LoungeMachine
06-25-2006, 08:01 PM
''The Road to Guantánamo' Offers Grim Chronicles That Anger and Stir
By A. O. SCOTT
Published: June 23, 2006
THE release of "The Road to Guantánamo" comes shortly after the suicides of three prisoners held in American custody in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, and in the midst of renewed concern, in the United States and abroad, about the mistreatment of detainees and the policy of holding suspected terrorists at the detention camp. In a sense, then, the film, which is based on the testimony of three British Muslims captured in Afghanistan in 2001 and held at Guantánamo for more than two years, does not tell us anything new. It is nonetheless a wrenching and dismaying account of cruelty and bureaucratic indifference, a graphic tour of a place many citizens of Western democracies would prefer not to think about.
It should be emphasized that the movie, directed by Michael Winterbottom and Mat Whitecross, is not a documentary. It does rely on talking-head interviews with the former prisoners — Shafiq Rasul, Asif Iqbal and Ruhel Ahmed, known collectively as the Tipton Three for the town in northern England where they grew up — and faithfully reproduces their version of events. Most of what the audience sees on screen, however, is a re-enactment, conducted mainly by nonprofessional actors. By the time the action reaches Guantánamo — those scenes were shot in Iran — the artifice is unmistakable, since no camera could have penetrated the actual isolation cells, interrogation rooms and chicken-wire cages of Camps X-Ray and Delta. But earlier sequences in Pakistan and Afghanistan have the shaky, grainy urgency of real life captured on the fly.
This is not the first time Mr. Winterbottom has mingled the techniques of documentary and fictional filmmaking; he did it whimsically in his mischievous nonadaptation "Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story," pruriently in the moodily hard-core "9 Songs" and soberly in "In This World," his grim chronicle of young refugees in flight from Afghanistan. Nor is he alone in teasing the cinematic boundary between storytelling and truth-telling. He seems to have been inspired at least partly by Iranian films like "Close-Up," "The Apple" and "Where Is the Friend's House?," which used ordinary people and on-location photography to recreate real events.
Those films can induce a kind of vertigo in the viewer, an almost philosophical confusion about the literalness of the filmed image. And "The Road to Guantánamo" can be disorienting, especially in its first half, as it switches back and forth between the recollections of the three main characters and the raw immediacy of their restaged ordeal. It is sometimes hard to match the speakers with the amateur actors playing them, or to establish a clear sense of who they are.
Curiously, their personalities emerge only in the dehumanized environment of Guantánamo itself, when their heads have been shaved and they are dressed in identical orange jumpsuits. There, as the combination of tedium and brutality stretches time and tests their endurance, the movie begins to gather the emotional force that is likely to leave you sickened, shaken and angry. For their part, the former detainees look back calmly and speak about their worst moments with a combination of detachment and puzzlement. How did this happen to them?
"The Road to Guantánamo," relying as it does on their testimony, does not entirely answer that question. In September 2001, Mr. Iqbal flew to Pakistan to meet the woman his mother had chosen for him to marry. Shortly afterward, Mr. Ahmed, who had agreed to be the best man at the wedding, arrived with two other friends, Mr. Rasul and Monir Ali.
The story of how they ended up in Afghanistan is left a bit hazy, in spite of vivid images of miserable bus rides over bumpy, unpaved roads. The idea of crossing the border into Afghanistan seems to have arisen almost on a whim. They wanted to see for themselves what was going on and to participate in a humanitarian aid mission organized by the imam of a mosque in Karachi, Pakistan. Sitting in an outdoor restaurant one evening, they talk excitedly about the size of Afghan flatbreads, as if they were planning a culinary road trip.
As the war against the Taliban intensifies, the four young men travel first to Kandahar, then to Kabul and finally to Kunduz, where they are captured by Northern Alliance soldiers. At that point, an arduous, possibly ill-advised adventure turns into a nightmare, as they are first accused of being Al Qaeda fighters and then, after months of harsh treatment, coerced into confessing that they are.
There may still be some die-hards who respond to pictures of hooded prisoners and detailed accounts of physical and psychological abuse with accusations of anti-Americanism. The filmmakers and the Tipton Three are fairly circumspect with regard to their own political beliefs, but their ideological commitments are really beside the point. A news clip shows President Bush referring to the Guantánamo detainees as "bad guys," and it is not necessary to believe that the Tipton Three were good guys — one of them had a police record in Britain — to be appalled at their treatment.
And also profoundly depressed. "The Road to Guantánamo," while far from a great movie, nonetheless effectively dramatizes a position that has been argued, by principled commentators on the left and the right, for several years now: that the abuse of prisoners, innocent or not, is not only repugnant in its own right. It also squanders a crucial strategic advantage in the fight against terrorism, namely the moral superiority of liberal democracy to the nihilism and extremism that oppose it.
The facts on which "The Road to Guantánamo" is based are horrifying, and in its most effective moments it provokes strong feelings of helplessness and dread. But by far the scariest thing about this movie is that, for too many people in this country and elsewhere, it may already have lost the power to shock.
"The Road to Guantánamo" is rated R (Under 17 not admitted without a guardian) for language and violence.
By A. O. SCOTT
Published: June 23, 2006
THE release of "The Road to Guantánamo" comes shortly after the suicides of three prisoners held in American custody in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba, and in the midst of renewed concern, in the United States and abroad, about the mistreatment of detainees and the policy of holding suspected terrorists at the detention camp. In a sense, then, the film, which is based on the testimony of three British Muslims captured in Afghanistan in 2001 and held at Guantánamo for more than two years, does not tell us anything new. It is nonetheless a wrenching and dismaying account of cruelty and bureaucratic indifference, a graphic tour of a place many citizens of Western democracies would prefer not to think about.
It should be emphasized that the movie, directed by Michael Winterbottom and Mat Whitecross, is not a documentary. It does rely on talking-head interviews with the former prisoners — Shafiq Rasul, Asif Iqbal and Ruhel Ahmed, known collectively as the Tipton Three for the town in northern England where they grew up — and faithfully reproduces their version of events. Most of what the audience sees on screen, however, is a re-enactment, conducted mainly by nonprofessional actors. By the time the action reaches Guantánamo — those scenes were shot in Iran — the artifice is unmistakable, since no camera could have penetrated the actual isolation cells, interrogation rooms and chicken-wire cages of Camps X-Ray and Delta. But earlier sequences in Pakistan and Afghanistan have the shaky, grainy urgency of real life captured on the fly.
This is not the first time Mr. Winterbottom has mingled the techniques of documentary and fictional filmmaking; he did it whimsically in his mischievous nonadaptation "Tristram Shandy: A Cock and Bull Story," pruriently in the moodily hard-core "9 Songs" and soberly in "In This World," his grim chronicle of young refugees in flight from Afghanistan. Nor is he alone in teasing the cinematic boundary between storytelling and truth-telling. He seems to have been inspired at least partly by Iranian films like "Close-Up," "The Apple" and "Where Is the Friend's House?," which used ordinary people and on-location photography to recreate real events.
Those films can induce a kind of vertigo in the viewer, an almost philosophical confusion about the literalness of the filmed image. And "The Road to Guantánamo" can be disorienting, especially in its first half, as it switches back and forth between the recollections of the three main characters and the raw immediacy of their restaged ordeal. It is sometimes hard to match the speakers with the amateur actors playing them, or to establish a clear sense of who they are.
Curiously, their personalities emerge only in the dehumanized environment of Guantánamo itself, when their heads have been shaved and they are dressed in identical orange jumpsuits. There, as the combination of tedium and brutality stretches time and tests their endurance, the movie begins to gather the emotional force that is likely to leave you sickened, shaken and angry. For their part, the former detainees look back calmly and speak about their worst moments with a combination of detachment and puzzlement. How did this happen to them?
"The Road to Guantánamo," relying as it does on their testimony, does not entirely answer that question. In September 2001, Mr. Iqbal flew to Pakistan to meet the woman his mother had chosen for him to marry. Shortly afterward, Mr. Ahmed, who had agreed to be the best man at the wedding, arrived with two other friends, Mr. Rasul and Monir Ali.
The story of how they ended up in Afghanistan is left a bit hazy, in spite of vivid images of miserable bus rides over bumpy, unpaved roads. The idea of crossing the border into Afghanistan seems to have arisen almost on a whim. They wanted to see for themselves what was going on and to participate in a humanitarian aid mission organized by the imam of a mosque in Karachi, Pakistan. Sitting in an outdoor restaurant one evening, they talk excitedly about the size of Afghan flatbreads, as if they were planning a culinary road trip.
As the war against the Taliban intensifies, the four young men travel first to Kandahar, then to Kabul and finally to Kunduz, where they are captured by Northern Alliance soldiers. At that point, an arduous, possibly ill-advised adventure turns into a nightmare, as they are first accused of being Al Qaeda fighters and then, after months of harsh treatment, coerced into confessing that they are.
There may still be some die-hards who respond to pictures of hooded prisoners and detailed accounts of physical and psychological abuse with accusations of anti-Americanism. The filmmakers and the Tipton Three are fairly circumspect with regard to their own political beliefs, but their ideological commitments are really beside the point. A news clip shows President Bush referring to the Guantánamo detainees as "bad guys," and it is not necessary to believe that the Tipton Three were good guys — one of them had a police record in Britain — to be appalled at their treatment.
And also profoundly depressed. "The Road to Guantánamo," while far from a great movie, nonetheless effectively dramatizes a position that has been argued, by principled commentators on the left and the right, for several years now: that the abuse of prisoners, innocent or not, is not only repugnant in its own right. It also squanders a crucial strategic advantage in the fight against terrorism, namely the moral superiority of liberal democracy to the nihilism and extremism that oppose it.
The facts on which "The Road to Guantánamo" is based are horrifying, and in its most effective moments it provokes strong feelings of helplessness and dread. But by far the scariest thing about this movie is that, for too many people in this country and elsewhere, it may already have lost the power to shock.
"The Road to Guantánamo" is rated R (Under 17 not admitted without a guardian) for language and violence.