Avatar: An American Film?

In my last Turkish class, each person’s opinion of the new film Avatar was an important topic. Most students liked it, but one student from Germany felt differently. First mentioning that the film was too cliché, he then stated, “These Americans always think that aliens live just a universe away and they walk and talk just like we do.” His tone was obliviously contemptuous, and my eyes instinctively narrowed as I turned my head to see him. He had in one sentence negatively stereotyped Americans and made what was in my view a poor film analysis—not an easily revocable combination.

Admittedly, Avatar is a (mostly) typical American film full of Hollywood clichés, but this student’s comment was highly flawed for several reasons.

First, American movies about aliens do not always presume that they walk and talk like humans do. In the Alien films, the acid-filled, double-mouthed frighteners do not resemble humans at all. In the Predator franchise, the antagonist is bipedal with the same basic skeletal structure, but he’s not much of a talker. Independence Day is a very American film in some unfortunate ways, but the aliens do not walk and talk like humans. And in Steven Spielberg’s career, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, and A.I. Artificial Intelligence all featured aliens walking on two legs, but none of them communicated like humans do.

Of course, you can find some films that support my classmate’s argument, such as 1955’s The Day the Earth Stood Still. In that film one alien looks entirely human while the other is a human-like robot. But in 1955 limited make-up and visual effects left filmmakers with few options better than humanoid aliens. I think the same excuse can be made for the various races in the Star Trek franchise and the Planet of the Apes series.

But even James Cameron’s own films do not reflect this stereotype. 1986’s Aliens I’ve already discussed, and 1989’s The Abyss featured aliens that looked more like sting-rays. Finally, American director Stanley Kubrick made what is probably the best film that includes aliens with 2001: A Space Odyssey. Importantly, he never even shows the aliens to the audience. The idea that Americans always represent aliens in any particular way is simply incorrect.

Second, there aren’t really international films about aliens that we can compare with American ones. My classmate seems to suggest science-fiction films made by non-Americans would be more intelligent. This may be the case, but there isn’t evidence to support it; movies about aliens usually require large budgets, and large budget movies come from Hollywood.

Moreover, the purposes of storytelling necessitate aliens that can communicate and walk. An alien without legs can’t chase the good guys, and an alien that cannot speak is a little bland for most two-hour movies. If you asked James Cameron what he thinks aliens most likely look like, he probably wouldn’t produce the blue, nine-foot tall Na’vi, but he’s making a $230 million movie for people around the world to see, so he needs some common denominators—like two legs, two arms, and speech abilities.

Finally, Avatar is not simply an American film. First of all, James Cameron is Canadian. The film’s main production company, Twentieth Century-Fox Film Corporation, is owned by Australian Rupert Murdoch, and one of the film’s other four production companies is based in London, which is also where one of its two premiers was held (the other was in Hollywood). And Avatar wasn't only made by an international team, but for a global audience. It was released around the world on the same day, meaning I could have watched it in Istanbul nine hours earlier than any of my friends in Phoenix, Arizona. So far, 64% of Avatar’s gross has come from outside of the United States. If in fact “these Americans” do make silly films in which aliens walk and talk like humans, we do it with international help and global customers.

Importantly, there are reasons to criticize Avatar—I would start with the familiarity of its plot. But show me the German, or Chinese, or Indian film that treats alien-life more intelligently. I think my classmate fell into a cliché of criticizing Americans and our movies as being monolithically stupid. But in my view, criticizing Avatar for being too American and subsequently dismissing all American science-fiction is poor etiquette and worse film analysis.

Danke.

Three Steps Toward Political Stability in Haiti

Haiti has a plethora of problems. First, the country has a two hundred year history of political instability dating back to its beginnings as a French slave colony. It successfully fought for its independence, but thereafter it faced repeated foreign and imperialist interventions before acquiescing to a brutal dictatorship for much of the twentieth century. In 1991, Haiti adopted a semi-presidential system, but it has remained volatile. Twice the elected president has been exiled from the country under questionable circumstances. Today Haiti is the poorest nation in the Americas, with over half of the population living in abject poverty. The Corruption Perceptions Index recently ranked Haiti to be the twelfth most corrupt country in the world. More than two thirds of the labor force lacks formal employment. Haiti has a $1.5 billion trade deficit, larger than the government’s entire budget. And the commercial lending rate is the second highest in the world at 45%. If I were advising the Haitian government on how to move forward, I would advocate a three-step process by which they can bolster political stability. It includes measures to prevent corruption, make constitutional amendments to increase voter turnout, and forge stronger ties in Latin America. These reforms will lay the foundation for foreign investment and economic growth, thereby improving the quality of life for Haiti’s citizens.

The first goal should be reducing corruption in Haiti, the effect of which should not be underestimated. A 2000 study concluded that a 1% increase in corruption correlated with a .72% decrease in economic growth (Mo, 2001, p. 77). According to the author, “The most important channel through which corruption affects economic growth is political instability” (Mo, 2001, p. 66). Thus, in establishing political stability, reducing corruption is essential. To do this, Haiti should invite NGOs from around the world to monitor corruption in the country and publish reports with constructive policy recommendations. This should yield good ideas, and the NGO employees will require services that can help the Hatian economy. Moreover, the government can insist that NGOs hire Haitians for all of the design, construction, and maintenance of their facilities. Most helpful would be a stipulation that educated Haitians could shadow NGO administrators to learn public management, a tactic that could improve civil society in Haiti for the long term. In this way NGOs can monitor corruption while providing jobs and important knowledge to the community.

Of course, this reform requires that Haiti’s government be serious about fixing corruption. For these NGOs to be effective they must have autonomy to observe and publish what they wish, which could cause negative media attention and backlash against the government. However, the gains in transparency and accountability will pay dividends when both the country’s people and foreign investors believe the environment for everyday life and commerce is safe from corruption.

Haiti must also increase voter turnout, which in the 2006 legislative elections was only thirty percent. To increase this number, Haiti should consider a constitutional amendment to allow national referendums. Many European countries and states in the United States already use referendums. For example, in France the president can choose to pass legislation either through the National Assembly or through a national referendum process. In the United States, states that use referendums to decide policy average a 7% to 9% higher voter turn-out than states that do not have referendums (Tolbert, Grummel, & Smith, 2001, p. 643). Moreover, this gap increases over time, meaning that referendums lead to an increasingly engaged populace (Tolbert, Grummel, & Smith, 2001, p. 644). If such an amendment were passed in Haiti, national referendums could build trust between the citizens and the government, making more people directly involved with the political process and legitimizing the government.

Admittedly, the inclusion of national referendums comes with political risks. When French President Jacques Chirac unwisely used a national referendum for ratification of the European Union Constitution in 2005, it led to politically embarrassing results. Referendums in Haiti should only be used for legislation with highly predictable outcomes that will increase national unity and the visibility of the government. If used recklessly, a national referendum could easily give away to an unpredictable situation.

Finally, Haiti must protect against the outside interventions—most recently supported by the United States—which have plagued the nation’s stability and security for two hundred years. Importantly, the United States provides most of Haiti’s development aid and American consumers purchase 71% of Haiti’s exports (Central Intelligence Agency: The World Factbook). For this reason, Haiti cannot—and should not—attempt a “go-it-alone” development strategy. Rather, Haiti should continue the foreign policy of President Rene Preval that has built stronger economic and political ties with Venezuela and Cuba. This policy should be expanded to include a strong relationship with Brazil. Since 2004 the United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti has been mainly composed of Brazilian soldiers and led by a Brazilian commander. Thus, Brazil has a standing relationship with Haiti to protect its population. Haiti should become a close ally with Brazil because of its economic power and geopolitical standing, which can serve as a counter-balance to Haiti’s economic dependence on the United States. Similar balancing act strategies are currently being applied in Eastern Europe, where countries like Poland and the Czechs Republic have sought NATO membership and military relationships with the United States to protect themselves from being at the mercy of Russia’s influence (Coyle & Samson, 2008, p. 11).

Even so, Haiti’s leaders should remain aware that this foreign policy can create tension. In balancing its relations with the United States by becoming closer with Brazil, Haiti should take heed of recent events in Georgia. Georgia has sought to counter its historical ties to Russia with candidacy in NATO and close partnerships with the United States. Of course last year this foreign policy contributed to their defeat in the South Ossetia War against Russia. In the case of Haiti, intervention by the United States is less likely as long as the country’s internal politics are stable. Nevertheless, Haiti’s government cannot forget that the vast majority of their development aid and trade comes from their powerful neighbor to the North.

Today Haiti faces more challenges than almost any nation in the world. The key to raising economic growth and improving the quality of life for Haiti’s people is ensuring political stability. This reform strategy outlines preventing corruption, adding a national referendums process, and expanding the foreign policy of Latin American integration. With these measures, Haiti’s government will be safer, and its people will be in a better position to improve their lives.

Should the United States Be Blamed for the Failed Hungarian Revolution?

In the summer of 2008, I traveled around Hungary with a group of twenty students. In every facet of society that we explored, a common theme and historical landmark was Hungary’s failed revolution of 1956. That year students in Budapest, Hungary launched a revolution against the Communist government. In the initial fighting Soviet forces withdrew from Hungary’s urban areas, and it looked as though the Soviets might give up Hungary. Ten days after the revolution began, however, Soviet tanks entered Budapest and recaptured the country.

Approximately 200,000 Hungarian refugees fled from the violence. When U.S. State Department and intelligence officials interviewed them, these refugees said they felt deceived by the United States and by the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). They claimed the United States’ Radio Free Europe had broadcast messages of hope implying that Western military assistance was coming to help Hungary. From my time in the country—even 50 years later—I could see that many Hungarians still blame the United States for the failed revolution of 1956. I chose to analyze this topic for my American Foreign Policy class here at Boğaziçi University in Istanbul, Turkey. In doing so I hoped that I could answer several questions.

Why did the United States not intervene? Why did the Soviet Union change its position and crush the revolution? And did the United States deceive the Hungarian people? In short, should the United States be blamed for the failed Hungarian revolution? Answering these questions requires an understanding of both U.S. foreign policy and the security of the Soviet Union in the Cold War, as well as an investigation of Radio Free Europe’s broadcasts in October 1956.

At the beginning of the Cold War, the United States dominant foreign policy strategy was containment of the Soviet Union—the Truman Doctrine. In a speech to Congress in 1947, President Truman promised that the United States would “support free peoples who are resisting attempted subjugation by armed minorities or by outside pressures,”—“outside pressures” obviously referring to the Soviet Union.

When the Hungarian Revolution occurred nine years later, U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower wanted to prevent a hot war with the Soviet Union, and he considered the United States’ economy its most effective weapon. When Hungarian students initiated their revolution, Eisenhower thus had a difficult foreign policy decision to make; Hungary fell within the Soviet Union’s accepted sphere of influence and intervention could escalate out of control. Moreover, maintaining control of Hungary did not qualify as Soviet expansion—they already owned it. As such Eisenhower ultimately decided not to intervene. Eisenhower’s decision risked emboldening the Soviet Union, but it also maintained the status quo without threatening the USSR’s internal security.

This last point is particularly important, and it requires an understanding of Soviet foreign policy. In 1956, The Soviet Union was becoming less monolithic. According to the recorded minutes of a meeting between the Soviet leaders on October 24, 1956, Nikita Kruschev argued that they should not overreact to the Hungarian Revolution. He explained:

“We are not living as we were . . . when only one party was in power. If we wanted to operate by command today, we would inevitably create chaos. . . . [W]e cannot permit this to turn into polemics between fraternal parties because this would lead to polemics between nations.”

Moreover, Kruschev thought military measures were not necessary because—in his view—the Hungarian Revolution was an economic, not ideological, struggle. Referring to a recent strike by laborers, he asked:

“Did they refuse to work because some ideological matters were unclear to them or because they were opposed to the Soviet regime? No, they refused because basic economic and social issues had not been resolved.”

This explains why the Soviet Union did not immediately crush the Hungarian Revolution. However, over the next week Soviet opinion changed because leaders, including Kruschev, began to see the foreign policy implications of an independent Hungary. On October 31, minutes from another meeting of Soviet leaders quote Kruschev as saying:

“We . . . should not withdraw our troops from Hungary and Budapest . . . If we depart from Hungary, it will give a great boost to the Americans, English, and French--the imperialists. They will perceive it as weakness on our part and will go onto the offensive.”

Indeed, the Hungarian Revolution’s failure was decided the moment Soviet leaders realized that losing Hungary would hurt Soviet prestige and bolster Western confidence. More to the point, if the more independent Hungarian government were to withdraw from the Warsaw Pact—one of the demands of the student protesters—the Soviet Union would lose a critical buffer country to protect it from the West, which was strategically unacceptable.

In retrospect, the Hungarian Revolution was a predictable failure. U.S. foreign policy was to prevent Soviet expansion through propaganda, not nuclear war. Likewise, Soviet foreign policy relied on an image of strength to protect against Western incursion, and the Eastern European buffer zone was the Soviet Union’s primary security concern. So why do Hungarians blame the United States and Radio Free Europe for their failed revolution?

Weeks after the Revolution, an internal investigation into Radio Free Europe’s broadcasts revealed there had been suggestions of a Western rescue given to the Hungarian people. According to the report, four broadcasts went beyond US official policy with statements like, if “the Hungarians hold-out for three or four days, then the pressure upon the government of the United States to send military help to the Freedom Fighters will become irresistible!” Another broadcast stated that, “Western reports show that the world’s reaction to Hungarian events surpasses every imagination. In the Western capitals a practical manifestation of Western sympathy is expected at any hour.” While there is no evidence that Radio Free Europe’s broadcasts incited the revolution, broadcasts delivered after the conflict began were more enthusiastic than US official policy warranted. The report concludes that, “We now see clearly that it would have been wiser never have to permitted such programs at all.”

I do not think the United States should be blamed for the failure of the 1956 Hungarian Revolution. Intervention would have contradicted the United States’ foreign policy and escalated tensions with the USSR—perhaps to a catastrophic level. Nevertheless, poor monitoring of Radio Free Europe led to false promises of Western assistance. How many of the two-and-a-half thousand Hungarians that died in the Revolution kept fighting when it would have been better to flee because they thought the U.S. and NATO were coming? The United States is not at fault for the years of Soviet control after 1956—nothing reasonable could have prevented this. But U.S. actions in Central Europe contributed to many people’s deaths. If I were Hungarian, I would be mad about it too.

Zhang Yimou and "Hero"

In 2002, Zhang Yimou’s film Hero reached American audiences. It presented striking imagery, entertaining fight scenes, and a satisfyingly easy-to-understand conclusion. However, the film’s visual flourishes were so aesthetically pleasing that few questioned their substance. In this review I hope to assess these visuals beyond aesthetic appeal and compare Hero to one of Zhang Yimou’s earlier films, Raise the Red Lantern.

Hero begins with a nameless warrior, played by Jet Li, who brings a bounty to the monarch of the Qin Kingdom in 4^th century B.C. China. He earns an audience with the king by defeating three of the ruler’s enemies—Long Sky, Flying Snow, and Broken Sword. With each story of victory, the warrior is allowed closer to the king, until he is ten paces away, just close enough to kill him—if he wants to.

The most recognizable aspect of Hero is its visual imagery. The first major fight is filmed in black and white; characters float or fly when battle calls for it; warriors spar over beautiful lakes and among forests with swirling leaves. Likewise, Yimou uses slow motion photography to emphasize drama, which might have had an impact if Yimou had not used it in every scene.

At times these visual flourishes aptly assist the narrative. Characters’ costumes and environments are colored to reflect their personalities. Yimou’s use of color is symbolic and visually satisfying, albeit overt. While the imagery is heavy-handed, it is what attracts many people to the film and makes it a memorable viewing experience.

However, there are several smaller artistic choices in Hero that are not effective. Yimou’s attempts to integrate imagery of water continually fail, primarily because of distractingly bad visual effects and awkward photography. Also, while the music of the film is quite good, it sounds too much like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon—Tan Dun composed for both films. Finally, there is a scene with particularly poor effects in which Flying Snow and the warrior protect Broken Sword from volleys of arrows. In a film that emphasizes aesthetics so much, these shortcomings are all the more disappointing.

It’s also useful to compare Hero’s visual elements with Zhang Yimou’s 1991 film, Raise the Red Lantern. In that story, a young college student becomes the fourth wife of a rich man and a victim of the household’s strict, chauvinist traditions. Most of the film features red light to symbolize sex and ironically represent romance. The palate shifts to colder blues and whites as the story becomes increasingly tragic.

Raise the Red Lantern also shows Yimou’s sensitivity toward composition. In that film Yimou’s camera remains static and rigid like the social structure that traps the characters until the film’s climax, when Yimou changes to handheld cinematography at just the right moment. By contrast, in Hero, Yimou abandons his static camera for sweeping cinematography that seems to move with the wind, but which is used far too frequently to be effective.

Yimou’s films are unquestionably beautiful, but their symbolism and meaning have disappeared. In interviews Yimou says that his goal is to give audiences visually poetic moments they will remember forever. Perhaps he succeeds in this endeavor. But personally, the catharsis I feel at the ending of Raise the Red Lantern is more memorable and more satisfying than the many times that I admire the pretty colors of Hero.

Likewise, comparing Hero to Yimou’s other films raises obvious questions about how his politics have changed. Raise the Red Lantern is widely regarded as an eloquent criticism of China’s Communist government dictating the behavior of its citizens according to traditionalist ideologies. Indeed, Zhang Yimou’s father was a major under Chiang Kai-Shek, and his brother fled to Taiwan with the nationalists in 1949. Yimou himself worked for eight years on farms and in a cotton mill as a result of the Cultural Revolution. The Chinese government initially banned the release of Raise the Red Lantern because of its political criticisms, and critics around the world praised Yimou for his film’s relevance to contemporary events.

However, Hero is an undeniably patriotic and nationalist film. At the film’s end, the Qin Emperor gives an emotive speech justifying his brutal conquests as a campaign to unite China. Broken Sword explains that the warrior should not kill the king by writing two words, “Our Land.” And the film’s final shot falls on the Great Wall of China, a symbol of China’s historical achievements and proud history, as well as its desire to be sovereign from the rest of the world. With these symbols, Yimou defends the Chinese government of today, which actually assisted with the film's production. And in 2008, the Chinese government hired Yimou to direct China’s opening and closing ceremonies for the Olympics, certainly a sea change from when his films wouldn’t be released.

Yimou’s ideological shift from Raise the Red Lantern to Hero is profound. It is possible that as China has progressed and grown over the last decade, he has had a genuine change of heart regarding his government. However, Yimou claims that he has no interest in politics and his films are not meant to have any political commentary. If he is truly apathetic, then his political statements in earlier films appear to have been as superficial as his showy uses of color today. If his seeming ideological shift is the result of weak artistic integrity or intellectual dishonesty, film critics have been victimized by a practical joke.

People interested in Yimou’s political leanings will probably have to watch his future films to complete this analysis. But frankly, after House of Flying Daggers and Curse of the Golden Flower, his movies are hardly good enough to justify the interest.

Obama's Government by Symposium

I remember watching the presidential debates between Barack Obama and John McCain. After the first debate I thought Obama—my preferred candidate—had handled himself well, but I was disappointed that he appeared much less aggressive than Senator McCain. McCain lambently dismissed Obama’s arguments, repeatedly saying he “doesn’t understand.” I waited for Obama’s counter-attack, but instead he was frustratingly passive.

Of course, by the third debate, this pattern had made John McCain appear condescending, grouchy, and even angry. Obama—while not full of fiery passion—was calm and collected.

This summer, Republican leaders and Blue Dog Democrats made everyone doubt whether the health care bill could pass the House of Representatives. Commentators said the much-discussed “public option” was dead, and they criticized the president for remaining aloof in the debate. However, as the summer neared its end, support for health care reform began returning. A poll by the Pew Research Center in mid-September showed that a majority of Americans thought the opponents of health care reform had been “rude and disrespectful.” Charles Blow of The New York Times observed that “While anger can simmer forever, overheated outrage is exhausting and ultimately counterproductive.” Of course, the health care bill passed the House of Representatives—with a public option. It now has a difficult path to tread in the Senate, but this is the furthest health care reform has come under any president. In the same column, Blow compared Obama to the tortoise from Aesop’s Fable, “The Tortoise and the Hare.” In his presidential debates and health care reform, Obama seemed to be playing a longer game than everyone else.

The process of Obama’s decision on Afghanistan may have proven Blow’s metaphor. Two months ago, General McChrystal’s recommendation for 40,000 more soldiers was leaked to the media, and Obama came under intense pressure to either double down in Afghanistan or withdraw. Initially, commentators commended the president for taking time to carefully choose a way forward. Eventually, opinion on Obama’s reticence changed. Roger Cohen of The New York Times called this period “the long think.” John McCain criticized the president for “sounding an uncertain trumpet.” Most justifiably, our allies in NATO grew frustrated. Leaders like Gordon Brown of the United Kingdom—whose party has become the second-most popular in Britain—had committed more troops to an unpopular war in Afghanistan, and now the American president was considering withdrawing altogether. The Canadian Defense Minister, Peter MacKay, described Obama’s hesitation as “not helpful.”

The president even announced his final decision in stages. More soldiers. 30,000 more soldiers. 30,000 more soldiers quickly deployed. 30,000 more soldiers quickly deployed and quickly brought home. When Obama finally spoke to America, it was an explanation, not a battle cry. American columnists disagreed about the wisdom of Obama’s decision, but most of them voiced faith in his thought process.

David Ignatius of The Washington Post described Obama as “cool and analytical . . . focused and precise. He didn't talk about victory, and he didn't raise his voice. He did not attempt to convey the blood and tears of the battlefield, or the punishing loneliness of command. Even in this most intense and consequential decision of his presidency, he remains ‘no-drama Obama.’”

David Brooks wrote that Obama had negotiated the arguments for and against the war “in a serious manner,” and he was taking “brave political risks.” Brooks praised the president’s pragmatism, saying that—while in a perfect world Obama’s troop increase would have been larger—an increase of 30,000 soldiers and a quick withdrawal “may be the best strategy under the circumstances.”

Finally, in his article opposing the troop surge in Afghanistan, Tom Friedman’s tone was apologetic, as though he wanted to be an Obama believer, but just couldn’t. “I recognize that there are legitimate arguments on the other side . . . [T]he president lucidly argued that opting for a surge now to help Afghans rebuild their army and state into something decent . . . offered the only hope . . . to bring long-term stability to that region. May it be so.”

David Brooks most aptly described Obama’s coolness, labeling his governing style as “biased toward complexity.” Brooks concluded that “it is in Obama’s nature to lead a government by symposium. Embrace the complexity. Learn to live with the dispassion.”

Indeed, Obama has consistently forsaken bluster for consideration, frustrating his supporters and outlasting his opponents. Think back to the news media in the run-up to the Iraq War. American society was in a different place then, but our best columnists—people who must lead the way in a democracy—were angry and dismissive toward opponents. Much of the country seems to be adopting some of Obama’s rationality and dialectical style.. If Obama continues to strike this rhetorical balance accurately—and if his decisions pan out to be good ones—I think one of his most significant contributions as president may not be any individual policy, but rather a change in temperament in our government and a slight curve toward cold pragmatism in our policy-making.

Where is Drew Brees?

This week the New Orleans Saints improved their 2009 record to 11-0. They are stıll very far from a Super Bowl Championship, but I am enormously proud of their accomplishments this season. I am particularly impressed by the Saints’ quarterback, Drew Brees. When Drew Brees joined the Saints franchise in 2006, he led the team to its greatest heights in 40 years—the NFC Championship game. Last year he became only the second quarterback in NFL history to pass for more than 5000 yards in a single season. And this year he leads the NFL in touchdown passes and quarterback rating.

This is why I was offended several weeks ago when former NFL coach Jimmy Johnson compared Drew Brees and Eli Manning. When asked if he would rather have Drew Brees or Eli Manning as the quarterback for his football team, Coach Johnson explained that Drew Brees could play good football no matter who his teammates were. However, on a team with a strong supporting cast, Eli Manning could accomplish more because of his superior talent. Eli Manning is an average quarterback blessed with a great defense and a bruising power running game. He occasionally excels when the game is on the line (as he did in Super Bowl XLIII), but he is ultimately a game manager. To analyze whether Drew Brees was an elite quarterback or an equal to Eli Manning, I compared the statistics of Drew Brees, Tom Brady, and Peyton and Eli Manning over the last four years.

Diving into the numbers, over the last four years Drew Brees has thrown for more passing yards (17,027) than his three competitors. Peyton Manning and Tom Brady are both relatively close (16,394 and 15,731 yards, respectively), while Eli Manning falls far behind with only 12,502 passing yards.

Likewise, Brees has thrown 115 touchdowns over the last four seasons. Peyton Manning has thrown 113, and Tom Brady leads the way with 120. Eli Manning has thrown only 86 touchdowns over the same time span.

Drew Brees and Eli Manning are closer in interceptions. Drew Brees has thrown 55 in the last four years, while Eli Manning has thrown 58. Peyton Manning and Tom Brady are considerably better, with only 46 and 42 interceptions, respectively.

Finally, Drew Brees’ quarterback rating over the last four years is 98.5. Tom Brady boasts the same 98.5 rating, while Peyton Manning’s is slightly higher at 99.3. Eli Manning’s rating is a drastically lower 81.5.

So why was Drew Brees compared to Eli Manning? One obvious explanation is that these three quarterbacks all have Super Bowl rings, whereas Brees has only reached the Conference championship game once—and he lost.

I also wondered if perhaps Brees had been under-performing in games that should have showcased his talent, so I looked at each quarterback's statistics in nationally televised football games. In such games, Peyton Manning averages 275 yards, 2 touchdowns, and less than one interception per game, equaling a quarterback rating of 97. In these contests he also has a winning percentage of 64.7%. Tom Brady has similarly done very well in such games, averaging 253 yards, 1.79 touchdowns, and only .82 interceptions per game for a total quarterback rating of 92.8. While his stats are slightly less impressive than Manning’s, his winning percentage is an astounding 75.8%. Importantly, Drew Brees has played less well in nationally televised games, averaging 273 yards, 1.64 touchdowns, and a marginally higher 1.21 interceptions per game. His quarterback rating compares decently, at 90.2, but his winning percentage is only 40%.

Drew Brees’ passing yards, touchdowns, and quarterback rating all suggest that he is an elite football player. It certainly admonishes him of unfavorable comparisons to Eli Manning. However, Drew Brees’ numbers have not translated to reputation because he has never had enough talent around him to make a successful Super Bowl run. For related reasons, he does not have any MVP trophies. And in games where the whole country can see his ability, he has not always delivered.

Last Monday night, I woke up at 3a.m. in Istanbul, Turkey so I could watch the Saints on Monday Night Football as they defeated Tom Brady and the Patriots 38-17. Brees threw for five touchdowns and had a perfect quarterback rating 158.3. I believe the success of the Saints organization and Brees’ performance on national television are finally bringing him due recognition. If this year he should win a Super Bowl trophy—inşallah—I hope he will join Tom Brady and Peyton Manning atop the league, en route to what might be a Hall of Fame career.

Film Retrospective of the 2000s: Part I

I admire people who can analyze individual events and accurately place them into a useful context. David Brooks of The New York Times excels at this, and as such he might be my favorite opinion writer. For Brooks every event is a notch in a cultural movement traceable to colonial America, or a degree of movement in the swinging pendulum of politics. I try to model my own critical thinking after this so that I might recognize broad trends in politics, sports, and film.

With the end of the 2000s approaching, I naturally feel moved to contextualize the movies of the last decade. But I’m mostly inept at doing so. I’m able to understand the previous 70 years of cinema—I’ve read books that explain them. But for me the 2000s remain a series of disparate events. I don’t know the broad trend that I could identify and thusly mark myself as a useful film critic. As such, I’m left with smaller ideas, which lamentably lack a visionary unity to make one proud. I’ll offer these smaller notions over the next few days and weeks, beginning with this.

In the 2000s many American directors made good films, but no new directors emerged who have guaranteed themselves a place among masters.

In the 1990s, David Fincher established himself with Seven and Fight Club. Both films reflected sardonic humor and stylish storytelling with a social consciousness that wasn’t overbearing. In the 2000s films like Zodiac and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button continued to show his talented direction, but the films themselves were underwhelming. Most importantly, his films lacked an ideology and authorship. Instead, he offers the technical prowess of a very good director, but not a great filmmaker.

Paul Thomas Anderson also released two impressive ensemble films in the late 1990s—Boogie Nights and Magnolia. His follow-up film in 2002, Punch-Drunk Love, was self-conscious, a film with a typically indie plot attempting to be more than it was. Thankfully, his next film, There Will Be Blood, reproved his formidable directing talent. While that film includes brilliant individual scenes, the whole is less than the sum of its parts. It lacks an effective emotional core, and the plot is simply not interesting enough. I have hopes that Paul Thomas Anderson may have his best days ahead of him, but in the 2000s he did not progress artistically.

Likewise, Sam Mendes made his film debut in 1999 with American Beauty. His follow-up films include Road to Perdition, Jarhead, and Revolutionary Road, all of which are well-executed movies. Even more so than Fincher, Mendes’ films have praiseworthy production values, but lack artistic intensity. His record thus far reflects only a conventionally effective director.

Finally, Darren Aronofsky has provided the most interesting path. He began the decade with the intensely emotional masterpiece Requiem for a Dream. Several years later he released The Fountain. Although a mediocre film, The Fountain was artistically courageous, and Aronofsky defined a personal style that employed powerful music, carefully chosen compositions, and montage editing. Interestingly, he entirely abandoned these formal elements with last year’s The Wrestler, which used hand-held cinematography and straightforward editing. In both The Fountain and The Wrestler, Aronofsky keeps his characters underdeveloped and emotionally simplistic. His challenge of the next decade will be synthesizing his artistic vision with the basic necessities of great storytelling.

Of course, this analysis is limited to American filmmakers. New directors may be emerging around the rest of the world, but in American cinema the next generation has so far mainly sputtered.

War and Film

My grandfather served in the military at the end of World War II, but he never saw combat. Nevertheless, I know he struggled watching war films. I can remember him reading military history, and surely those accounts were vividly written. But films like Saving Private Ryan were apparently too real for someone who knew the young—very young—men that died in World War II.

Indeed, Saving Private Ryan has carved a niche in film history for its “realistic” depiction of World War II. Every war film made since seems to borrow Saving Private Ryan’s cinematography and editing to achieve an effect that puts the audience “in the trenches” or “on the front lines.” Even so, I would argue that none of Ryan’s successors has combined sound mixing, makeup, cinematography, visual effects, and editing as effectively.

Despite all of Saving Private Ryan’s painful shots, it fails to represent the reality of World War II in one extremely important way. The average American soldier in World War II was 26 years old. However, the eight actors dispatched to save Pvt. Ryan in Spielberg’s film had an average age of 30 while filming. Only Giovanni Ribisi—who plays Pvt. Wade, the ill-fated medic—was less than 26 years old. The film’s main role, that of Captain Miller, was filled by 42-year old Tom Hanks.

Another film about World War II released in the same year, The Thin Red Line, is even further from reality. The average age of the actors in that film is 35. Several years later, when Clint Eastwood began preparing Flags of Our Fathers, about the soldiers who raised the American flag at Iwo Jima, media reports said he was looking for young, unknown actors to make the film feel “real.” Of course, the film ended up with minor stars like Ryan Phillippe, Barry Pepper, and Adam Beach. They and their co-stars had an average age of 31 when filming wrapped.

This is a historic flaw with war films. All Quiet on the Western Front was released in 1930, featuring actors with an average age of 29. Likewise, whereas the average age of US American soldiers in Vietnam was 23, the average age of the main actors in Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket was 32. Oliver Stone’s Platoon, also about the Vietnam War, is perhaps the greatest exception, as its actors had an average age of only 26.

So far only a few films have been released about the United States’ current conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. Only one of them has been of high quality—this year’s The Hurt Locker, about a three-person bomb squad in Iraq. According to the Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, the average age of US American soldiers in those countries is 27, but The Hurt Locker’s three main actors have an average age of 34. If one includes the film’s other minor speaking roles, this average increases to 41.

Essentially, war films have continually failed to represent a crucial reality of our country’s conflicts: the men and women fighting and dying are very young. Approximately 2% of high school seniors are entering the military. Boys that can’t grow facial hair or buy alcohol are dismantling bombs and being charged with protecting rightly suspicious populations that speak a different language. The complexity of how a young man or woman summons the maturity to handle these objectives is missing from films.

But much more importantly, filmmakers are inadvertently distorting our understanding of who is fighting our wars. Considering films and television are the only view of war that the vast majority of my generation will ever see (knock on wood), I believe this distortion is very significant for our opinions and policy preferences.

This year’s military recruits might have trouble remembering the Clinton administration and the Spice Girls. Depending on Obama’s strategy for the future of Afghanistan, in a few years we may be sending soldiers who hardly remember 9/11. The stories of young people joining the military should be told by filmmakers, so that more US Americans will understand that we don’t just fight wars for our children—children fight our wars for us.