (the first in his position to open up trade with the United States and the one who started the eventually disastrous invasion of Afghanistan in the 1980s), seems to be, albeit less grand in scope, something in the tradition of, perhaps a response to, Leo Tolstoy's War Peace, especially Book III, Part One.

Running a smooth 87 minutes, the interviews of My Perestroika remind me of my perestroika. For others the documentary offers a basic, insightful and sound introduction to life in modern Moscow. And for Americans who lived during the cold war, the similarities between living here and there hits home.