Snowden

It could be argued that Oliver Stone has long been American cinema’s greatest living philosopher on the subject of heroism—though it’s hardly the only topic that interests him. In the past 36 years he’s made a criminally underrated horror flick (The Hand), a trilogy of increasingly thoughtful Vietnam war movies (Platoon, Born on the Fourth of July, Heaven & Earth), a “musical” (The Doors), historical epics (Alexander, Nixon), a sports film (Any Given Sunday), a love story (World Trade Center), business pictures (the two Wall Street movies), and a trilogy comprised of the some audacious and darkly funny crime movies (Natural Born Killers, U-Turn, Savages). What makes his career so impressive is that the breadth of his interests is matched by the depth of his inquisition and openness, enabling Stone to craft complex, empathetic portraits of men like Richard Nixon and George W. Bush whose politics, one presumes, are quite at odds with the director’s own.
His latest film, Snowden, synthesizes all of the director’s best qualities into one ruthlessly efficient 134-minute package. As the list above demonstrates, Stone has always been a director comfortable operating within a wide variety of styles and genres, and in Snowden he gives you several: It’s a thriller, a love story, a political provocation and a classical ensemble drama in which none of the elements detracts from the others. A master of screenwriting structure, Stone and his co-scenarist Kieran Fitzgerald keep a stunning number of ideas and subplots in complementary balance.
The film’s ultimate power, however, derives from the director’s return to the theme of heroism in a manner that expands upon and deepens his previous work. Many of Stone’s best films (Nixon, Salvador, The Doors) examine profoundly flawed men who are nevertheless capable of greatness, in the process exploring how heroes and icons either transcend or fall short of our—and their own—expectations. He’s a director keenly aware of the power of myths who’s equally aware of the need to deconstruct or answer them. (He famously referred—accurately—to his 1991 masterpiece JFK as a “counter-myth.”)
In Snowden, there’s no need to mythologize. Stone’s dealing with recent history that has already been distorted and put at the service of a multitude of agendas many times over. Instead, he adopts a more realistic (and relatively straightforward) approach, following in the tradition of other excellent films about recent historical events like All the President’s Men and The Social Network—yet his is a less linear narrative than those films, and a more visually expressionistic one. While Snowden might seem traditional compared to the more confrontational Natural Born Killers and formally ambitious U-Turn, it still displays Stone’s constant probing for new modes of cinematic storytelling. In telling the story of Edward Snowden’s journey from idealistic soldier and government employee to fugitive NSA whistleblower, Stone adopts a technique that is both objective and subjective, alternating between clear, concise journalistic detail and stylized imagery that places the viewer in Snowden’s consciousness.