I walked out of the film in the middle when I first viewed it. The representation of Palestinian accents, fanaticism & pot-bellies, coupled with the hunky Jew with a gorgeous wife & time looped slow-mo shots of Jewish blood & pain left with a bitter taste in the mouth & angry at being considered a fool who could be easily manipulated by the director and screen play.
But as talk of the film’s greatness grew amongst peers, I decided, I needed a thorough viewing before I told people it made me sick.
And it was on the second viewing that I discovered, amongst all the lovely halos behind all of God’s Children (come on! don’t tell me you didnt notice the halos? the one which grows like a sun flare as the camera chages angle and zooms into the pensive faces. The same one which happened behind Zeta Jones & Hanks when they kissed in “Terminal”! Aah! there you go!) & the “day-in-the-life-of’s” Bana & his men, some real scenes & characters. Characters whose names I remember. There was Ali, from the stair-case and gunfight, there was Papa & his butcher hands, there was the amorous couple from the adjoining hotel room. Wait a minute K, do you really owe Spielberg a massive apology? Is he really saying something about the inertia of violence and it’s destructiveness? Is he taking a stand on Palestine?
And then it happened! The sex scene. With the wrong flash-back. And it all unravelled. And I got the distinct feeling of of having sat through perfect craft with a very blurred objective. Why did he make the film again?