Lincoln

A cursory surface glance on any particular subject is usually not a bright idea. And with Lincoln, it’s downright idiotic to do so. When you think of the subject matter and the director, what immediately pops into your head is a plausible film in which sentimentality overrides all else and there’s an overly mannered and thunderous performance, more to do with imagined iconography than what real research about his character would turn up, from a leading man who is notoriously choosy in his roles.

But Lincoln is none of these things. Instead, it is a film about politics in action, about public and private faces and how they can intersect or clash, and it is glorious done from top to bottom. Steven Spielberg hasn’t made a film this good since AI: Artificial Intelligence. War Horse had its moments, but was too sentimental and obviously grabbing for awards. Lincoln goes about trying to bring to authentic, fully realized life to a man who has become a canonized holy icon in many ways, and it’s in this daring to ground the former president as an actual human being and explore the dirty politics at work both in his home and in Washington at large that makes the film so evocative and effective.

The film probes deeply into both the political life of the 1860s and the personal life of our 16th president. No cast member better highlights and encompasses this duality, and how more often than not how behavior in the social sphere and home life can dovetail and create conflict, than Sally Field as Mary Todd Lincoln. Field takes Mary Todd away from the shrieking hysteric woman she’s often thought of and instead invests in her an aura of sadness, volatile anger and social cunning. There are, predictably, moments when Mary Todd acts out in a way that can only be described as manic depression, but Field is a smart enough actress to know that underneath the hysteria was a tremendous amount of grief over a dead son, isolation from a husband who is being called away to fix various problems in the nation when he can’t fix problems within the home, yet she still mystifyingly finds a way to keep her thoughts and ideas whispered into her husband’s ear. This Mary Todd may or may not be suffering from mental illness, I walked away thinking that she was a highly emotional woman who had suffered a tremendous loss and was feeling alone in a crowded space and righteously angry against a patriarchy that treated her as a mad woman keeping the president from achieving true demagogic status, but she’s no shrinking violet.

And Tommy Lee Jones’ Thaddeus Stevens is another character/metaphoric image for this duality of the public and private sector. In public he is one of the loudest and most radical of supporters for the removal of slavery and making all races equal in the Constitution. He never gives a reason for this in any of the Congressional meetings, but we discover that this passionate belief system is in part because of the romantic relationship he carries on with his house maid (S. Epatha Merkerson, in one of many glorious subtle and well-acted cameo roles). His character’s journey is from radical integrationist to publicly swallowing his convictions, diluting them down to just the abolishment of slavery, so that one small victory may occur. The scene where he goes home and shows his lover the Constitutional Amendment which bans her from ever becoming “property” again is quietly moving. Jones, who excels at playing cantankerous and sarcastic individuals, is a riot. He delivers a typically strong, cranky and acerbic “Tommy Lee Jones” performance in large part, but he also delves into softer, calmer moments with a restraint that is very lovely to see.

And Daniel Day-Lewis for his part manages to once more perform his acting alchemy to transform into another being. His Lincoln is a man made up of dichotomies and home-spun quirks. His penchant for humorous and rambling stories which underscore a point, very subtly, drive home that this is a self-taught man from a quaint, humble background. The stories also slowly make his cabinet members think he’s lost the plot. These moments ground not just the film, but the character of Lincoln far away from the mythic, Christ-like Emancipator and into a more centered and real personage. That he stops frequently to talk with the common people underscores that this is a presidential figure who wanted to do what was right because it felt natural for him, and not because it would buy him up more votes. A scene featuring him talking with a former slave-turned-dress maker (Gloria Reuben) is a thoughtful examination of race relations, where Lincoln tells her that he doesn’t truly know any black people, and in time he will try to, but that they deserve at least a chance at the same opportunities he and his children have had. It’s a small scene, but it sticks with you. Along with Joaquin Phoenix and John Hawkes, this was one of the great male performances of 2012, and has been richly rewarded with nominations and awards.

But the whole cast, filled with numerous bit players since Lincoln, Stevens and Mary Todd are the primary players in this microcosmic look at events, is stellar from top to bottom. Character actors and up-and-comers like Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Hal Holbrook, Lee Pace, David Strathairn, John Hawkes, James Spader, Tim Blake Nelson, Joseph Cross, Jackie Earle Haley, Lukas Haas, Dane DeHaan, David Oyelowo and Jared Harris are all of the supporting figures that I recognized. There are only three notable female roles in the film, and I’ve mentioned them all. They may not get as much to do as the Boys Club of the political arena, but they are each given, at least, one standout scene that lingers long in the memory after the film has ended. Each of these actors brings something unique and well-rounded to the entire film, and there’s not one false or tinny performance in the lot. This is arguably the greatest ensemble of the whole year.

And Tony Kushner has given them brilliant words to work with. Like many of the greatest films, Lincoln is drunk on words and flowing with dialog. The glimpse into the political game is both humorous and trenchant, showing, if nothing else, that we haven’t changed at all in how we run our democracy in the century-plus since. That he managed to make a film about politics so interesting, engaging and alive with real humans interacting and trying to accomplish something is nothing short of a miracle. With any luck, the Oscar for Adapted Screenplay is his to lose.

Like any Spielberg film, the cinematography, costume and production design is top-shelf. The gowns, wigs and interiors feel period authentic to the point where one can practically smell the musk in the air and feel the dirt on the streets. The cinematography, by frequent collaborator Janusz Kamiński, is a beautiful display of light catching the dust in the air and drained of colors to deliriously gorgeous effect. The film looks frequently smoky, and there’s a nice bit of contrasts between the tortured, dark expanses of the White House and the gray, muddled Congress. The scene where Stevens shows his maid/common-law wife the 13th Amendment is lit in warm, earthy tones, I believe this goes a long way in making the moment stick out in my mind.

Clearly, I was enamored with Lincoln from start to finish. I suppose I can see how some people found this movie to be boring – politics in action, the differences and clashes in the public/private sector, and endless streams of words aren’t to everyone’s liking, and the film is more protracted and carefully measured than pure hagiography or liberal masturbatory-fest about the one Republican we all like. Lincoln instead prefers to take Big Ideas and examine them in microcosm. It emerges as a conflicted portrait of a man, who will eventually, through historical revisionism and symbolic handling, become an Icon, who always was and always will be fully formed and stoic. And to think, for the longest time my primary image of Lincoln was the animatronic from the Hall of Presidents at DisneyLand.