J. Edgar
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Today marks the anniversary of when J. Edgar Hoover became the director of the FBI for the United States, so here is a review of Clint Eastwood’s biopic J. Edgar.
Closing out a rather strong decade for Clint Eastwood as a director (especially after his second Best Picture and Director wins for Million Dollar Baby, plus some giants like Letters from Iwo Jima, Mystic River and Gran Torino) was a failed experiment in Hereafter, but at least this melodrama was a creative effort for the cinematic legend. Despite its ineptitude, I can’t profess that this was the start of the decline for Eastwood as an auteur, because a misstep that’s an effort is still an effort. I didn’t bat an eye when I was underwhelmed by this picture, or when the safer films like Invictus and Changeling were released. Eastwood still had a way to his storytelling: here is a man who has lived multiple lifetimes — especially in the film industry — but chose to tell everyday American tales (usually) in the most humble nature, like he was one of us.
However, it was the Hereafter followup that began to concern me. J. Edgar was an Oscar bait film, which wasn’t out of Eastwood’s wheelhouse, but it was one that feels so misguided in many ways. Even the technical aspects fall short; you’d think that they would get the makeup in a film of this magnitude right, but the older years of FBI director J. Edgar Hoover look mortifying (or at least off enough to not work). Eastwood felt like a director that played by his own rules, especially back in the day (look at a film like High Plains Drifter) and really had something to say (Unforgiven was the breath into neo westerns and the final bullet into the back of classic westerns that changed everything). With J. Edgar, it not only felt like Eastwood was abiding by the rules of basic filmmaking — particularly biographical pictures — but it’s as if he forgot what they even were.
Leonardo DiCaprio as the titular director of the FBI is the sole reason to watch J Edgar.
Outside of being a monotonous chore, J. Edgar feels only bearable because of the leading man: Leonardo DiCaprio (who was still in hot pursuit of his first Academy Award) giving the performance his all as John Edgar Hoover (including the many facets of his life). Like always, DiCaprio never feels like he is impersonating someone; rather, he lives as them. Joining him is the always-lovely-but-often-misused Naomi Watts (as secretary Helen Gandy) and the once-liked Armie Hammer (when his career still had promise after The Social Network), but DiCaprio still leaps far ahead of everyone else. He had to, in order to make sure he could pull the entire film by a rope tied to his waist.
There really isn’t much else to say about J. Edgar. It’s boring, forgettable, and as rudimentary as a picture like this could be. With all of its star power, these viscous two hours and twenty minutes still left the smallest of marks of any legacy that are barely noticeable ten years later. It takes a lot of dull greys and browns, feigned dialogue, and voids in charisma and complexity, to make a film by and starring these famous faces that borderline no one remembers, outside of retrospective outlooks like this. For me, it truly was the start of the slowest years in Eastwood’s filmmaking career. Next would come works like the bland Sully, the decent Richard Jewell, the polarizing American Sniper (you can guess which side of the fence I’m on), and more. Even the best of these films are still only pretty good, and they’re by a legend who has done amazing pictures. To me, it all started with the massive shrug of J. Edgar, which is an awards season targeting film with what feels like next to zero authentic ambition. For that reason, I can’t forget it at all.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.