The Fog Of War

Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara.

Robert Strange McNamara, Secretary of Defense in the Kennedy and Johnson administrations, has been characterised as a “human calculator”, and when you watch this documentary, which consists of snippets of an interview he did with director Errol Morris in 2001, it’s not hard to understand why. In between lecturing us about his eleven lessons — hardly more than banal common sense, albeit common sense many tend to have too superficious a relationship to today — McNamara tells us about his life.

He was in the statistical analysis department of the Air Force during WWII, where he analysed air missions in terms of targets destroyed per American casualty, made recommendations on how to be more efficient, and through his recommendations set something in motion that would culminate with the destruction of between 40 and 90 per cent of close to 70 Japanese cities. After the war he joined the Ford Motor Company, where he made recommendations that eventually led to the implementation of seat belts and other safety precautions in Ford’s cars. And then there was the Vietnam War.

McNamara was (he died on the same day as Michael Jackson, but kind of drowned in all the ruckus) a man with a formidable intellect, able to deflect even the subtlest of questions. “Never answer the question put to you. Always answer the question you wish had been asked,” he tells Morris at one point. So the task Morris has before him is not an easy one. However, Morris is an interviewer far more interested in the character than in history, and besides, he has the editing room at his disposal.

His primary interest in the character shines through in his movie’s structure being to a large degree dictated by the wily old man, McNamara. McNamara seems to be setting the pace, and while I have no doubt that Morris and his editing team have cut and pasted fairly extensively, the events still seem to be presented in the order McNamara apparently desired. That being said, McNamara isn’t in control all the time. He never looks as if his ever really put off by Morris, but then Morris never seems very aggressive as an interviewer, thus perhaps allowing his object to relax and open up a bit more. As such, we get an end result where McNamara is constantly justifying his past actions and presenting us with battalion after battalion of apologetic arguments. But at the same time, I always got the impression that McNamara felt guilty. He looked uncomfortable when discussing his involvement of the fire bombing of Japanese cities (an involvement he admitted would have seen him condemned for war crimes had the Japanese won the war), and spent a quite a while going over the prelude to the Tonkin Resolution (which opened up for increased American involvement in Vietnam, you ignorant schmucks ). It was clear that he was extremely bothered by these parts of his life.

Then there’s Morris’ editing. In his painting of McNamara’s character, Morris allows the old man to speak for himself, with no additional vocal narration. Instead he offers his interpretations of McNamara’s tale through visuals. McNamara’s recounting of his obsession with efficiency is illustrated with data cards flashing through gigantic IBM analysis machines, and flickering fragments of statistics on target destruction precentages and the chances of a passenger being maimed or killed in a car crash in this or that Ford model, not too subtly suggesting that McNamara was as much concerned with the statistics as he was with the human suffering. He even turns a recounting of the consequences of the fire bombing into an exercise in statistics.

That being said, Morris never allows McNamara to be presented as something even resembling a monster. Or maybe McNamara himself never lets himself be presented in such a way; it’s not easy to tell, with these edited to bits fragments. Regardless, while you definitely question some of the judgments McNamara has made through his career, as well as some of his conclusions today, you cannot help but feel at least some sympathy for the devil. This is helped along by McNamara’s use of rhetorical questions, such as “Is it right to kill 400,000 civilians in one night, in order to end a horrible war?”, questions he aksks in such a pained tone of voice, you’re left wondering whether it’s really rhetorical questions, or if he honestly doesn’t believe he has an answer to it. Not to mention whether it’s possible for a man such as McNamara, who seems to be in possession both of a brilliant mind and firm convictions, not to have an opinion on such weighty moral issues.

All in all, The Fog of War is a compelling portrait of a Cold Warrior, possibly turned penitent in his old age, and if you’re at all interested in the Cold War, or international or American politics and history, this movie is a must-see. 9.0 out of 10.