Why Should I Care?

I've come to realize that the question "Why should I care?" is a rather accurate barometer when it comes to movies. If a film can give a satisfactory answer to that question, then it works in terms of engaging the audience either emotionally or intellectually.

In Syriana, the answer to that question would probably be "Because you're part of the problem too." And possibly, "Because the poster is fucking cool."


Watching the film is akin to being thrown into the deep end of the pool when you don't know how to swim, and the life preservers are a long way away. The multiple storylines, dozens of characters, and dialogue jam-packed with jargon are confusing at first, to say the least. I thank whoever came up with the idea of putting both Chinese and English subtitles on the prints at Lido, because I would've been a lot more confused without them. Through the murkiness though, something begins to emerge after a while, and the threads are all slowly but surely shown to be intertwined. It's a masterclass in editing and organization all by itself, as it weaves skilfully in and out of plots. The beauty of it is in showing how pervasive the politics of oil are at every level, from the power players to the sheikhs to the man in the street to misguided terrorists.

It's all so complicated that I highly suggest you visit the website to check out the synopsis, part of which is exerpted below. Also check out these reviews from The Onion and Roger Ebert.

While 'Syriana' is a very real term used by Washington think-tanks to describe a hypothetical reshaping of the Middle East, as our title it is used more abstractly. 'Syriana,' the concept - the fallacious dream that you can successfully remake nation-states in your own image - is a mirage. Syriana is a fitting title for a film that could exist at any time and be about any set of circumstances that deal with man's unchecked ambition, hubris, and the fantasy of empire.

At the end of it all, I emerged dazed, shaken, and feeling more than a little dirty and guilty at using any petroleum-fueled vehicle at all. It's all very good, and very depressing, because you realize at the end of the day that the people who really want to do good, who actually give a damn, are always the people who are deemed dangerous and who are stubbed out before they have a chance to make the world a better place. Because something that will benefit the common people upsets the status quo. Because the rich want to continue getting richer at the expense of the poor. Because morality never ever comes into the picture. That's the way it is, and nothing can be done to change it.


The Constant Gardener has kind of the same theme, it's just not as strident as Syriana is, because it's also tempered by a love story. Basically the evil corporations are pharmaceuticals this time round, and they're evil because they test experimental drugs on poor African folk on the pretext of providing humanitarian medical aid to them. After all, who's going to miss some stupid nameless Africans? But the film is adamant about this - these people have names too. They have families. And we should miss them.

Why should I care?
Because this is wrong.

The love story aspect of it is also handled well, and kind of in reverse, because it starts off with the death of the woman (the always lovely Rachel Weisz), and through his investigations into her death, her husband (Ralph Fiennes, robbed of a Best Actor nomination) realizes how to really love her all over again and comes out of his quiet gardener shell. It's a beautiful story, told in a fantastic kinetic style by City of God's Fernando Meirelles. The guy is, to say the least, amazing, and so is the movie.

At the end, it feels similar to Syriana, in the sense that while individual battles may be won, goodness and decency will never triumph, because humans and nations are too fucked up to care. But hey, at least some individual battles are won in this movie, making it less depressing than Syriana in a way. They're both great, just don't see them in the same day, lest you start feeling suicidal.

If the above two movies answer that question I raised well, then Jarhead doesn't really at all.


In the movie, Jake Gyllenhall, a wonderful actor usually, has nothing to do other than mope around and act crazy most of the time. The titular marines are stuck in the desert during the First Gulf War, and spend lots of time sitting around doing nothing. To pass the time, they train, masturbate, watch war videos, talk, eat, train some more, masturbate some more, break up with their girlfriends and wives, train some more, masturbate some more, repeat ad infinitum. I assume the masturbation is of the solo variety, since the desert isn't really of the Brokeback variety. Of couse watching this brings back memories for all the ex-National Servicemen in the audience, because hell, this is what the military is like - complete and utter pointlessness.

Unfortunately, so is the movie. It shows us the pointlessness of their lives, then finally says that the marines are forever changed by their experience. But how? It never says. We get shots of them in their daily lives after their military stint, but save for a voiceover and a possible suicide, we never really know how they're different because of their experiences. And more importantly, we don't really care too. It's not a bad moviegoing experience, but ultimately it feels hollow. I can't even decide if this is an intentionally ironical point or not.

One good thing about it: The poster is possibly even cooler than Syriana's.

Why should I care?
Um, I dunno...