So I’m sitting here, rotting my brain on brain candy. Namely the season premiere The Bachelor in Paris. I’m also poking around Jewish blogs and reading reviews of Munich, which I saw on Saturday night.
I’ll admit, as I always admit, I don’t know enough about the Israel-Palestine conflict. I don’t know enough about Israeli politics, I don’t know enough about the six day war or the Yom Kippur war. I don’t know enough.
I do know that Israel has to exist. Yes, as an American Jew in an urban area–it is easy to forget why we need Israel. Unlike Akira, I don’t talk to Holocaust survivors everyday to be reminded of what happened when we didn’t have Israel. Chances are slim that I will live in a world free of isms: racism, sexism, anti-semitism. You name it, will we know world peace? Probably not, but we have our roles.
So. Munich. Here are my disjointed thoughts.
This movie got me. It got me emotionally and it got me physically. During one scene at the end, I gasped as if I was seeing the accident happen in person. I was tense and upset and shell-shocked at the end. While one blogger said there was no story, I thought there was. I didn’t care about (or for) the physical violence. The story, I thought, was in the inner battles.
Each character eventually said, with the exception of the brash Steve, this isn’t what Jews do. We are just creating a greater problem. FOr every leader we assasinate, six more replace him–more violent than the original target. I appreciated that–that the religion came up, perhaps in a roundabout way. But Jews aren’t supposed to shed blood and the agents were reluctant (at times) to do so.
There were, for me, some obvious call backs to the Godfather. Sitting at the table with Papa–under the grapevine thing. Reminded me of the Godfather towards the end of his life, when gardening becomes important.
It assumes a lot of knowledge. LIke they never really say “That older lady at the table, that is Golda Meir, the PRIME MINISTER.” I realized after a second or two, but first I thought she was the mother or grandmother of one of the assinated Israeli athletes.
I felt that the main agent really struggled with his tasks internally. The quicker he got through the list, the quicker he could get back to his wife and daughter. Of course by the time he got there, he wasn’t alive. Yes–he survived, but he was wrecked. PTSD is an understatement.
I’m not sure what else to say. I think I’m still turning it over in my head. I don’t think it made the mission look simple or easy. I don’t think it made it black and white. Did it show both sides of the story? No, of course not. Was it supposed to? No.