Lincoln (2012): Living HIstory

A friend of mine, also a movie lover, told me last week that he had just seen Spielberg’s Lincoln and did not like it at all. Too much Spielbergian pulling at the heartstrings, he said. I pointed out that Spielberg loves to do this and does it well; in fact in his best works, like Schindler’s list and Saving Private Ryan, our emotions are plucked over and over again. My friend owned that he had not liked those pictures either. So be forewarned – if you don’t like Steven Spielberg pictures, you may want to skip Lincoln. Everyone else should run out and see it.

In Lincoln, Spielberg, the  most successful motion picture director of our lifetime has made a beautiful, entertaining, instructive, and emotionally compelling historical film. I can’t say that I’m surprised, but I am certainly pleased. Lincoln is a masterwork, a must see movie, and a top contender for Best Picture of the Year.

Lincoln also boasts likely candidates for Best Actor, in the amazing Daniel Day-Lewis; Best Screenplay, beautifully and evocatively written by Tony Kushner (Angels in America); Best Supporting Actor and Actress, with Tommy Lee Jones fascinating as bewigged Congressman Thadeus Stevens and Sally Field eating up the scenery as Mary Todd Lincoln; Best Cinematographer, in the wondrous and dexterous camera work of longtime Spielberg partner Janusz Kaminski; plus awesome (and seamless) art direction, period-perfect costume design, you name it. If there’s a fault in this project, it’s hard to spot, except, perhaps the overly schmaltzy, somewhat intrusive musical score by John Williams (who’s already won five Oscars, but hopefully won’t get the nod here). 

There are so many terrific performances in Lincoln, that it’s a shame some of the other notables, such as James Spader (as W.N. Bilbo) and John Hawkes (as Robert Latham) playing two colorful, and not completely savory, political operatives, may get overlooked during the upcoming award season. Then there’s Lee Pace as the smarmy, confederate-hugger (and former NYC mayor), Fernando Wood, a pretty damn good villain in this political drama; and David Strathaim as  Lincoln’s beleaguered Secretary of State, William Seward. Joseph Gordon-Leavitt is in this one, too, and is fine as troubled, estranged older son, Robert.

Based in part on Doris Kearns Goodwin’s 2005 history, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln, Kushner’s script smartly focuses on the last four months of President Lincoln’s life, and mostly on January 1865, a time when he and the  ‘radical’ Republicans were trying desperately to muster enough votes in Congress to pass the Thirteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, banning slavery. There were questions about the legality of Lincoln’s famed Emacipation Proclamation, and, in any event, it was generally believed that once the war ended, it’s power and validity would end as well. Although Republicans were the majority party in the House, a two-thirds majority was needed to pass the constitutional amendment,  and the Democrats were generally opposed. The savage Civil War was about to end, and Lincoln and his allies wanted the vote on the amendment to occur before that happened, fearing that national reunification might dissipate enthusiasm for the cause (or allow Southerners back into the chamber to vote against it). Yet rumors were flying that the Confederacy was ready to sue for peace.

Thorny and dramatic dilemma here: stall the peace to gain black emancipation, while allowing thousands more to die on the battlefield? Or end the war, risking the continuation of slavery, against which it was fought. And make no mistake, notwithstanding revisionist theories to the contrary, this war was fought over slavery.

Framing this story around the Thirteenth Amendment vote and focusing on this narrow window of time was a brilliant strategy. It allowed Kushner and Spielberg to focus on the key moral and political issue of the time, and freed them from the obligation to detail a mass of historical events telling the story of Lincoln’s life. Instead, as the 16^th President tells folksy (and crude and witty) stories, meets with his cabinet and political advisors, plays with his young son Tad, argues with and consoles his wife Mary, tours battlefields and, touchingly, sits in solitude with the weight of all these things on his slopping shoulders, we see the many sides of Abraham and get a sense that we know the man – the real man, not the mythical Great Man.  Yet a great man he surely was.

I can’t say enough in praise of Daniel Day-Lewis’ performance in the lead role. It is a joy to behold. He brings Abraham to life as a complicated, thoughtful, wise, caring, politician, husband, father, and presidential mensch.  His face is lined, his walk is stiff, his eyes are sorrowful, humorous, or loving as the occasion requires. When he starts spinning one of his yarns, or when he displays his rare, but intensely heartfelt anger, we are in his thrall; and so is Day-Lewis the actor: so much so, that he becomes Mr. Lincoln. Apparently, this was felt by Spielberg and his fellow actors on the set, as well; and the other cast members immersed themselves in character to a much greater than is common as well, while filming.

After seeing this, I dipped back in the archives and watched John Ford's 1939 Young Mr. Lincoln, starring young Henry Fonda (the film that brought Hank to prominence, in fact). That film is a classic, and worth seeing, depicting Abe back in Springfield Illinois, as an aspiring young attorney. Fonda's Lincoln is ambitious, idealistic, and folksy as hell, and a right good, clever lawyer, too. But Day-Lewis' impersonation is the one for the ages.

 There are thankfully few battle scenes in Lincoln, but there are enough, as well as depictions of the aftermath; and we see and feel the savagery of this great war, and the terrible hardships its soldiers and their families endured. This is not merely for historical context, but also serves as emotional fuel for the great debates unfolding before us in the fractious House of Representatives. That body was polarized then as it is now, but to twenty-first century viewers here’s a useful tip: when this movie refers to “Republicans” think Democrats; and when it refers to “Democrats”, think Republicans.

Of course, we all know what happens to Lincoln, and we know the fate of the Thirteenth Amendment. Never mind that, it’s part of the magic of this picture that it packs a wallop nevertheless. There are moments when you may get misty, or feel a lump in your throat, or a swelling of patriotic pride. That’s a good thing, and Spielberg delivers. See it on the big screen, if you can.

In Wide Release.