Bestowed upon a select group, the mantle of Acclaimed Auteur can serve as both a crown and a burden. On the positive side, it can provide a shield: when viewing the works of an celebrated director through this lens, film scholars may feel compelled to defend even their least successful efforts. (The rationale is that a lackluster film by a Renowned Director is still more valuable than the best work of a jobbing hack.) One disadvantage is that such accolades can confine a creative to a very narrow courtyard, searching only for material worthy of a Esteemed Director; another is that the frustration when a project fails to ignite is even more pronounced. A notable instance has recently arrived on Netflix in the latest from Bigelow A House of Dynamite, a underwhelming entry that â if texts from cinephile pals are any guide â seems nailed on for only one recognition this season: that for Biggest Letdown.
To understand why the film has underwhelmed so, we must retrace its director's steps. Bigelow built her reputation with a succession of expansive, limber genre pics: motorcycle drama The Loveless, the epic vampire tale Near Dark, cop thriller Blue Steel, the classic action film starring Keanu Reeves and Patrick Swayze Point Break. A sharper insight of her direction of travel came with the underrated mid-90s release Strange Days, an electrifying sci-fi suspense story, shaped by the Rodney King incident, which also functioned as a moral story about the risks of abandoning reality to seek shelter in the simulated environment. (Bigelow proved more aware of this than her former husband and collaborator James Cameron, now preparing the release of Avatar 3.) Yet post-2001, with her fame expanding, Bigelow â like her native country â was pushed into a reactive stance. The Hurt Locker and Zero Dark Thirty broached Americaâs recent military engagements in the Middle East; Detroit, released in the period following the Charlottesville events, entered into a heated debate with the countryâs deep-seated legacy of racism.
One can appreciate why a film-maker on this trajectory might be interested in Dynamiteâs script â penned by Noah Oppenheim, the ex-head of NBC News who penned Netflixâs new project featuring De Niro Zero Day â and why the service would strongly support a missile crisis drama after Oppenheimerâs Oscars sweep. (One pitch for the new film: imagine Oppenheimer in the present day?)
Dynamite is at its most compelling early on, describing in something like real time the 19 minutes in which a rocket sent somewhere in the Pacific region by unidentified actors is detected by sensors of a American military installation in Alaska and alerted to the White House situation room, heading for what everyone learns is its objective: downtown Chicago. In this initial part, Bigelow and Oppenheim rapidly increase the drama while engaging in an compelling countdown strategy: weâre set to wondering where this two-hour film can possibly head once the chronometer reaches zero.
The response â and this is where the letdowns start â is back to the beginning: the film subsequently shuffles between the angles of those higher-ups (Tracy Lettsâ general, secretary of defence Jared Harris and commander-in-chief Idris Elba) the introduction only partially revealed. From a narrative standpoint, the film is unable to advance: itâs a lengthy film with less than twenty minutes of story, leaving Oppenheim to revisit that first reel again and again, each repetition trowelling on contested bureaucratic steps while inching everyone nearer the anticipated detonation. Prior Bigelow films had a strong control on stimulus and response; her most successful works as a Noted Film-maker, The Hurt Locker and Zero Dark Thirty, were definitionally all consequence. But here, the catalytic moment is also the endgame; the narrative captivates at the exact moment the film ends. The figures are left wondering: âIs that it?â We are, too, for different reasons.
While the plot spins in ever decreasing circles, like a bleak repetitive cycle, weâve plenty of opportunity to consider the negative impact Netflix money has had on the look of Hollywood productions. Even on the big screen, Dynamite appeared as dully conventional, Barry Ackroydâs rushed shaky camerawork evoking 24 or The West Wing or recent Netflix content employing identical backdrops, extending to Zero Day. If Bigelow the Acclaimed Visual Artist disappears, so too does Bigelow the Celebrated Female Auteur: Rebecca Ferguson, introduced in that beginning part as possibly one more of this directorâs resilient career-driven characters, clocks off early, so again itâs left to a cabal of frowning men to try to prevent the worldâs end. The verve Bigelow brought to her pulpier breakthrough films disappears alongside her; maybe after Detroitâs financial shortfall, the film-maker felt she had to restrain her risk-taking, but a script this dialogue-heavy required some offsetting dramatic intensity.
The dread A House of Dynamite most strongly conjures, then, isnât global eradication, but a filmmaker's fear of being considered inadequate; becoming rigid and virtually solidifying as it goes along, itâs not unexpected the film should have been eclipsed by current, reshaping incidents. What this script takes for granted is that those in charge of critical decisions would be skilled experts, fundamentally diligent and that the greatest danger to Chicago in the latter part of 2025 would come from some place other than the White House. Where earlier Bigelow films felt like fiercely engaged reflections on their time, Dynamite â the earliest of this directorâs latest projects to fall in a gray area of neglect, diversion and complete unimportance â instead spends a pair of lethargic hours struggling aimlessly out of touch. Itâs lacking in drama by design: even before the stray rocket first registers on a radar, the United States Bigelowâs film describes has been shattered completely.
Eleanor is a passionate writer and cultural enthusiast, sharing her experiences and discoveries from across the UK.