Behind the shades, Kathryn Bigelow directing Jennifer Ehle in the polarizing, sizzling, Zero Dark 30. Gagging on my tea and biscuits, Saturday. WTF? A congressional committee led by Senator Dianne Feinstein is calling for an investigation of the CIA and whether or not it leaked classified intel to Bigelow, and screen writer, Boal. Demonstrators lined up right behind DiFi to shovel anti torture, anti war protests onto the steaming heap. Everyone wants a piece. In another decade free pub, is always a good thing, right? When it comes to art, who doesn't love controversy. So there I was, spent and riveted by Bigelow's film. Mesmerized by Chastin's performance. Does she ever in her life time receive another role like this? Who knew that a woman was the lead dog, responsible for fingering the compound and taking out OBL? Not me. The scenes depicting water boarding et al were disturbing. But to deny that the USA doesn't torture is bullshit. What's really going on here is that the film, blocked it, boxed it, and showed it. Zero Dark 30 is not a documentary; for fuckssake, this is a Hollywood production. Poetic license rules. The greatest manhunt in history doesn't take place in a perfect world: a world without war. Yesterday, as the credits rolled, in the dark, a woman seated right behind me screamed that the war was about oil and blood money. A guy responded that he fucking served in Iraq. Another voice yelled what about the 4,000 who died. The theater never turned on the house lights. Outside there were a couple of security guards. Controversy. Dialogue. Bring it on. Zero Dark 30 is the film of the year.
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