Boo 2, the Sequel — Fabulous Fright Flicks for Halloween Night and a Delightful Day of the Dead

Wow, is it that time of the year already? You betcha! And do we have a bad case of déjà vu all over again! This season, we’re going to pay tribute to Halloween, along with a salute to All Soul’s Day — more commonly known as the Day of the Dead — by making critical offerings to the classic Universal monsters… Reborn, that is!

You will recall that last October 2012, we started the celebration off with a review of the Blu-ray® Disc release of original fright flicks from Universal Studio’s vaunted archives. Such vintage attractions as Dracula, Frankenstein, the Invisible Man, the Wolf Man, the Mummy, the Phantom of the Opera, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon were the so-called attractions, belatedly so, and feted with the deluxe-package treatment they deserved.

But what’s become of these “universally” touted bogeymen (or should I say the “undead”)? Where have they been since their initial release lo these many moons ago? Could they have been hibernating, lying dormant in a state of suspended animation, in anticipation of that fateful day when Blu-ray and DVD would awaken them from their slumber, to walk among us like the bad sequels they were intended to be?

To answer that question, let’s look at what Hollywood has been up to in those intervening years, shall we? Then we will see if the dead are truly dead. First up is that bloody ghoul fellow himself, the Count (and I don’t mean the Sesame Street variety).

Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992)

Gary Oldman as Count Dracula

Gary Oldman as Count Dracula

The conceit of inserting the name of its original author into this film’s title might have led viewers to assume a more faithful rendering of this oft-filmed tale. Except that it, too, includes more than a few embellishments to Irish author Stoker’s Gothic romance (the prologue and battle with Moslem Turks, for one) that do not appear in the novel. Be that as it may, Gary Oldman is the long-lived Count Dracula, here disguised as Romanian Prince Vlad. He’s no Bela Lugosi, but then who is? With his long hair parted down the middle, wistful expression, and tinted blue eye-shades, Gary’s a dead ringer for Ozzy Osbourne (and just as acerbic)! At the opposite acting end, we have Anthony Hopkins as that old vampire slayer, Professor Van Helsing. Hopkins plays him to the hysterical hilt, as if he’s in a constant state of flux. Winona Ryder is Minna Harker, and she’s the best thing in the picture. Her youthful radiance and dark looks contrast markedly with that of Lucy Westenra, played by sexy redhead Sadie Frost. Keanu Reeves strives mightily to maintain his British accent throughout, but manages to imbue Jonathan Harker with a high degree of detachment, as well as varying shades of hair color — an egregious performance. A real Brit, Richard E. Grant is terrific (as always) in the smaller but no less showy part of Dr. Jack Seward, expanded from the book. Bill Campbell is fine as the Texan Quincy Morris (the one with the Bowie knife), as is Cary Elwes as Lucy’s betrothed, Lord Arthur Holmwood. Both characters are customarily eliminated in most versions, but here they’ve been given their appointed task to seek out and destroy the evil vampire before he drives all of London to drink. Tom Waits plays an even loonier Renfield than Dwight Frye ever did: he takes the art of insect-eating to new heights, while longtime character actor Jay Robinson (The Robe) has a bit part as his boss. Francis Ford Coppola directs, using every conceivable film artifice imaginable to convey the story in purely cinematic terms. It’s quite impressive — both visually and aurally — with excellent Foley effects, art direction, sound, and costumes (by Eiko Ishioka). Hard to believe it was all filmed on a sound stage. All the FX were done “in camera,” but the drama lacks thrust at key moments and tends to drag a bit before the wham-bam finale, done as a fast-paced horse chase. The powerful, romantic score by Polish composer Wojciech Kilar, which alternates his orchestra with choral and percussive effects, aids immeasurably. This remake is recommended for horror-film buffs, but with reservations: despite the A-list cast the shudders never materialize, a letdown in that department.

Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein (1994)

Kenneth Branagh as Dr. Frankenstein

Kenneth Branagh as Dr. Frankenstein

Trying to do for Mary Shelley what he did for Bram Stoker, Francis Coppola gave up the directorial reins to actor-director Kenneth Branagh (Coppola produced instead) in the hope that Ken could bring a baroque majesty to this tawdry remake of Frankenstein. That he did, but the results are more on the level of a non-stop MTV video than a midnight matinee. Giving it the old college try, this version (much like its predecessor Dracula above), is much closer to the original novel than any of the previous films ever were. Why, there’s nary an electrical wire or flash of lightning to be found. Instead, we get an old-fashioned laboratory circa the late 18th century. Does the gimmick work? Well…yes and no. The monster, a biologically conceived aberration with a good deal of facial stitching and two mismatched eyeballs, is oddly played by a low-key Robert De Niro (Brooklyn accent intact). He’s poetic to a fault, but not nearly as frightening as he ought to be. In compensation, there’s an excellent supporting cast, with fine turns by Tom Hulce as Branagh’s best pal, Helena Bonham Carter as Elizabeth, Ian Holm as Poppa Frankenstein, Aidan Quinn as Captain Walton (another of those roles eliminated from most versions), and especially former Monty Python regular John Cleese as Frankie’s mentor Professor Waldman, a rather unpleasant chap who, ahem, “contributes” the brains to his star pupil’s failed experiment. The ending is right out of Shelley, which may turn many fans off; but, hey, that’s the story, folks! I only wish this big-budget version were better than it turned out to be. Some of the more horrific elements, such as a bit of chest-ripping and bloody splatters, could have been dispensed with, to the betterment of all concerned. Less is definitely more when it comes to these types of features. In Branagh’s case, more is decidedly more, and then some – and that damn camera never stops moving! Egad, Igor!!! It’s soooo distracting, and that’s about the best one can say for this modern Prometheus.

The Mummy (1999)

The Mummy (1999)

Rachel Weisz & Brendan Fraser

Having nothing in particular to do with the classic Boris Karloff/Karl Freund version, The Mummy is far superior technically to most films of the genre, but devoid of the requisite chills the story demands. After a terrific prologue, it’s strictly tongue-in-cheek all the way, and played mostly for laughs. Many of the gags are in the spirit of silly slapstick, or a Saturday-afternoon kiddie caper, than a grisly horror tale — but that’s okay with us! The film stars Rachel Weisz (The Constant Gardener) as Evelyn, a bumbling British archeologist in search of the City of the Dead; John Hannah as her ne’er-do-well brother Jonathan; and goofball Brendan Fraser (George of the Jungle) as Rick O’Connell, a down-on-his-luck soldier of fortune who sweet-talks them both into taking him on their excursion. The dead come back to life in this action-packed spoof of Mummy movies, which went on to spawn several sequels of its own. Kevin J. O’Connor plays the hapless servant Beni, Israeli actor Oded Fehr displays his matinee-idol looks as Ardeth Bey, a defender of the dead, and Arnold Vosloo is the proto-wrestling incarnation of Imhotep. Also in the cast are veteran character actor Bernard Fox as forlorn English pilot Winston (!) and Jonathan Hyde (Titanic) as a condescending Egyptologist. As an adventure yarn, it’s better than the misguided The Phantom of a few years back, or the underrated The Shadow, but not by much. Along with the latter film, it shares an exotic film score by the late Jerry Goldsmith, the resident dean of movie composers. Good computer graphics and miraculous transformations, however, does not a horror-movie make! There’s a feeling this whole show will play better at home, where the warm, sunset colors and sweeping romantic vistas can be savored at one’s leisure. Still, there’s something amiable, in a slapdash sort of way, about this picture, due primarily to the flair for fun and mischief shown by an energetic cast. The premise is suspect even in our cynical TV age, but please don’t take any of it seriously. I’d place this remake in the “hokey but tolerable” category. It’s certainly better than Hammer Studio’s moth-eaten attempt from 1959, which starred Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. A hollow compliment by any means!

Hollow Man (2000)

Kevin Bacon is the Hollow Man

Kevin Bacon is the Hollow Man

Talk about hollow! This modern-day updating of H.G. Wells’ The Invisible Man is, for lack of a better word, atrocious. I say this despite the Oscar-nominated state-of-the-art effects. The mad-scientist-gone-amok theme is taken to absurd levels with this unnecessarily violent offshoot. In the end, it gets downright mean and vicious, with lead scientist Kevin Bacon (yes, that Kevin Bacon, all six degrees of him) left to his own devious devices. Hollow Man purports to be a modern retelling (kinda, sorta) of Wells’ novella, but what we have instead is an intensely leaden fable with no morals whatsoever, whose overwrought main protagonist experiences an insatiable lust for power, sex and control — with a survival-of-the-filthiest mentality to boot — that gets worse as the movie trips along from crisis to crisis. Dutch director Paul Verhoeven, a master of over-the-top features such as RoboCop, Basic Instinct, Starship Troopers and Total Recall, is exactly that. This leaves the viewer with little to no redeeming characters or values to root for — with the possible exception of the superior FX display, but that’s not saying much. Elizabeth Shue as Bacon’s unattainable love interest; Josh Brolin as the monkey man in the middle; and poor Rhona Mitra as a helpless victim of mad scientist Bacon’s erotic fantasies, do their best with what they get to work with. However, it’s grade Z material from start to finish, unworthy even of a slasher film (a la those Friday the 13th monstrosities), which this one tries to copy. Will someone please make this picture disappear, once and for all? You’d be doing the sci-fi world a favor. And next time an action director wants to try his hand at an Invisible Man redux, have him sit through several screenings of a real classic: James Whale’s fabulous original (he may change his mind after that).

Van Helsing (2004)

Hugh Jackman (right) as Van Helsing

Hugh Jackman (right) as Van Helsing

This is what happens when video game technology and graphic novels collide, creating an amalgam of genres that clash in the most outrageous fashion. But there’s one thing this likeable film’s got going for it that others don’t: it’s fast and furious, with non-stop action and a biggest-bang-for-the-buck mindset that grows on you after repeated viewings. Written and directed by Stephen Sommers (who did the Mummy remake mentioned above), Van Helsing’s got a similar tongue-in-cheek tone (no pun intended). It certainly goes for the throat (now that pun was intended) almost every time. The premise turns the rugged and fairly youngish Van Helsing (a stalwart, leather-clad Hugh Jackman) into a roving Clint Eastwood, a lone gunman-type who tries his best to keep a sharp eye out for werewolves, split personalities, flying vampire babes, treacherous hunchbacks, and wisecracking friars, while at the same time falling for luscious Anna Valerious (slickly played by Kate Beckinsale). If ever there was a man born to play these larger than life characters (think Wolverine from the X-Men series), Hugh Jackman is that man. The prologue, in high contract black-and-white, is just the opening salvo, where Dr. Frankenstein puts in a guest appearance prior to his handy disposal by an ersatz Count Dracula (tongue-tied Richard Roxburgh). Dracula’s not bad, just lacking in charisma. The Frankenstein monster (a hulking Shuler Hensley) isn’t too bad either, although he looks like a walking erector set with a glow-in-the-dark dome for a brain. The Wolfman is here, too (uh, several of them, to be exact) and boy, does he get an extreme makeover! Another aspect I liked is its downbeat ending. No last-minute cavalry to the rescue here, but instead the story sticks basically within the confines of its comic book origins. And maybe that’s how it should be (just waxing philosophical). Robbie Coltrane provides the gelatinous voice of a monstrously-conceived CGI Mr. Hyde, in the London prologue. It seems to me that life back then wasn’t nearly as fast-paced as it’s depicted in this flick, but whatever.

The Wolfman (2010)

Benicio Del Toro as The Wolf Man

Benicio Del Toro as The Wolfman

This technically superior remake, redux, or whatever you want to call it, has an intriguing plot line. It’s based on the old Lon Chaney Jr. version, but goes in a completely and unexpectedly eerie direction. The Wolfman, in this case Puerto Rican actor Benicio Del Toro, is Lawrence Talbot, a Shakespearean lead who looks and sounds about as Shakespearean as I do. Then again, Chaney Jr. didn’t seem quite so British either, nor did he have any physical resemblance to Claude Rains, who played his father in 1941, which is where this edition makes good headway. It’s miles and away the best in terms of special FX, for which it won an Academy Award for Best Makeup (Rick Baker, take a bow). After the death of his brother Ben, Talbot is coaxed by Ben’s fiancée (Emily Blunt) to come back to his ancestral home at Blackmoor, where he learns all about those nasty skeletons in the family closet, courtesy of dear old deranged dad, mischievously portrayed by a real thespian, Sir Anthony Hopkins. From there we’re led on a wild chase through dark forests, gothic interiors, and gypsy camp sites, with the full moon casting its baleful light on a fiercely determined Del Toro — determined, that is, to kill and maim his victims to a bloody pulp. The transformations are spectacular, with the resultant beast looking about as convincing as any we’ve seen (Benicio, is that you under there?). The killings are all-too real as well. Poor Wolfman dies in the end, of course, and that’s to be expected. But the howl continues nevertheless (you’ll see what I mean). The strong supporting cast is headed by Hugo Weaving as Inspector Aberline, perennial fall-guy Art Malik as family servant Singh, Antony Sher as non-believing Dr. Hoenneger, and lending a touch of class is Geraldine Chaplin as the gypsy woman Maleva. Veteran director Joe Johnston (The Rocketeer) took over the helm when several of his predecessors bowed out (lucky them). At first Danny Elfman’s atmospheric score was rejected, then substituted with a rival composer’s, only to be reinstated in the end. The whole trouble-laden production was filmed in England, at Pinewood Studios and on actual locations, which gave it an authentic look and feel.

The Phantom of the Opera (1962)

Herbert Lom in The Phantom of the Opera

Herbert Lom in The Phantom of the Opera

There has been no – let me repeat that – no viable modern film depiction of the old Gaston Leroux gothic-horror tale for many generations, unless you count the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical (which we don’t — and it isn’t very scary, either, so there!). The two most frequently screened versions are, of course, Lon Chaney Sr.’s silent classic from 1925 and Universal’s Technicolor sound remake (from 1943) starring Claude Rains. Chaney’s death-head skull makeup went down in movie history as one of the most horrific ever seen, while Rains’ lamer characterization was nowhere near as shocking — there was more opera than phantom in that one, anyway, than most people cared for, despite the proficiency involved in its making. So where do we go from here? Why, there’s Hammer Studio’s veddy British take, naturally, which stars some hefty players and boasts a modernist music score! And it’s pretty frightening, too, a decent little shocker that will remind viewers of the heyday of Hammer horror. While there’s no Lee or Cushing to push us around, we do have a worthy enough pretender in Herbert Lom as kindly Professor Petrie, a.k.a. the Phantom. His story is told in flashback, revealing that a pompous, no-talent bastard named Lord Ambrose D’Arcy (played with a sneer and a smile by the lugubrious Michael Gough) stole his best work, among which is a complete opera based on Joan of Arc, thus leading poor Prof. Petrie to seek revenge on this miscreant. Unfortunately for Petrie (but fortunately for fans), he gets disfigured and takes up residence in the sewers underneath the opera house, whereby his mysterious appearances and disembodied voice strike terror into the hearts of all within. Now that’s a horror flick! Bravos to all concerned, especially director Terence Fisher, adapter John Elder, cinematographer Arthur Grant, and composer Edwin Astley. The story picks up steam from this point on, and ends up pretty much as we expect it (watch out for that chandelier!). The sterling cast features Lom (in grisly makeup), Heather Sears as the opera singer Christine, stalwart Edward de Souza as the curious Police Inspector Harry Hunter, and the inimitable Mr. Gough. Three cheers!

The Monster Squad (1987)

Cast of The Monster Squad

Cast of The Monster Squad

This is the only picture of the seven above that features nearly all of Universal’s classic monsters (no Invisible Man, sorry), along with the first and, to date, only reappearance of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, here dubbed the Gill-Man. But it isn’t the original Gill-Man, people — far from it! Because of authorship rights and a plethora of legal/copyright issues, the iconic Creature getup is banished from this geeky, mostly kid-point-of-view fright flick that owes much to Richard Donner’s The Goonies from two years prior. It undoubtedly influenced J.J. Abrams and producer Steven Spielberg to shoot Super 8 (Spielberg executive produced Goonies as well). As far as the story goes, Monster Squad is now considered a cult favorite among you fully-grown former yuppies out there. The plot: having come into possession of Abraham Van Helsing’s diary (oh, brother!), the kids of Monster Squad seek out “that old German guy” (Leonardo Cimino) to help read the contents —which, as you may have guessed, is written in German (oh, really?). Anybody out there speak German? Oh, and by the way, is there a virgin around to read it? Well, maybe, maybe not. You see, once every hundred years, someone’s got to read those words from Van Helsing’s diary, which will then open up a portal that will transport … Uh, never mind, just watch the movie. A hilarious take on horror flicks in toto, and kid-friendly matinee features in general, ya gotta love a film that packs more mayhem, dry jokes, foul language, and schlocky effects into its 82-minute running time than most. The stereotypical kiddies, including the fatty, the nerd, the hottie, the know-it-all, the smoker, et al., share a wonderful rapport with each other. Dracula is the hammiest he can be, but what did you expect when he’s played by tall, handsome, smarmy-looking Duncan Regehr? Not-so handsome Tom Noonan is well cast as Frankenstein’s monster (who turns out to be the good guy in this version), along with Carl Thibault as the Wolfman, Michael MacKay as the Mummy, and Tom Woodruff Jr. as the bogus Gill-Man. With the exception of Drac and Frankie, and possibly Wolfie too, the other monsters are just walk-ons (or foot draggers, as the case may be). After a poor opening day in 1987, and a brief two-week run at most theaters, fans of this fun flick will be happy to know it’s available on a deluxe DVD by popular demand, as well as an anniversary Blu-ray Disc edition. And with that, my friends, we come full circle. Hope to see you next time when the undead sequel returns. Trick or treat everybody!

Copyright © 2013 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘Munich’ (2005) — The Modern Jewish Conscience and 9/11

Mathieu Kassovitz & Eric Bana in ‘Munich’ (movierumors.wordpress.com)

Four men are seen at a Paris railway station, heading towards a waiting train. They are special agents, recruited by the Israeli government, and intent on going to Amsterdam to “take care” of a serious problem involving a killing of one of their own. Abruptly, one of the agents, Robert (Mathieu Kassovitz), the group’s designated bomb expert, has second thoughts about the assignment and decides to pull back from the trip. The team leader, Avner (Eric Bana), walks over to him to find out what’s wrong.

“So you’re really going to kill her?” asks Robert, referring to their latest target, a beautiful Dutch assassin who has just murdered their clean-up man, the straight-laced Carl (Ciaran Hinds). Avner nods in ascent. “All this blood comes back to us,” Robert confides.

“Eventually it will work,” replies Avner in the calm, reassuring manner reminiscent of Liam Neeson’s Oskar Schindler. “Even if it takes years, we’ll beat them.”

“We’re Jews, Avner,” Robert insists. “Jews don’t do wrong because our enemies do wrong.”

“We can’t afford to be that decent anymore,” he counters.

“I don’t know that we ever were that decent. Suffering thousands of years of hatred doesn’t make you decent. But we’re supposed to be righteous. That’s a beautiful thing. That’s Jewish. That’s what I knew, that’s what I was taught. And now I’m losing it, and I lose that, that’s … that’s everything. That’s my soul.”

He loses that, and much more, in Steven Spielberg’s thought-provoking suspense thriller Munich (2005), about the aftermath of the massacre of eleven Israeli athletes by the militant Black September outfit during the 1972 Summer Olympic Games in Germany. It’s just one of many scenes in a film that portrays the modern Jewish conscience in an entirely new light, along with displaying a new level of maturity and freedom by one of Hollywood’s most secure filmmakers.

Gone are the warm-and-fuzzy feelings generated by Spielberg’s family friendly alien E.T., as are the deliriously madcap adventures of freewheeling archeologist Indiana Jones. In their place are a sobriety and seriousness of purpose that raise Spielberg’s latest celluloid masterwork to a level far and above the general run-of-the-mill movie fare we’ve come to expect from Tinsel Town.

That he’s able to tackle such a controversial subject as revenge killings in the politically charged climate of the then-current Iraq War is a testament to his ability (and will) in the complacent world of Hollywood cinema.

With its provocative theme, the movie also raised more than a few eyebrows abroad, to include past witnesses to the terrible event as well as the widows of several of the deceased team members. Still, it’s a nonetheless disturbing look at what transpires when overzealous governments forgo logic and reason — no matter how noble the cause — to take up the iron rod of justice; the result being that suspicion is heaped on top of suspicion, paranoia piled on top of paranoia, until all we are left with is the uneasy sense that blind revenge is not the answer.

Scenes re-enacting, and leading up to, the murders themselves are interspersed with those of the special-agent hit squad, hell-bent on exacting an eye-for-an-eye exchange with the Palestinians — or at least, that’s what their government hints at. As if imprisoned by some never-ending nightmare, lead agent Avner relives these same events over and over again, as he tries in vain to rest up after wrestling with his own personal conscience. In the penultimate scene, the selfless act of love (the giving of life) is juxtaposed with senseless acts of unspeakable violence (the taking away of life).

With that in mind, Avner is shown twice performing in bed: once near the beginning of the picture, with his pregnant wife Daphna (Avelet Zurer), just after he accepts his initial assignment; and once more, near the end, before his final confrontation with Israeli government contact Ephraim (the excellent Geoffrey Rush), as he’s about to renounce it. By doing this, the message is made abundantly clear: there is a fine line — a very fine line, it turns out — between love and hate, good and evil, justice and injustice; it all depends on how one chooses to cross it — if one dares to do so.

Eric Bana & Geoffrey Rush (ivid.com)

Eric Bana & Geoffrey Rush (ivid.com)

The last shot in the film (and a most controversial one it is, too) is of the newly constructed World Trade Center, taken from the Brooklyn side of town — an ominous portent of things to come for us Americans in our own “Black September” incident that took place, ironically enough, in the same month (9/11) as the Munich massacres, albeit with almost 30 years of hindsight between them.

We’ve heard Robert’s bold assertion, in the opening section, that he and Avner, if not the whole of Israel, may have strayed too far from their roots in their “righteous” pursuit of their cause, to ever cross back over the line of decency. Ambiguity, then, shares a front seat with uncertainty; their task is no longer fueled by irrefutable moral rectitude as doubts begin to creep in almost from the start — even as the agents are being provided the names, dates, and places of their next victims, but without ever confirming their accuracy or their connection to the original event.

This becomes the movie’s self-fulfilling prophecy: Do we not turn into the very thing we ourselves despise if we partake of the same heinous crimes as those of our foes? Only a director of Spielberg’s clout, stature, and vision — added to this, his new-found flexing of directorial muscle — could have posed such an intriguing question at this point in our history.

Another, even finer example of Spielberg’s newly-acquired freedom behind the lens occurs in the next scene, a superbly choreographed sequence wherein the three remaining agents, after having learned the whereabouts of the treacherous femme fatale, travel by bicycle to her Amsterdam boathouse to permanently dispose of her. Dressed in a silk bathrobe, the Dutch assassin (Canadian actress Marie-Josée Croze) is poised casually on her bed, reading to herself, completely unaware of their presence. Suddenly, the blond Adonis, Steve (Daniel Craig), bursts in, yet she is only mildly taken aback by his audacity.

“Excuse me. Who are you?” she smiles. In the next instant, she spies Avner entering from the side. Her face momentarily contorts to reveal both horror and recognition of the man she originally tried to entice to bed.

“Do you know why we’re here?” Avner quizzes her, spouting the same line he used at his own nearly bungled first assassination attempt early on, in Rome, of one of the alleged masterminds behind the Arab raid on the Olympic Village.

“I want to get dressed, okay?” she asks demurely, but her request has no effect. Avner and Steve coldly go about their business, preparing their weapons for discharge, while the girl opens the dresser drawer behind her, desperately groping for her own firearm. Unable to reach it in time, she decides on another tactic.

“Maybe you want to hire me. You know how good I am.” When this too fails, she is forced into utilizing the only weapon she has left at her disposal: herself.

“No, don’t,” she shudders, lowering her robe to reveal an ample breast. “It’s such a fucking waste of talent.” It is here that screenwriters Tony Kushner (Angels in America) and Eric Roth (The Insider, Forrest Gump) hit pay dirt: offhandedly suggesting the “F” word to mean more than just a strategically placed expletive, it’s the assassin’s last-ditch effort to her foes to forget all about eliminating her. Too late, for Steve and Avner fire their guns, hitting the assassin point-blank in the chest and throat. Emerging dazed from her bedroom, the girl makes for the kitchen area and unsuccessfully tries to pick up her cat, an involuntary act of seeking comfort from a favorite pet amid so much tension and chaos.

“Shell, shell,” orders Avner. The girl plants herself on a chaise lounge, while the two men resume the methodical process of reloading. Gasping for breath, the dark blood oozing out from her wounded windpipe, the girl visibly struggles. Finally, the third agent, Hans (Hanns Zischler), comes in to deliver the deathblow to her forehead. Perhaps out of respect for the deceased, or some misplaced sense of modesty for a fellow covert operative, Avner attempts to cover up her bloodstained private parts.

“Leave it,” Hans tells him. He then proceeds to unveil her limp body for all the world to see, a twentieth-century Whore of Babylon, as it were. Later, Hans acknowledges his lack of compassion for the girl by admitting to both Avner and Steve that he can’t help thinking about the unclothed creature he left behind.

“But you weren’t yourself,” offers Steve by way of explanation. Hans is not convinced. When we next see him, however, he too is found dead, stabbed in the heart by another assassin. The hunter-agents have now become the hunted.

While incidental to the main plot, this innocuous little episode is crucial to a better understanding of the conflict Spielberg has set up within the minds of his main characters. The Dutch assassin interlude, although brief and unfettered, takes place at just beyond the halfway mark — indeed, past the agents’ point of no return. The assassin herself, a tall and gorgeous brunette, stands in sharp contrast to the squat and motherly Israeli prime minister, Golda Meir (Lynn Cohen), who appears briefly in the movie’s opening scenes. Golda represents our Old Testament notion of Israel (or, for the purposes of Spielberg’s film project, the Israel of 1972) — strong, resolute, determined — in the face of such horrible adversity, while the Dutch assassin is our modern-day equivalent.

Marie-Josee Croze & Eric Bana

Marie-Josee Croze & Eric Bana at the hotel bar

When we first encounter the Dutch assassin, she is at a hotel bar, eying the darkly handsome Avner’s features. She’s dressed in a red dress, the stereotypical color of a street-walker. He obediently sits next to her, clearly interested in what she has to sell. She, for her part, doesn’t waste time with pleasantries, but rather lets it slip that she’s about to go up to her hotel room, alone. She then rubs some of her intoxicating perfume onto his bare forearm. Who could resist such a ploy?

But Avner does resist, and furtively leaves the bar. In the lobby, he runs into Carl, the clean-up agent — the one he will eventually seek retribution for — and the one who does not heed his advice to watch out for the “local honey trap.” Avner retires to his room, but cannot get to sleep, especially after hearing his baby daughter’s voice on the telephone. He again goes down to the bar. Finding it empty, he decides to go back and turn in. Just as he’s about to put his key in the door, he notices the assassin’s alluring perfume in the air and follows the scent to Carl’s room across the hall.

“You asshole. I saw her first,” he mutters to himself. But then, his special agent’s sense gets the better of him. As he slowly opens the door, he spots Carl’s naked body sprawled out on the bed. Lifting Carl’s head, he finds a bloody mess on the pillow. We now understand why special agent Hans left the Dutch assassin dressed in nothing but her birthday suit. Having escaped seduction and his own probable demise, Avner comes to the realization that others have been alerted to their game and are, at this moment, tracking them down.

When later he hears the news that the bomb expert Robert has also perished in a so-called freak “accident,” he informs Ephraim that he cannot go on with the mission.

We, too, come to realize that Prime Minister Golda had earlier seduced the fresh-faced Avner (in quite a different manner, of course) into taking on this dangerous assignment, with overly-excessive praise not only for his having been her bodyguard in a previous career with Mossad, but for how truly great a war hero, and loyal friend to Israel, his father had been; and so forth.

It’s plain to see that if one gets into “bed” with the nation, whether in the guise of an experienced elder stateswoman or a beautiful young assassin, one could still wind up a corpse, no matter what the outcome of Israel’s struggles with her enemies might be — a struggle the embittered state is still confronting a generation or more later.

In the same spirit as his Oscar-winning Schindler’s List (1991), and in the post-9/11 productions of Minority Report (2002) and War of the Worlds (2005), Spielberg deserves full credit for having convinced mainstream Hollywood of the necessity in making such a powerful film statement as Munich, considering the cerebral way he has gone about presenting his case to an America seemingly oblivious to world opinion, in regard to her own righteous pursuit of terrorists in war-torn Iraq; the abuse of prisoners at Abu Gharaib; the secret CIA prison camps in Eastern Europe; the unresolved issue of detainees in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba; or the lost opportunities in tracking down those actually responsible for the attacks on 9/11.

We are left wondering at the end if the U.S. has not already fallen victim to the same kind of consequences that befell the modern state of Israel in the wake of the tragedy of Munich. Perhaps she’s even lost her soul. But, as Steven Spielberg has so wisely suggested, if she loses that, that’s everything … Isn’t it? ¤

Munich (2005)

Produced and directed by Steven Spielberg; produced by Kathleen Kennedy, Barry Mendel, and Colin Wilson; screenplay by Tony Kushner and Eric Roth; based on the book Vengeance: The True Story of an Israeli Counter-Terrorist Team by George Jonas; cinematography by Janusz Kaminski; edited by Michael Kahn; music by John Williams; starring Eric Bana, Daniel Craig, Ciaran Kinds, Mathieu Kassovitz, Hanns Zischler, Marie-Josee Croze, Geoffrey Rush, Ayelet Zurer, Michael Lonsdale, and Lynn Cohen. Color, 163 min. Amblin Entertainment, distributed by Universal Studios.

Copyright © 2012 by Josmar F. Lopes